J Long - Three horny teachers

She turned around slowly, tried to see what celebrity had walked through the door.

There was an armadillo-shaped man from Amarillo wearing a vanilla shirt walking through the door.

"Hey! Hey, Archie! Archie ber… ya old fart!"

The armadillo looked around, didn't see Archie Bunker no where. He turned to the lady in the tattered dress. She was pointing a wavy finger at him. He felt embarrassed as the wavy finger prodded his navel and a bottle of Southern Comfort was shoved under his double chin.

"C'mon, Archie! First your gonna show me how to gamble. Then… we're gonna fuck. It'll be my first time I ever did it."

The armadillo was astonished. It was the first time that a woman had ever picked him up. It was strange – like the boot being on the other foot. He had picked up enough strange pussies in his life. But balls o' fire! This hag was picking him up.

He looked around – Emily was still in the ladies' room. Shit, what was there to lose?

He looked at Hazel. God – there was plenty to lose!

Jesus Christ! The woman was drunk on – sniff, sniff, and sniff – on Southern Comfort. And look at the way she was dressed! Christ, she looked like hell warmed over. It looked like she had bought her dress at a confetti factory instead of at Woolworth's.

"Well… come on, ya fart! Let's move on! Come on, get your fuckin' ass in gear! Let it all hang out! Yes sir."

Then he was being gripped tightly by a siren who had been soaked in Southern Comfort and who was leading him to a row of slot machines.

He couldn't believe it!

"Hey, just a fuckin' minute here, sister! You're…"

"I ain't your sister, fart-face. If I was your sister, I wouldn't let ya fuck me… understand?"

What the hell was going on here? He had come to Vegas for fun in the sun. For a little dice-rolling and twenty-one and keno. But shit, now he was getting rolled by a drunk-crazy hag with a twenty-one-inch chest and everything was not peachy keen.

He looked around for a security guard.

Hazel looked around for her purse. "Goddamn! I forgot my purse… Ya got any money… Archie?"

"My name's not Archie!"

"Ya got any money anyway?"

"Look you're drunk. And I'm not gonna lend any money to – Hey! Get your Goddamn hand outta my pocket! Hey! Lady!"

Hazel's hand wormed and squirmed in the man's tight pocket. Jesus Christ, man's gotta have some money someplace. She felt around – keys, something wrapped in tinfoil. Fuck! Where the hell's his loose change?

"Guard! Guard!"

People in the casino glanced casually at the commotion near the slot machines. Then they went back to their greedy business of playing illogical regret.

Hazel hiccuped as she rummaged around in his pockets. Jesus! What the hell's this?

"Hey, Archie! What the hell's this? Ya got a salami sandwich in here or somethin'? Jesus! It's a big 'un!"

The armadillo blushed. Christ – people were gonna stare. He could feel their eyes on him. He looked around. Balls o' fire! They weren't staring! What the hell was wrong with them? Didn't they realize that a maniac woman was robbing him now, picking his pocket while she molested his prick…

What!?

"Get your hand off my prick! Goddamn! We're in a public place! You fucking weirdo!"

His prick? That salami thing was a prick? Hazel felt foolish. She also felt giggly drunk. His prick! She was feeling a man's prick! Ooooooooohhhh! She couldn't wait to tell people that she had finally felt a man's prick!

She was just about ready to scream to the people in the casino that she had finally felt a man's prick when the man's prick did something funny.

"Ooooooohh, God, lady! Please – you're giving me a fucking hard-on! Aaaaahhhh, shit!"

A hard-on? God! Hazel Turnbow – Hazel Turnbow, Miss Virgin Hag Librarian – was turning on a man, giving him a hard-on!

Hazel waved drunkenly, smiled drunkenly, felt Archie Bunker's cock drunkenly.

"Ooohh, please, lady! Please let go of my cock!"

Hazel shook her head slowly. "Ooh, Archie! Archie! I-Is that… really your prick? Feels jus' like a salami… an' how come it's bleedin' now?"

Archie didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do. He had never in his life been raped in public, or been so manhandled by a woman before. Now, he knew what all those women libbers were fighting for – so people wouldn't be treated like sex objects, so they wouldn't be fondled and caressed in busses or planes or in public places. He wanted to die. His cock wanted to die – but her fuckin' hand was doing a Goddamn good job of keeping it alive and well, and hard and throbbing, while it leaked lots of jizz into his Levi's.

"Ooooooh! Please, lady! You're humiliating me! Please don't do that with you – Aaaaaaahhhh!"

Hazel couldn't believe it. She was turning somebody on! She was turning a cock on with what she was doing with her fumbling hands. She backed tile armadillo up against the bank of slot machines, began molesting him, raping his cock with her fumbling hands.

The Southern Comfort gave her more encouragement. She farted.

The dizziness in her head gave her more courage. She was up on tiptoes, whispering to him about how she was gonna rape him.

"Archie… I'm gonna rape you! Come on, Archie… go up to my room. 'Cause if ya don't, I'm gonna pull out yer salami right here and chew it off!"

"Guard! Guard!"

People turned their heads, couldn't believe that the rich Texan from Amarillo was so niggardly that he wouldn't let his wife have a couple of nickels to play the slots. Jesus Christ! They hoped the old lady found his wad and blew the whole Goddamn thing.

Eddie liked walnuts. Especially American walnuts. They smelled delicious when they were warm, and they tasted delicious when they were hot.

His nose followed the scent of baked walnuts.

Ah! It was coming from here… right here, where there was mucho hair and a clitty-looking thing was hanging out.

His nose sank into the meaty aroma of baked walnuts.

"Ooooohhhhh! God! Please don't! Noooooo!"

Eddie lapped up the flavor of crushed walnuts. Uuuuummmm.

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

"Please! Oh, God! Please! Don't put your tongue – aaaaiiheeee!"

Eddie put this tongue there – right in the midst of where all that heady crushed-walnut smell was coming from.

He spread the meaty lips open. Very wide open. Deliciously wide open. He took a deep lungful of walnuts. Then he looked at what he had spread wide open.

Naturally it was a cunt.

Naturally it was a wide-open cunt because Eddie Caruso had both hands holding the outer cunt-lips as her inner cunt-lips oozed with saliva and the beads of fresh cunt-juice. What a fucking hot bitch she was! No woman could resist his tongue, or his hands, or his hot-fucking cock.

Oh, Senorita Higgins had resisted for about ten minutes, but after that she was like any typical fucking hot bitch woman. Eager for tongue. Eager for sucking and fucking.

Eddie's head moved in on her splayed pussy-lips. His tongue came out, licked all around the hairy lips. Then darted in and flicked her clitoris.

"Aaaaiiiieeee! Oh, Please! Stop! Please! Aaaaiiieeeee!"

Eddie stopped. Allowed her cunt four seconds to recover from his Latin tongue. Then he went back to work.

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

"No! No! No! Not there! Oh, God! Not there! aaaaiiiieeee!"

Eddie liked putting his tongue right there. Oh, not that right there had the right kind of smell. It didn't smell like walnuts right there. Right there was actually a wrong place for a tongue to be. Some people actually refused to go down on a woman's asshole. But Eddie was a reformed sickle, and he didn't mind pulling hairs off a woman's asshole using his teeth for tweezers.

"Aaaaaiiiieeee! Stop! Stop! Stop!"

Eddie shook his head. Not because he was telling her that he was going to stop eating her asshole. But because he had a tight grip on a very curly strand of pubic hair that fought the pressure of his yanking teeth.