The Date

Lynda was not afforded that luxury as she was spun around one more time to find yet another enormous cock, shiny and slick from her pussy juices, ready to drop another load in her mouth. One more cock, this one tasted of her own cunt, was forcing it's path into her mouth. This cock, already primed, needed just the feel of her tongue to ignite its raging stream of goo, and she was filled yet again. Four blowjobs on three different guys in less than three hours on her first night out in seven years.

She sank back in her chair too tired to even cover her sticky body or wipe the cum from her face and chest. Her hair was soaked and matted to her scalp, with long strands showing where they were almost yanked out of her head. Her mascara was blotted on her cheeks like a raccoon and what was left of her lipstick made her appear to be in clown makeup. Her tits were exposed and strung with ropes of milky cum, her dress in tatters. She was sweaty and sticky and her mouth tasted like the floor of a taxi. She could see in the gloom that men were applauding her performance and marveled at the sight of her conspirators hurrying to pour her a fresh drink and prepare a plate of food for her.

She felt amazingly satisfied and fulfilled as she scanned the room. It was obvious that other men wanted to be with her and Bob was accepting handshakes and congratulations. Bob's guests were shoveling piles of cash on the table to cover the tab for the drinks and "entertainment." Bob scooped a few Benjamins for himself and handed a couple to Lynda as he took her hand to leave. He relit his cigar and placed his jacket across her shoulders.

"You done good this evening, I'll have the driver drop you at home. Be ready Friday at seven..."

The end.