I’d just turned 40 and had one of those events, I’m not
going to call it a crisis, where I seriously examined
my life and I was not happy with what I saw. I was 40
and single, seeing nobody, going nowhere. I had a place
to live and a good job but took no joy from them, just
a mild sense of security. At work I wore dress shirts
and leather shoes and I spent all day in an office with
a computer. I was, and my friends called me, the
typical Shy, Quiet, Nice Guy. And after 40 years of
this, it seemed to have gotten me exactly dick in life.

I didn’t have a big plan to turn my life around,
especially since I really didn’t know what to do, much
less how to go about it. But I made a big decision–big
for me anyway. On my weekends, unknown to my real life
friends, I’d been active on a couple of porn forums and
I’d made some online friends. I was a regular reviewer
of DVDs and I started getting noticed in the industry.
I wasn’t famous or anything like that, but I began to
find out that if I emailed questions to some of the
porn producers, they knew who I was and were openly
friendly to me.

That got me invited to an industry trade show in Las
Vegas. I’d never gone before, but this year I decided
WTF, I’m going. I cleared out some space in my savings
account and booked a nice room in the hotel for the
long weekend, burned off some vacation time at work and
told everyone I was going to be in a mountain cabin
working on the Great American Novel.

First day there and it was everything I had ever
thought. It was HOT even though it was January, but I
planned to stay in most of the time anyway. I suck at
gambling. I had no interest in seeing Wayne Newton or
Carrot Top. But I did enjoy the trade show.

I’ll skip over all the boring shit about the trade show
and just say that I found one of my on-line friends, a
guy who runs a company specializing in quality lesbo
porn and the guy who’d invented me to begin with, and
we hit off. He had a bunch of his girls there and they
were amazing. I live in LA and I’m constantly seeing
fine women, but I’d never had so many, so close, and
wearing so little, and all around me. It was a sea of
big tits, graceful asses, and legs that could wrap
around you three, four times. They were all smiling and
handing me signed this and that, squinting from their
impossibly white teeth, getting accidentally raked by
their impossibly long nails.

It was in the middle of this that I felt a poke in my
shoulder, and I turned around and saw someone I’d known
from 100 jpegs and emails but never met in person, an
online friend whose real name I know but I like her
screen name better: Red. She was short and natural
looking by the standards of these amazon sex goddesses
around me, but she was voluptuous and she had a thick
cascade of red hair flowing down past her shoulders,
hence her name.

She greeted me with a hug, which felt fantastic, as I
tried to pull myself together. It was a little like
meeting Rita Hayworth after you’ve only seen her poster
for years. But she was also a movie reviewer, and she
had her hands in various pies, so there she was.
Surrounded by all my virtual buddies.

“So who’s this,” my friend asked, and I could see he
was checking her out and liked what he saw. “Your
girlfriend?”

“Fuck bitch,” Red answered, and we all laughed. And
that cemented it. For the rest of the day, as we toured
the show, she was identified only as my fuck-bitch, and
I called her “F.B.” I felt like I was in high school
again, walking around giggling at our little private
joke. But what the hell. We both seemed to enjoy it
immensely. By the time we were done for the day we both
had the giggles. Over for some gambling, where I lost
at Blackjack and she won at Roulette. Not big, but
enough to make me envious.

Went to dinner, and I took the next step on a series of
departures from my normal life: I began drinking. I’m
not much of a drinker, but usually I’m driving or I’m
by myself and it’s not much fun. Here–I was already
home! I had company. So WTF. Give me a long island iced
team. Mmmm. Yes, I think I’ll have another. How about
some more gambling? Yes, I’d love another ‘tea.

Generally I’m a quiet drunk, but it does loosen my
tongue and I’ve pissed off a few of my friends; another
reason I usually keep it sober. But tonight I didn’t
care. I’d known this woman for years but I’d only met
her this afternoon. WTF. F.B.

I walked her up to her room, since she was also at the
hotel, and I didn’t know what to say. Except, that as I
said, I’d had quite the intake of alcohol for me, and
while my head wasn’t swimming anymore the buzz was
still there, and I said, “how about a nightcap?”

“Oh, I’m tired,” she sighed. “I just want to go to
bed.”

“So do I,” I said. She flashed me a big smile and gave
me a hug, and yes, I was aware of every square
milimeter of her fabulous boobs that were being pushed
into my chest. I did something I’d never done before, I
pushed her–pushed her flat back against her door, and
kissed her on those big, puffy red lips. Kissed her
like I saw Burt Lancaster kiss Deborah Kerr on the
beach. Kissed her like Clark Cable nailed Vivian Leigh.
Like Bogie and Bergman. Kissed her like I was going to
inhale her.

I stepped back and I saw her big, china dolls eyes were
wide and glossy, her lips parted in surprise.

“I want a nightcap,” I said, and opened the door. She
nearly fell on her ass as the door whipped open behind
her, but I caught her arm and kept her from going over.
By the time she was upright and back under control, I’d
pulled two beers from the courtesy bar and had them
open. I handed her one, klinked our bottles together,
and took a swig.

She just stared at me.

“Take a drink, F.B. It’s good and it’ll keep the buzz
going.”

Tentatively she took a sip, but kept looking at me like
I was something odd, like a zoo display. Then she sat
down in a chair, crossed her legs and smiled at me. “It
is good.”

We made small talk for awhile. I don’t remember what.
All I knew is that she was wearing a button-down that
cupped under those big, soft, jugs, and she had black
cordurois jeans that tightly hugged her thighs. That
red hair whirled around her, her white fingertips
danced on the bottle. She talked but all I saw were
those soft, red lips pursed around the bottle neck. And
I realized I had an erection like I’d never had before.

She finished the bottle, put it on a table and hoisted
herself up. “C’mon, it’s late. Good night, Steve.”

“Yes. Let’s to bed,” I whispered.

She started gently but firmly pushing me to the door,
and no, there was no way I was going to let it happen.
I turned and grabbed her, and it didn’t take much to
flip her backward on the corner of the bed.

“Steve–what are you doing,” she said, as I grabbed the
lapels of her shirt and tore it open–the buttons
flying everywhere. She had a simple white sports bra
on, the type that mashes everything flat and down. I
hate those things. With a bit of hand strength I never
knew I had, I tore it down the middle and her beautiful
breasts washed out across my hands.

“Wow,” I said. “You’re beautiful.”

“Steven! What the fuck–”

I was down on top of her again, trying to quiet her
with my kisses but she was kept struggling. Under
normal circumstances I would have been back up in bed
and jerked myself off to sleep by now, but not now, not
this time. I don’t know why.

“My shirt–”

It was Vegas. I was so far away from home. From real
life.

“my bra! Do you know how much that costs?”

I pulled up and put my hand on her face. “Shut the fuck
up,” I said, and kissed her again.

I got my right hand down and unded her belt-buckle and
her fly, and then wiggled my hand down inside. My God,
she was wet. She was just drenched.

I got up and grabbed her pants and pulled them down,
and nearly carried her off the bed in the process.
“You’re wet,” I said. “You want it.”

“No—”

“Don’t lie to me, fuck-bitch. You want it.” I had my
hand on her pussy now, and began to rub.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes— Steve?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I pushed a finger inside and my thumb on her clit.
“From now on I don’t want to hear any bullshit from
you. All I want to hear is ‘yes, sir’.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You want to cum,” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” she said, with her eyes closed.

“What did you say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Cum for me,” I said. “And no porn star bullshit,
either.”

She moved her hand down to her clit but I swatted it
away. “You my hand, dammit!”

“Yes—”

I stopped. “What?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and I started rubbing again.

And so the fun began. I made her buck and grind against
my fingers. I made her beg me to put another one. I
made her put one of her tits in my mouth and the other
in her own.

“Do it, fuck-bitch. Fuck my hand like the little whore
bitch you are.”

“mmmm.”

“Look at me,” I said.

She stared up at me, those big round puppydog eyes.

And that was it. I couldn’t take it any longer. I
didn’t bother undressing, I just pulled my pants and my
underwear down. You know you cock can get so hard it
feels like the knob is going to pop right off the end
of the shaft? How the muscles ache from being so hard,
so long? That’s where I was. I had my hand out and I
slid in–she was so wet it was like sliding into a bowl
of jello.

I’d love to lie, I’d love to tell you I fucked her like
a porn star, but I didn’t last long. It was 40 years
and all day and a lifetime of pent-up sexual
frustration unleashed like a firehose inside her. I
never sprayed so much or for long before or since.

I just laid across her, and refused to pull out. I made
her roll with me until we were squarely on the bed, her
across the top of me, her long, soft red hair cutting
the world from my view.

She started to wiggle but I held on.

“I have to get up,” she said.

“No, stay here.”

“I *have* to get up,” she said.

“I didn’t hear what you said.”

“I have to pee!”

“Stay here, goddammit!”

A noise.

“What,” I growled.

“Yes, sir.”

I held her tightly, for what seemed like forever.

“I really have to pee.”

“Go here,” I said.

“No!”

“What?!”

“Y-yes–sir.”

A moment later I felt it–warmth, wetness. Just a
little, then a growing cascade. Now you have to know
that I don’t have a golden shower fetish, but the act–
the control, felt wonderful.

It ended. Maybe we dozed, I dunno, but I finally
realized I was laying in a puddle of pee for the first
time since I was in jammies, and it hadn’t gotten any
better with age.

“Get up,” I said, and we disentangled. I reached over
and pulled my shorts and pants back on.

She sat hunched over, like a pile of old clothes. “Oh,
God—”

“C’mon. We’re going to my room.”

“What about the bed?”

“That’s what you maid service for. Pack up, F.B. We’re
going upstairs.”

Like me, she hadn’t unpacked so it only took a few
minutes to gather up her shit. She couldn’t button her
shirt so she just held it clutched together with her
hand. What was left of her bra went in the trash.

My room was the same thing but a couple more flights up
and on the other side of the building. You can imagine
my state by the time we get there, it’s like I got the
Amazon jungle right in the crotch of my pants. It’s
hot, it’s humid, and it’s sticky and I hate it.

“Let’s clean up,” I say, heading for the bathroom.

“I’ll clean up in the morning,” she said.

“NO, you’re going to clean me up NOW!”

For a moment it looked dicey. I could see her temper in
her eyes–she was a redhead, you know (well, basically
red but with a lot of help from Clairol), and then it
broke. “Okay.”

“WHAT?”

“Yessir.”

I made her undress me and start the shower and feel the
water temperature as she undressed herself. We stepped
in, but I my back against the water. That felt so good.
I told her to wash me.

Now as I’d said, I’m normally very quiet and easy
going, but Jesus Christ, I now understood what people
were talking about. This was The Best. It wasn’t until
later that I realized that I was playing along the line
where I wasn’t being A Dick, I wasn’t being cruel; I
was just being totally self-centered and focussed
solely on me. Well, I was focussed on her, but mainly
on what she could do For Me.

It was a revelation.

She started to wash my cock, but I made her stop. “You
can’t wash that properly while it’s soft. It needs to
be hard.”

“Well–what—–yes, sir.”

She picked up a wash cloth but I said no. “Lick it.”

She scowled but knew I meant business. “Listen, it’s
50% sperm and 50% pussy lube, and you’re responsible
for both. So lick it clean, fuck-bitch.”

And Christ if she didn’t start licking, and began
rubbing with her hands, but that was okay, I wasn’t
going to be a purist. I didn’t take me a long time to
get hard. I’m not a teenager, but I can manage a couple
when I need to, and God damn the circumstances were
right.

She was actively giving me head now, and doing a fine
job. Her fingers slipped behind my balls and began
rubbing my taint. The little bitch was way too
experienced at this sort of thing.

Fuck it–might as well benefit from it.

But I didn’t want to cum in her mouth. Not now. I had a
better idea. I made her stand up and pushed her against
the wall, and spread her legs. And she was wet again!
She was a fucking nympho. I’d suspected–but I was
never *sure*.

I pushed in from behind and went balls deep. I almost
passed out from pleasure. The end of my dick felt like
I’d been sandpapered, because every little movement
sent electrical waves across the spine in the crook of
my back. I pushed her hair out of the way and let the
shower spray engulf us both as I began thrusting.

I realized she’d run a hand down to and was fiddling
with her clit–but fine, I didn’t care. Let her cum.
Let her cum with me inside her, goddamn it. I’d already
cum once so this one was taking forever, and the events
of the day and the booze and the adrenaline high were
all beating down on me now, but I kept going. My legs
began to ache, my thighs were on fire, but I just
crawled into a semi-conscious zone where I was just a
thrusting, fucking machine, and my pain was outside me.

Then I thought I felt her turn the corner, and Thank
The Lord Jesus Christ and Everything That is Holy, I
could feel it in me too. No hystrionics, but she was
panting hard and grunted a little, and began to shudder
as her pussy clamped on my cock like a vice.

Between her spasms I managed to get some semen up and
through, and it felt like my cockhead had broken off
inside her. I pumped wet, I pumped until I was long
dry, and then felt my knees buckle and fell, with her
on top of me, across the bottom of the shower.

I don’t remember anything after that.

***

I thought everything might have gone back to normal for
me, except that I woke up with her head between my
legs, my dick in her mouth. God damn, she was a nympho
whore. I remember thinking I should play the craps. How
lucky could I get?

I was too deydrated to finish, but pushed her off and
kissed her head to foot, and many places in between.
Then, seriously–time to get up. We were both starving.

She put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with some
chease-dick logo for a band I never heard of. “I hate
that outfit,” I said.

“It’s comfortable,” she said.

That’s when I realized I’d turned a corner. I was in a
zone and I could stay there. It *wasn’t* the alcohol.

It was me.

“After breakfast we’re going shopping,” I said. “We’ll
get you something good to wear.”

“But I—” and a look from me— “yes, sir.”

And that was how we found ourselves at a mall, in a
department store. We did her first, since I thought it
would be hard but it turned out to be easy. I got her a
couple of tops that looked like little more than a
leotard, and some skirts. Then I found some proper
bras–ones that would look good under a leotard top,
instead of something a sweaty soccer mom would wear
while she’s walking the dog. No panties, though. They
would just get in the way.

That went so well we went to the Men’s department. I
picked out some clothes–stuff I’d never wear at home
in a million years, but thought they looked good here.
I took a few into the dressing room to try them on, and
sent her out several times to trade and fetch. I’m
picky about what I wear.

She came back in the dressing room with the last couple
things, but I was happy. “What do you think,” I said,
modelling.

She smiled. “Yes, sir.”

God damn it she didn’t look good in that thin, tight
pullover top and that skirt. I made her put her stuff
down and we looked at ourselves in the full-length
mirror. Then I got behind her and pulled her skirt up.

She started to protest but I put my hand around her
mouth and shusshed her. My other hand reached in and
rubbed until she was wet, which didn’t take long at
all. Then I let my pants and my shorts drop to the
floor, and took her from behind in front of the mirror.
The sight of her big boobs slosh in front of that
mirror will be burned into my corneas forever.

We finished and walked outside, and I noticed several
people standing around that I’d not noticed anywhere
else, and we got some applause. A tall man appeared at
my side and said, “security. Would you please come with
me?”

So we were escorted out of the store, where we were
informed with a grin that This Sort of Thing Shouldn’t
Be Done even in Las Vegas, but from his attitude he
didn’t seem to mind.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“The mirror.”

“Oh, shit,” said F.B. “You don’t tape it, do you?”

“It’ll be destroyed,” he said. Like hell it would.

***

I had to get a B12 shot. I drank lots of fluids–water,
even, but I was in overdrive and there was just no way
it could hang on. My teen days of being round the clock
action were over. I could still manage things, but it
was taking longer (no complaints from her) and almost
nothing to show for it. Not that it didn’t feel great–
the 3rd one always felt better to me than the first.
But regardless, I was staying in control. I told her I
couldn’t go to sleep without a hard-on, which is fairly
close to the truth, so I’d drift off to sleep with her
hand or her mouth on my cock, and when I’d wake up in
the middle of the night and I was soft, I’d wake her up
to fix things.

That night I was dead. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I
finally sent f.b. down with some money to play the
tables for me and see what she could do, while my
producer friend, I’ll call him Ron, came up to have a
few drinks and shoot the shit.

He brought a gift, a “weekender” of lubes and toys that
he’d gotten as a freebie downstairs.

We’d knocked backed a few thanks to room service, when
the F.B. arrived, up $50. That would buy some booze.

“Wow, what an outfit,” Ron said. She was wearing the
top and skirt, and thigh-high stockings.

We were both eyeing her like a dog looks at a steak.

“No wonder you’re pale,” Ron said to me. “I’d be
exhausted too.”

“She’s insatiable,” I said. “I’d heard about it but I
always thought it was fairy tales.”

“Really,” Ron asked. “Like Marilyn Chambers?”

“Tell the truth,” I told her. “You are an insatiable,
cum guzzling, nympho whore, aren’t you?”

I saw a twinkle in her eye. “Yes, sir.”

“There you go,” I said, and poured her a drink to catch
up.

I began looking through the bag of stuff. “There’s some
decent stuff in here, isn’t there?” I pulled out a
couple bottles of lotion for F.B. to check out, and
then there was a purple rabbit vibe. The kind that’s a
dildo and a stem that clit stimulation as well.

F.B. picked it up and looked it over. “I always wanted
one of those.” She turned it on and it began to
vibrate.

“Try it out,” I said.

“What–where?”

“Try it out now. Over on the bed.”

She looked at Ron and blushed.

“Do it.”

She looked at me again for a long time and I just held
her eye contact, and then she broke away. “Yes, sir.”

Ron was going to say something but swallowed it as she
pulled the bedspread off and sat down. She sat back and
spread her legs, and poured some lotion on her hands to
rub across the vibe and her pussy. She laid it gingerly
across her clit for a few minutes, and then slowly,
teasingly, began pushing it in.

All you could hear anywhere in that hotel was the
humming of that vibe and the long, soft breaths from
the girl. This went on for seemed like a week, as she
maneuvered the rabbit ears around and, ultimately, onto
her clit. She shuddered from the contact.

“Should we help her out,” I asked. God damn I was
sloshed.

Ron didn’t say anything. I don’t think he saw anything
but her pussy.

I got up and managed to get over to the bed and I tore
that flimsy top off her again Well, I tore it open,
which was enough. Fuck it, there are more where that
came from. Then because the bra was too tough, I
unhooked it and pulled it off her. Now she was laying
on her back across the bed, knees in the air, with a
rabbit vibe buried up her puss.

“C’mon, Ron. Take one,” I said, and began playing with
her tit. F.B. sighed long this time, and when Ron
tentatively took the other nipple in his mouth, she
caught her breath and shuddered. In no time we were
both sucking her nipples, hands roaming across her
waist, her thighs, her shoulders, her face, as she
came.

“Holy shit,” Ron said. “I didn’t even do this shit in
college.”

I went back to the box and to see what else was there.
Scarves. A blindfold. A soft gag with a small dildo.

“Put the blindfold on.”

“What are you— yes, sir.”

She put the blindfold on, and then I went behind her
and put the dildo gag on her, dildo inside, and tied it
securely. I then tied her hands to the bed posts so she
was spread-eagled.

“Well, what’s your pleasure,” I asked.

“Seriously,” he said, wide eyed. “I make this shit, but
I don’t *live* it.”

“This may be our only chance,” I said.

“My wife doesn’t like anal.”

I handed him a jar of heavy jelly lube. “Front or
back?”

He grinned. “Front, like they do in the movies.”

He stripped in no time, and we brought her ankles up
and back as far as we dared, and he lubed up her
asshole and his cock. There was no wait for him to get
hard.

I thought he’d finish but this is why he’s a friend. We
untied her and then rebound her hands together in front
of her, and then rolled her on her side. Ron took his
place in her ass while I pushed in from the front and
we made her airtight.

We were all dehydrated at the end of that night.