Bullet Through Your Face (improved format) (2 page)

Her lilting voice hushed as she leaned over. The hand rubbed
him more intricately. “I mean, I don’t wants ya ta think I’m juss some
whore’re anything. But I’se never seed nothing wrong with a gal
taking some money long’s she’s willing ta give something’n return.
Ya know? Mue-cher-all agreement.”

Gray’s breath lodged in his chest. “I . . . agree . . .”
“Tells ya what,” she whispered. Now her face was so close to
his crotch, he could almost feel her breath on it. “You’s juss keep yer
hands on the wheel an’ con-ser-trates on yer drivin’, an’ I’ll’se do the
rest.”
Gray gulped, nodded mutely.
He felt his buckle come undone, then heard the rasp of his zipper.
A sweet shock seemed to tremor, then, when he felt her fingers push
his slacks down and then prise out his scrotum and already hard
penis. She gently squeezed his balls, and, next, harder, she squeezed
the shaft. Gray felt a small reservoir of pre-ejaculate form at the glans.
“You’s juss drives me all the way down the Route. Turn left on 3
ta Tylersville, an’ I’se’ll suck ya the whole way.”
Gray was about to come right now, not ten miles from now, and
she hadn’t even taken it into her mouth.
I don’t think. . . . I’ll quite . . .
last that . . . long,
he thought, his teeth grinding.
Her right hand cupped his balls as her mouth sucked, first the
glans, then took the whole thing—all six and a quarter inches—
down to the back of her throat. Gray’s cock suddenly felt cocooned
in a hot, wet gulf. At the base, her lips constricted to a tight O, then
drew up. This was expert, this was phenomenal. That delectable wet
O drew up and down again, up and down—
Thinking about baseball worked to a point, a destructive distraction. Each time he forced an image into his head—Clemens’
twenty-second win, or A-Rod post-season record breaker—Gray’s
orgasm was staved off for a moment. But he gnashed his teeth in
objection—inviting such imagery seemed a horrible vandalism
to the sensation. He wanted the sensation to be extended, though;
hence, a brutal cycle of sabotage. He’d turn the image off and was
about to come, so he turned it right back on: Swisher, Jeter, Texiera,
etc.
Aw, Jesus!
When he summoned the image of C.C. Sabathia’s
face, his erection nearly died.

“Mmm, yeah,” the girl paused to say. “You’re lastin’a good long
while. I wouldn’t mind ya fuckin’ me, neithers. Bet’cha’d make me
come.”

She slowly jacked it with her hand a few times,
fingers playing
over slick spit. Gray had to keep his eyes ludicrously wide on the
road.

“I don’t mind suckin’ fellas off,” she drawled on. “It’s kind’a
fun.” She squeezed more crystal ooze out of the tip, then played her
thumb over it. Gray fidgeted sharply in the seat.

“And you ain’t like a lotta guys.” More talk, more hand-play.
“You know? Lotta guys talk real nasty while I’m doin’it, sayin’mean
stuff. Like that fella last night? Kept callin’ me pig’n bitch’n whore,
sayin’ ‘suck that cock, ya little whore’ and stuff like that.”

Gray’s legs were tremoring; he had trouble keeping his right foot
controlled over the gas. “That’s, uh,” he gasped. “That wasn’t very
nice.”

Her voice was erotic—that drawl, half innocence, half
experience. Sabathia’s psychological wreckage disappeared, and
Gray was hard again, hard as metal pipe. She’d squeeze against the
nerve-charged rigidity, slide her hand up, slide her hand down, with
pain-staking slowness. A few more times like that and he’d come
all over himself, probably squirt himself in the face. But just when
that would happen, she let go and massaged his balls. Gray was
definitely getting his money’s worth.

She seemed to be considering something when she said,
“Awright, I know what I’ll do. But I don’t usually do it, just so ya’s
know.”

Gray was dismayed, face bloated and popping sweat behind the
wheel.
What the fuck are you talking about? Keep sucking!
She held something up she’d slipped out of her pocket. Gray
heard the faintest tearing sound. He pulled his eyes off the road
several times, sneaking glances, and saw that she’d just slipped a
condom out of its packet. The rubbery lubricant scent wafted over.
“What, uh, what are you—”
“Shh,” she replied. “You’ll like this.”
What, she’s gonna fuck me while I’m driving?
“See, fellas all like it, they just never say so on account they don’t
want the girl ta think they’re queer.”
Gray remained speechless in his dismay as she rolled the condom
over her right index finger. Then she was leaning over.
“What, uh, what are you—”
”In we go.” She slipped her finger right into his anus, slipped it
in deep.
Gray could not reckon such turmoil; he wanted to shout. But
then it occurred to him only a second later that this “turmoil” was
very interesting. Gray’s entire being felt bloated in the strange,
excruciating pleasure, and before he knew it she was fellating
him again, with mind-boggling precision. He knew he’d last only
a second longer like this, the mouth sucking his cock like she was
drinking a milkshake through a straw and the finger roving. It didn’t
matter that he’d last only another second, because he knew it would
be the best second of pleasure in his life.
Yes, in just another—
Gray seized up in the driver’s seat and came anxiously into the
hot wet wonderful spitfilled mouth. It was an explosive release. He
thought of a tube of window chalk lying on its side and suddenly being
smacked with a sledgehammer, its contents evacuated at once.
He expected her lips to pop off at the first mammoth spurt, but they
didn’t. They stayed there, more quickly now drawing up and down.
Gray’s hips quivered, his asshole clenching around her finger, and
then his buttocks rose off the leather seat as he struggled to remember
he was driving a car down a winding road. So much semen spurted
out of him he wondered how her mouth could hold it all. The orgasm
supplanted him into another world; his eyes rolled in his head, and his
knees shook to the point that he could barely control the foot pedals.

When she was done, she slipped her mouth off, leaned backed,
and swallowed.
“Fellas like it more when a gal swallers,” she said. “Don’t know
why, but’cha git used ta the way it tastes.”
Gray barely heard her, nerves firing down. He felt like a big
sack of dough in the seat. Then he flinched, nearly yelped aloud,
when she slipped the condomed finger out of his anus. The
aftersensation radiated, and as she’d been removing her finger, he felt
some mysterious leftover of sperm ooze slowly out of his urethra.
Holy motherfucking shit,
he thought.
She held her hand out the window, slipped the fouled condom
off her finger. It flew away into the dark like an expectoration.
“Ya feel better now?” she asked him.
Gray tried to say yes but his tongue clogged his mouth. Sucking
breaths, he nodded.
“I knew ya’d like it. My brothers tolt me ‘bout it, ‘bout how
they’ll come better during a blowjob with a finger up’n their ass.
Some gland up in there, little gland that makes yer jizz er somethin’.”
Gray could fathom absolutely no response. Had she said her
brothers?
Her
brothers
had given her a lesson in rectal anatomy?
Gray didn’t even want to guess, didn’t want to imagine what kind of
family she might have come from. But of course she’d been right,
too. Her technical intricacies had provided him the best orgasm of
his life. She rubbed his testicles some more and he was still spasming
down.
A finger up the ass, huh?
Until then the only things to ever be
up Gray’s ass were turds, but he could hardly argue.

He slowed the car down, unaware until now how he’d been
accelerating through the event. Finally he blurted out, “That was
great.”

“I wanna do things ya like, ‘cos I like ya. If I do things ya like,
then you’ll pick me up agin, next time ya see me hitchin’home from
the crab-pickers.”

“Kuh—count on it.”
“Cain’t have ya thinkin’ I’m a slob,” came her next inexplicable
chatter. Now she was rubbing his bare stomach, looking down at his
groin. “Cain’t be leavin’ a mess on ya, ya know? I always clean up
my messes.”
Gray flinched, nearly yelped again when she abruptly popped
his penis back into her mouth and sucked hard, sucking off those
oozing remnants. His hips and thighs tingled fiercely as the last
lingering semen was drawn out. His cock felt fat, half deflated but
still buzzing in luxuriant post-climax. She sucked her mouth off again
and simultaneously slid her hand back up the spitty shaft, squeezed
tightly with her index finger and thumb collaring his corona. A final
pearl of sperm appeared and she licked it right off.
Good God . . .
Gray eventually managed to get his mind back on driving. Her
hand lingered on his balls, a finger teasing between them.
Jesus
Christ, can she give a blow job . . .
Every aspect of his reproductive
capacity—from nerve reaction to sperm supply—felt utterly drained,
a bucket tipped over and emptied.
“You’s shore came a lot,” she observed next, smacking her lips,
“and you gotta nice cock, a nice-looking knob, and it ain’t all bumpy
like a lotta of ‘em.”
All Gray could say to the most inane compliment of his life was
“Thank you.”
“And you’re nice’n clean too,” she kept chattering. “No
foreskin—not that I got anythin’against ‘em but—Chrast—so many
fellas don’t wash it out and it’s got all that smelly stuff in it. Yuck.”

“I can’t say that I know what you mean,” he tried to joke, “since
I don’t have the benefit of your experience. So I’ll take your word
for it.”

The attempt at levity went over her head. Another smack of her
lips, then she poised in the seat, animated. “And, ya know, yer come
tastes good, not like a lotta fellas, all bitter’n all.”

My come tastes good,
Gray repeated the remark in his mind.
Oh
dear me, is this a night of revelation or what?
Maybe if he ever got
a girlfriend again, he could tell her that on the first date.
By the way,
I have it on some very qualified authority that my sperm tastes good.

The girl stared out the windshield and stroked her chin as if
pondering a puzzle. “I wonder if what’cha eat effects the taste of your
come? Ya think?”