Last Stop Bubbles A Lost Blondie Verse Tale Part Six
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Last Stop Bubbles: A Lost Blondie-Verse Tale, Part Seven free porn video
An Indeterminate Point In The Future
The sunlight streams through the window, making your dirty blonde locks glow shimmer like a curtain of molten metal. You’re perched naked on a stool, wiggling hot pink painted toenails, music pumping into you from a beat-up iPod held together by tape and a little bit of grace courtesy of Granny Teague’s main man in the sky.
“Lookin’ fine as hell this morning, blondie,” a voice calls up from two flights down and one building over.
You part your legs and drag out a vibrating egg. In the sun it shimmers like clear coat pottery glaze. You give it an exaggerated lick, like it’s freezer cool ice cream before winding up to fire it like a Chapman fastball across the alleyway.
“That’s the closest a girl will ever let you get to her little kitty kat, JaRome. Now scram before I call your granny about the weed you been smokin’ on the fire escape while she’s at bingo.”
“Say what?! You sold me that kush, blondie.”
“Call it a learning experience, tough guy. Never trust your dealer. Toodles.” You blow a kiss to the sound of a window slamming shut.
Just as I start to outline your cream colored form, you spin around on the stool, the perky swell of your breasts breaking my concentration. You catch me staring and give me the finger, cutting me off because I run through my clichéd laundry list of artisanal adjectives as to why those small mounds are my favorite. It never fails to rile you up, especially when I call you my small tittied Aphrodite with the violently funny temper. The moment passes and you leap off the stool and pounce on my lumpy bed with feline grace.
“Draw me like one of your French girls,” you declare, stretching out every last inch of your slim frame. “Only with a cape and red boots. Oh, and a lasso to tie up naughty little boys,” you grin coyly. “Maybe a domino mask too. And a utility belt! With storage space for sex toys! Rubbery dildos instead of batarangs for the criminals!”
I roll my eyes. “You are ruining comics for my inner kid. Stop. And capes are impractical. That movie you love should have taught you that, white girl.”
“I don’t care. Capes are majestic! Besides. It was only the men getting sucked up into airplane engines. Men are stupid and likely to die silly like that.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Differ away, jitter-bug. Just be sure to differ away into the path of wrongitude.”
I sigh and go back to painting, trying to ignore your satisfied giggles.
- - -
Out of the corner of my eye I watch you grab a Twizzler and point it at me like a drawn sword. “I’ll flog you if you don’t adhere to my demands you insolent cur!”
“Quivering.”
“As you should. I know how to use these for both killin’ and pleasure’n. Like so.”
I look up from my work as you part your bubble gum pink folds with a ruby red rope of liquorices. You lean back and sigh, pumping the candy slowly in and slowly out.
My mouth waters even as I try to ignore your wanton display.
“Not helping,” I grunt, feeling my cock start to swell uncomfortably in my jeans.
“Can’t help myself. Sugar makes me horny.”
“Everything, even tentacle porn, gets you horny.”
“True,” you moan, tucking a freshly rolled joint into the corner of your mouth. “Can’t help it though. I’m sex personified, baby.”
I mix up a shade of red but pause before the brush hits the canvas. Considering. Wondering. Thinking of red capes and red masks. Of rainbow hair swirling and spinning, and zigzagging about. Rainbow road. Broken toad. Turned. Angry Bowser to hopeful Super. Mario and Peach. Days spent on a 64 watching barbed hearts melt into malleable bits of softened lead. Emotional radiation. All blocked. At last. At last.
I set the brushes down and stare curiously, empty canvas morphed to life-like depth. It isn’t anything earth shattering. It’s not a van Gogh. But… it is something, profound even. To me at least. It’s you, captured, as you should be.
I nod, stretch, and walk over to the bed. You’re wiggling and mewling lasciviously, toes curling, teeth biting lower lip as an orgasm works its way through your petite frame. The joint, smoldering in an ash trash on the nightstand, is left abandoned and lonely, so I take a quick puff.
“Finally,” you gasp as I nudge your knees up wide and back to your chest. I blow heated pot breath over your cute little mound, grinning as you wiggle and shake.
I pull the melted remains of the liquorices from your steaming pussy with my teeth. Warm honey tinged a light redish-pink from the Twizzler leaks out and I seal my mouth over your sugared cunt, tongue burrowing in deep until a delicious scream of creative obscenities gushes from your lips in harmony with a different sort of gush on my tongue.
- - -
You’re flushed cotton candy pink when our noses finally meet, lungs rattling with scratchy, ragged gasps of oxygen. A slim hand takes hold of my erection, thumb grazing of my sensitive meat, smearing a thin film of pre-cum over the crown and down my shaft.
“Fuckin’ A. Pretty sure you were a goddamn woman in a past life,” you say breathlessly, eyebrows quirking.
“Really now? You believe in that stuff?”
“Uh-uh. I was definitely a jungle cat before this. Panther. Nice n’ sleek.”
I pull free from your grip and crawl up, slapping my heavy dick down between your tiny pink-capped peaks. I palm my chiseled pecks. “I wonder if my feminine self was as flat-chested as you? Bet I had some melon-sized tits worthy of the strip clubs.”
Your nails pinch my balls. “Don’t ruin the mood, asshole.”
I slap your hand away while you whistle a song from Wham!
“Really?” I groan.
“Always.”
I shift my hips low, center, and push deep inside your messy constricting heat, turning your annoying whistling to throaty coos of pleasure. Legs scissoring around my waist, you pull me close to whisper in my ear. “Now, there’s something I’ve been meaning to try,” you say.
I reach over and grab the still smoldering joint and give it a long pull before pressing it to your lips.
“And what’s that? Sex in a giant bucket of double bubble?”
“Wouldn’t be opposed, but no. Guess again.”
“A very public display of your… small, but lovely assets as I fuck you in the park?” I tweak your hardened nipples.
“Ice cold, shithead.” You rake your nails down my back, but the pain just makes my dick swell harder in your supernaturally talented hole.
I roll us over and palm your drum tight ass. “That awkward teenager in 29B then. The one who plays piano. Maybe you wanna rock his world with a nude sighting of this dynamite ass.” I give it a playful spank, reveling in the pleasant jiggle under my fingertips.
You chirp out a girlish giggle. “And kill him? Little kitten has asthma ya know. And definitely still toting his virginity like deadweight.”
“Really? You psychic now?”
“Omniscient. Blondie knows everyone in and around the Dubs. I’m also famous, ya know?”
“So I’ve heard. So many fucking twisted stories from the Hell’s Angels.”
“Have you now, mhmm?” You lean back on top of me, arms crossing, delicate chin resting on a closed fist. “Maybe we should invite the little kitten up here after all. Show him how blondie earned all her sexual street cred?”
“Know what they say about talking in third, right?
You squeeze your lean thighs around me. “Shut up, I’m storytelling.”
“Sure you are.” I squeeze my gluts and push up, jostling you from your steady perch.
You squeeze more tightly around my waist and add a few ripples of your talented inner muscles around my probing shaft.
Joint dangling erotically from the corner of your mouth, you continue. “I’ll sit him right here by the window, I think. Give him the kind of lap dance he’s only dreamed about until he’s nice and stiff and sweating like a whore in your Granny’s old church on Sunday morning.” Your hips roll back and forth, emphasizing your ass’s innate talents.
“And have him spunking his pants soon after?”
You smirk. “Oh, jitterbug, I’m quick. Pants off. Cock spurting in my mouth. Just in time.” You snap your fingers.
“So now you have super speed?”
Your hips wriggle with increasing speed and I have to grit my teeth and squeeze my kegels with every last bit of strength to keep from seeding your snatch early.
“Don’t I? Mhm. I think I’ll treat him to a chocolate sauce blowjob after.”
“Generous of you.”
You nod. “I’m nice like that. But I’ll also have this beautiful black cock rutting inside me at the same time. So… nice, but naughty,” you smirk.
“You’re you after all.”
“Exactly. Mmhmm. And, naturally, I’ll have to put up with his first time being a furious rabbit fuck that doesn’t last long. And he’ll refuse to look me in the eye.”
“To be a virgin again,” I laugh.
“Boys,” you sniff. “Which is why his first time will have to include you,” you flick my nose, “buried deep inside my teeny, tiny, slutty asshole at the very same time.” Each word is clipped with a deep, exaggerated moan… that isn’t as exaggerated as I first thought when I notice the flood of warm juice spilling out over my groin.
I pull the joint from your lips, give it another puff, and put it out between pinched fingers before flicking it away and pulling you into a kush flavored kiss that lances mellow yellow pleasure through every nerve ending in our bodies.
“Make a double stuffed Oreo out of you, huh?” I tease in her ear. “Veteran and virgin. Two chocolate dicks making you a sloppy, rioting mess, huh? Fucking you hood style.”
You grunt unladylike curses into my shoulder. “Uh-huh,” you whimper. “Your little cum slut.”
“Over and over again. All. Night. Long.” I whisper, timing a hard thrust to each word. “Until he’s filled this sweet little ass himself. Lapped at your buttery cunt. And finally paint you head to tiny toes with a slick coating of semen. You want that don’t you blondie?”
You nod, eyes unfocused, hair matted to your sweaty forehead as your hips sway erratically, drunkenly, a natural high courtesy of ‘storytelling.’
“And then I want you to clean me up with your tongues. Feed all that nasty spunk to me with sloppy cum-filled kisses.” Your skin pebbles as you narrate a string of increasingly decadent wants that has my cock pulsing angry, hard, and desperate for release.
“Pity I’m the selfish type though.” I stroke the pink patch of soft downy fur above your clit. “I want you all to myself.”
“I’m too much for once cock to handle,” you declare, roaring a deep moan of uninhibited pleasure.
“We’ll see about that. Now. Where were we? More immediate fantasies realized, right? Mhm. Last guess. Weird superhero role-play?”
A sly grin splits your lips as you come down from your orgasm.
“Hot.”
“You going to tie me up with a golden lasso?
“Nuh-uh.”
You pull off me and my cock hits my chest with a wet slap.
“Ever seen Deadpool?”
- - -
I’m on hands and knees, fists clenched in the damp sheets of my bed.
“Careful now,” you giggle. “Liking anal play this much may turn you gay,” you tease.
“Fuck you.”
“You first, baby,” you grin against my ass before dipping low and worming your hot tongue back inside me.
The pleasure sends bolts of lightning straight to my throbbing prick. Shit like this getting out could still get you killed around here. But fuck if it doesn’t feel impossibly good to have your tongue massaging my ass while a warm sticky hand pumps my dick with slow, lazy strokes.
“I knew you’d like it,” you say. “I’m well practiced with the ladies. They also give me five stars.”
An image of you parked behind a voluptuous little Spanish girl helps distract me from what’s coming. “Proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea.” You give one last lick before pulling back. There’s a rustle of sheets as you leave the bed and a creaking of springs when you return.
A warm, slick digit probes at my anal ring before pushing slowly inside, causing me to stiffen.
“The fuck?” I grunt.
“You didn’t think a little anal tongue bath was all, did you?” You palm my muscular ass. “Just the beginning, jitterbug.” Your finger pushes all the way in to the knuckle, seeking out the bundle of nerves around my prostate. “I’m a pro. Trust me?”
“Don’t have any choice,” I grit out. “I’m kinda… compromised right now.”
“Oh stop being dramatic. It’ll feel amazing in a sec.”
You start out slow, pumping your finger carefully, rotating in small circles over several minutes until, satisfied, you pull it back out.
A throaty moan sounds behind me as a metal buckle clicks into place.
I flinch.
“Fuck. I love a good double-ended dildo. I’m so going to ruin you for other women, Jalen,” you whisper in my ear as you take hold of my stiffening erection.
“Hell no, you crazy white girl,” I grunt as a rubbery phallic device slaps down on my ass. “Fingers are one thing… that thing’s fucking huge.”
“Oh stop being a little bitch.” You squeeze my dick. “I’ve been taking far larger up my teeny tiny ass for years. This is nothing. Just relax and let blondie pop your anal cherry and take you straight to hell.”
I clench the sheets as the bulbous, rubbery head, slick with lube and your warm juices, presses against my muscular ring.
Hell. That about sums it. Granny Teague is probably waiting to whoop my ass when I die. Not only do I like fucking around with fucked up white girls, I’m letting the most fucked up of fucked up white girls fuck me. Literally. Ain’t that a thing.
You grab hold of my hips and push the fake phallic device through my loosened ring.
It’s a strange feeling at first, a weird fullness that leaves me breathless. A liquid sigh of dark deviance slips from your lips like water when the dildo bottoms out. You pause, hips glued to my ass. When my breath evens out, and my grip on the sheets loosen, you start to move, pulling a fraction of an inch out before plunging slowly back in. After a few minutes that span an eternity, I begin to feel it.
It’s a hedonistically depraved pleasure that frightens me with its electrical intensity. Each slow plunge against my prostate sparks an eruption of nerve endings into action that feeds along the road to my cock until my entire body is humming with dark energy.
“Told you you’d like, baby,” you purr.
I don’t want to, but I do. The one prison fear everyone has outside of getting shanked at night is being eviscerated. Smoothed over. Just me and me and the sun and a soft bed.
Small hands work their way up and down my legs and you give my ass an appreciate swat. “Such a tight little virgin asshole you have.” Fingers curl around my cock, corkscrewing to the beat of your thrusts. “Wouldn’t it be just amazing if this were real? Just for a day. A thick, hot, veiny cock pumping away at your de-virgined ass. Ya know, I’ve always wondered what it’s like when men fuck a girl. When they fuck me. When they cram themselves inside my slutty little asshole. When they cry their triumphant release and fill me up with their thick cream. They’re always so proud. So damn content to the point they sometimes fall asleep right on top of me. Must feel nice. Real nice.”
You speed up, drowned in raunchy enthusiasm and I lose track of the world.
“A pretty little blondie with a thick dick, giving you pleasure you never imagined. Pumping your sweet little hole with hot spunk.”
“You’re one twisted fucking bitch, aren’t you, blondie?”
“And you love it. Just like you love my fat cock drilling you.”
“Whatever you say, psycho.”
“I prefer to let the dick do all the talking,” you moan, thrusts turning wild and erratic. Soon enough, my grunts of filthy pleasure join yours in a cacophony of corrupt, animalistic music. Our shared heat boils and I feel sweat bubbling up from under my skin, sliding down my back. Feel it drip from your chin, droplets breaking over my hips as you fuck me.
My cock is a steel pillar of strength, swollen to the point of painful and pleasurable sensitivity. And your hand is a silken glove, stroking furiously.
“Come for me, jitterbug,” you sing behind me. “Splash your thick spunk over all over my hand so we can eat it up together. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Taste your salty cum after getting fucked in the ass by a crazy white chick?”
“You’re demented.”
You pause, the bulbous head of the dildo buried just inside my tight ring. “Deliciously so. It’s one of my better qualities.” You stroke my penis, tracing the thick vein ready to burst from sensory overload.
My hips twitch. And, though I’d never admit to any other company, this brief pause has me desperate for completion, for your hips to finish this wicked dance.
You let out a dark laugh. “No need to say a thing, baby. This ass of yours knows just what it wants.” The dildo burrows back inside my superheated ass, bumping against my prostate, sending the raw, corrupt pleasure coursing back through me.
“Fuck,” I grunt.
“What’s that?” you ask sweetly.
“Fuck me like you mean, dammit.”
“Good boy.” You pat my ass and mirror the rhythm I employ when I’m close to nutting up your slutty asshole. Your hand glides along my shaft with renewed vigor and a litany of dark depravity spills from your voice. Things you want me to do to you afterwards, until the moon rises up into the sky. You sing debauched stories of sweaty gangbangs, copious blasts of scalding cum from a half dozen hood cocks turning you into a drenched, glorious mess. Sucking the spunk from abused pussies and reddened asses.
It’s all too much: the crude imagery, the talented hand, and the thrusting dildo. My groin tightens, balls compress, and my dick spits liquid white lava into my chest. You aim my cock, giggling all the way, and some of it splashes up my neck and over my chin before I’m drained dry and the rest just bubbles out over your hand.
“Fuck,” we harmonize. “What I wouldn’t give for that sensation,” you add, a fleeting drop of jealousy in your voice as you hand wrings the last spurt of cum from me.
- - -
You catch me before I face plant the bed, surprising strength coursing through your thin arms. You flip me over on my back and plant your pillowed ass low on my chest, licking the stains of semen from your fingers like a content kitten.
I’m wiped out and sore, happy to just watch you in the dying orange light of the Oakland sun. But when you lean down and cradle my head in your hands, I’m rising up, seeking out your lush pink lips. I don’t mind the still warm semen your tongue pushes into my mouth. In fact, it spurs me on, fueling passion and a rejuvenated need.
It feels good to feel again. The good stuff anyway. The stuff that makes you feel alive for more than a fleeting moment in time, stronger than heroine and twice as addicting.
Hate is exhausting, guilt more so. And given who you are and given who we were both connected to on a night a little more than fives years ago, those emotions should still be burning inside. Lashing out. And yet, in your own quirky way, no matter how much I tried to ignore it, you eased those pains. Cooled the scars. Not bad for a white girl. Granny Teague couldn’t find a great deal to hate about that, though she for damn sure could try.
- - -
Dozing.
A simple thing we take for granted.
A brother can’t doze in prison.
Just like a gazelle can’t doze in a den of lions.
You’ll wake up with a shank in your side.
If you wake up at all.
Dozing. Shit feels nice. Makes you feel human rather than less than.
And dozing is even better when there’s a warm feminine hand that pulls you out of it, strokes your dick back to raging life.
A pale white leg worms between mine as you settle into your status as the tiny big spoon. You nibble my shoulder. Tell me you have just the song to ‘dance’ to.
You feed iPod buds into my ears and crank the juice.
The Bee Gees crackle to life and your hips grind to the funky groove of the psychedelic 70s.
“What the hell, blondie?” If Granny Teague caught me listening to Disco, she’d whoop my black ass. The whoring of funk, she’d say. The music of fornicating white girls looking to get knocked up and pinch you for everything you got, all on a dance floor that’d give you seizures.
Granny Teague ran on hotter air than a snake oil salesman during her reign, but she had a mean backhand with the switch. Messing around with white girls was worth it. Disco? Hell nah.
“You dance like a white boy, baby, when you think no one is watching.”
“The fuck I do.” I try to pull around, but your grip on my shaft tightens and I have no desire for self-castration. I happen to like sex way too much for that shit.
“Prove it, Dancin’ Man.” You grin against my back.
- - -
You bite your lip, trying to pull off the look of virgin innocence. You’ve got the white skin, the yellow hair, and the tiny ass tits. The look you’re going for though is all undone by the talented grip of your cunt around my cock as we dance to euphoric lust.
“Maybe… I… was… wrong,” you gasp, body shuddering, hips grooving hard to my ‘white boy’ motion.
“I’m a woman’s man, no time to talk!” I falsetto, covering your mouth and cutting off your air supply.
You giggle and grunt and quiver all at once, eyes rolling up hard like a shark devouring its meal. Rasp out a ‘stayin’ alive,’ when I allow the return of oxygen. Rasp it out louder when I slide free from your buttery cunt. Scream it out one final time as I lift your hips so I can wedge my dick between your milk white cheeks. Blast away at your bubblegum asshole. Seed it like it’s the goddamn Fertile Crescent until I can slide in friction free, back and forth, to the Bee Gees’ dying chorus.
‘Stayin alive.’ Yea. I guess we are. Best way we can. Which is more than most in the hood can say.
- - -
“Well?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Think faster.”
“Can’t rush a great mind.”
“Is that what you have?”
“Saved your black ass didn’t I?”
“That’s a credit to your magic pussy. Not the brain, blondie.” I ruffle your hair and you elbow me in the side.
“You made me… taller?”
“Nah, blondie. You’re just as you are.”
You look sideways at me. “You’re full of shit.”
“I did think about using my creative license and giving you a boob job though.”
You pinch my legs.
“Seriously?” I pull your naked form into my lap and lay back. “You know I love these?” I reach around and palm your small peaks, tweaking the nipples and whispering all those artisanal words you hate, and a few in Russian that I picked up from Annabelle.
I can feel the heat ratcheting back up as you flush crimson. “Still embarrassed having the best tits in town?”
“Shut it, asshole,” you moan.
“Then tell me what you think.”
“I wanted red boots and a cape and a lasso… You give me tiny rainbow boy shorts and a sports bra. And a belt made of double bubble. What the fuck am I?”
“A superhero.”
“Riiiight.”
I can sense the skepticism. “It’s you. All you. You save people through connection.”
“You mean sex. It’s clearly sex. I’ma Sex Hero. Or Sex Godess? Mmm. With a Batman-style utility belt of… gum.”
“Right.”
“And you say I’m the weird one? You’re certifiable.”
“You love it.” I run a finger down the pink strip of hair between your legs. “Last Stop Bubbles. You know I used to fear endings. Scared to death of them. There’s something absolute about endings ya know? At least, I used to think that as a kid. Let’s be honest. Endings suck. Even the good ones. Mean’s the shows over. The lights are out. It’s why what we have is never enough. We just refuse to be content. Think about it.”
“I guess so.”
“I’m doing a shit job of explaining.”
“Duh.”
“Never said I was good with words. Paint and canvas much more my style.”
“You sure bout that?”
I give you a pinch.
“Hey.”
“We’ve even now,” I grin, trailing kisses up your neck.
“What’s my superpower then?”
“You can squirt paralytic goo from your pussy.”
“So I’m like, a depraved Spider-Woman now?”
“Fine. Chew gum and form anything you want out of it.”
“That’s fucking weird.”
“Then it suits you.”
“Mhmm. Sooo… can I float around on like… a cloud made of bubble gum?”
“Now you’re getting into it.”
“And make giant bubbles that float high in the air. And that’s where I fuck my enemies silly.”
“Enemies?”
“Gotta have a villain. Someone idiot with super powers made of mints. My arch-nemesis. Call her Minty Fresh! She hurts thin mints like a boss!”
“Now you’ve gone too far.”
“I can go farther.”
“Maybe we should rethink this.”
“No, I think it’s growing on me,” you laugh excitedly.
“That’s not the only thing,” I add. The giggles wracking your slim body have me sporting a fresh erection.
You grab a rope of liquorices from the nightstand. “Looks like I need to whip you into submission again like a good little boy.”
“You don’t have any powers.”
You spin around and inhale my erection. “Yet,” you mumble wetly around a mouthful of cock.
-/END\-
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