Carrie Catches Herself A "Unicorn" free porn video

1.

When I met Carrie, I was perhaps at my lowest point in my dealings with women. If I'd have met Carrie at any other time, I might've had the good sense to get out, or not get involved. As it stood-- I was vulnerable, and desperate-- and for all of her faults, Carrie was quite attractive, masterful-- even insane in bed, and cunningly manipulative.

Carrie was the first woman I'd been with in a long time who was more sexually experienced than I was, and (so far) has been the oldest women I've ever been with. I was in my late 20s at the time, and she was nearing her 50s-- and even though she was still incredibly sexy and attractive, and at times could even appear or seem like a younger woman, it was apparent that she had lived a long and sometimes hard life. I came to understand that Carrie had been in many abusive relationships-- and had had more than her share of d**gs and alcohol in her time, so she had a hardened, matronly look about her. There was something about this hardened look she had cultivated combined with her stunning figure that was intoxicating. Add also her vast experience with men of all kinds, and the fact that she was a strong and oftentimes intimidating woman, the notion of intercourse with Carrie proved too tempting to side-step, even if it might've been wiser to avoid her. As it stood-- rather than avoid her, I confronted her head on. And lived to tell the tale.

But she was trouble. More trouble than I realized when I met her-- and even though I came to realize how much trouble she was, something tells me I still never learned how dangerous she could be. Despite everything that happened, though-- it's hard to say I regret any of it. It came very close to feeling like hell for a short time while I was... involved with her, but she provided me with an experience I will never forget. I'm just lucky I was able to get away. It was a near thing at the end.



2.

My relationships with women had fallen into a well-worn, almost grooved pattern at this point in my life. In my late 20s-- I suddenly found myself unemployed, alone, with very few prospects. As a bachelor who didn't have much to spend his money on, and who was a reliable employee before the company I worked for went belly up and bankrupt, I had managed to save up enough funds to live off of while I decided what to do with my life, or wait for the right job to cross my path. It was either refreshing, or pathetic, that I somehow began to resemble the man I was in my early 20s-- practically a k**-- than I was the man who I had become a few short months ago when the last failed relationship I attempted turned its back on me and walked out the door, just as they all had.

I thought I knew what my problem was. The truth was that I only partially understood what the problem was. But at the time, I was convinced that I had it figured out, even if I had no clue how to move past it. I was constantly pursuing the wrong woman. Emotionally unavailable women, self destructive women, women who I knew would be bad for me, or women who tempted me away from happy, productive relationships into tumultuous sexual affairs that were lustful, self-serving, and-- outside of the privacy of the bedroom-- almost totally meaningless. But that wasn't all. I also had a tendency to pursue women who I could likewise tempt and seduce into lustful, ill advised affairs that went nowhere. I had fallen for women who had destroyed me, but I had in my own turn destroyed other women. Some had just barely been eighteen, just starting out in life. Now that I was alone once again, after having caused a great deal of hurt in someone else because of my own selfish desire to satiate my male urges, I felt appropriately guilty. The fact that I didn't have a job to go to, or any friends to interact with in the outside world, had only served to further isolate me in my depression.

In my younger days, in situations like the one I currently found myself in-- I would hit two things really hard. The gym, and the bars. Without a job, friends, or a woman to distract me-- I spent my days working out. Although I always kept a pretty tight reign on my physical appearance, after a few weeks of being unemployed and without companionship, my body was quickly bouncing back to its former glory. This helped me feel a little better about myself, and would hopefully get me on track to meet a girl sometime soon. This time I promised that I would meet the right girl, and that I wouldn't fuck around-- I'd really be a good guy, committed, and not let my cock get the better of me and go wandering out into the night seeking forays with other women.

Promises, promises...

In the evenings, out of boredom and with the dim hope of meeting someone, my misguided judgement led me to the bars downtown. At the time, I lived in what one hundred years ago used to be a wild west frontier town-- and as such, had a historically famous alley of roughly a dozen historic bars. Suffice it to say, I grew up in a drinking town, and once you turned 21 there was plenty of opportunity to find somewhere to sit and imbibe. Weekends usually saw a rush of people of all ages out to dance and have a good time-- and was the best chance at striking up a conversation with a local girl. Might not have been the highest caliber of lady-- but there were a lot of attractive women in town, and you could do a lot worse. During the weekdays, however-- the dives were sparse, and occupied mostly with chronic alcoholics wasting away on a series of bar stools. I should know. I found myself becoming one of them. It was a wonder I was never picked up by the police. I learned a long time ago to not drive drunk, but when you live over a mile away from the downtown bars, a drunken stumble home was rife with opportunities for mischief. Perhaps it was my muscular build that helped keep me out of trouble, but it was just as likely to have been stroke after stroke of good luck that kept me out of trouble. That was until I decided to try The Haunt on a night I had never been before, and met Carrie.



3.

The Haunt was a themed country dive bar-- dimly lit with neon florescent and year round Christmas tree lights. It was the kind of place where you might get lucky and have some friendly fellow patron buy everybody a round-- or find yourself the target of some slurred, drunken aggression for some unintended misdeed. It was a Wednesday.

There was the main bar-- mostly empty save for a middle aged couple near the end-- a completely vacant dance floor-- and six billiards table, one of which was hosting a game. Along the wall was a small ledge-- just wide enough for a drink-- and a series of tall stools. I came in, ordered a rye whiskey and a light beer in as few words as possible and without even acknowledging the bartender, and kept my tab open.

It's funny how people work. I had come here to have some exposure to the outside world, so that I wasn't a complete shut in-- and also in the hopes that I might find someone to help me forget about myself for a while. Despite why I told myself I came to the bars night after night, I never met anybody. I thought I was getting out and being social. The truth was that I hardly ever looked up from my drink, even to notice the bartender I was ordering it from, much less to see if there were any eligible bachelorettes in the place.

I walked my drinks back to a stool around the perimeter wall and sat myself down for what was likely going to be a short-long night. I nursed my drinks-- hoping to make them last-- and tore at the label on my beer bottle absent mindedly.

"'Nother round, baby?" a sultry voice asked, slightly hoarse-- as though thirsty. I looked up and saw her-- the bartender who had given me my drink. Even though I had hardly noticed her when I first arrived-- it was hard to believe, as she was hard to miss. She was just shy of being tall-- wide shouldered and formidable. Dark black-red dyed hair, with a few random streaks of her natural silvery hair speckled here and there. She was tan, had dark green eyes-- thick black mascara, and a sexy face that would've been painfully beautiful in her youth. She had a clever mouth, straight white teeth, and dimples in her cheeks.

Just as noticeable as her stunning good looks was her full, buxom, muscular hourglass figure. She looked strong, but not bulky. She was soft in all the right places, but firm everywhere else. She had large, prominent breasts, squeezed into a tight black tank top with sequins in the shape of angel wings on the back. A long tattoo ran from her middle finger and ran all the way up her arm-- a single vine with offshoots of leaves and flowers, wrapped around her finger, ran up the back of her hand, around her wrist, up to her elbow, and disappeared up her arm and underneath her shirt over her shoulder. It made you wonder where it ended.

She noticed me staring. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I said-- "Not ready for a refill. Yet."

"Well you just let me know," she said-- eyeing me, with a little grin on her lips. "I'll keep my eye out for you." She turned and walked away back toward the bar. My eyes followed her as she walked-- the sway of her hips, the gentle back and forth, up and down rolling of her ass in her tight faded jeans. She turned over her shoulder to look at me, and caught me watching her walk away. She was smiling, though-- and besides, it doesn't hurt to look.

I admired the bartender for a moment-- imagining dimly what I might say or how things might go if I decided that I wanted to pursue her welcoming, flirtatious glances. I decided against it. I came here to drink-- and to try and remember what life was like when I still had normal relationships with women that weren't predicated on sex alone. The way I saw it-- the only reason why I was alone in a bar at all, even thinking about sticking it in a middle aged bartender was because I wasn't alone with a girl who was right and good for me that I loved-- who loved me back; perhaps in a home of our own, starting a family, and living an honest, clean life. Because I wasn't there, with her-- whoever she was-- I was here, with this bartender. And I had to decide for myself what I wanted, and how to get it. If I wanted to spend my life fucking bartenders who shoot me hopeful glances, that was one thing. If I wanted something more-- something lasting... I had to figure out how that all worked, and what would get me there.

I wasn't aware of it then, but I was setting myself up for self-sabotage. Alcohol doesn't tend to make one err on the side of long term gains for short term sacrifices. And the longer I sat against the wall nursing my whiskey and sipping my beer, the more I noticed the bartender wasn't just shooting me meaningful glances. She was downright eye-fucking me from her place behind the counter. I realized how alone the two of us were-- not completely, but mostly. And as egotistic and self-centered as it sounded, I couldn't ignore the fact that I was the best looking guy in the place, standard objective classifications of attraction taken into account. And by that rationale, she was the sexiest girl this bar had to offer at this particular time, too. Perhaps at most particular times. And she looked as though she knew exactly what she had to offer and what she wanted, and apparently that seemed to include me.

I could've left then, but I didn't. Instead, I finished my drinks suddenly and quickly. She watched me do it. I then got up out of my isolated bar stool and walked my empty glass and bottle back to the bar and 'bellied up' as they say. I told myself that talking and flirting weren't the same thing as one night stands or self-destructive co-dependency. That's what I thought. I thought I'd have a little fun talking to a hot woman and be on my way; the short term satisfaction delayed for long term happiness with the eventual girl of my dreams.

"Nother round?" she asked again, same meaningful grin on her lips.

"Yeah, I think I'm ready for a refill."

"Same?"

"Just the whiskey for now."

"Double?" she asked, hardly asking at all-- wavering the question at the end of the word between statement and inquiry.

"Sure," I said; saying 'no' just felt wrong somehow.

She poured right in front of me.

"You know, you don't have to sit over there by the wall-- I won't bite. Not yet."

"Well-- if not then I may as well sit back over there," I said, smiling.

"Fine. You'll have to wait until later, though. Cameras."

"Never seen you here, before--" I said.

"Started not too long ago. Newbies get the shitty shifts. Working my way to weekends."

"So you really are working for the weekend?"

"Uh. Yeah-- you could call it that."

"My name's Kevin," I said--

"Carrie. And actually I kind of already know who you are..."

I blinked. "Oh?"

"Yeah. It's nothing weird, though. I work with Jenny sometimes. She says you and her used to have a thing..."

The name dug in my gut like a dagger. Jenny. The sister of a girl I was dating and lived with when I first moved out of my hometown-- before coming back. It was ironic that this should come up at this particular time, as Jenny was exactly the type I was drinking to forget-- and hopefully move past.

Carrie must've noticed the look on my face. "That bad, huh?"

"Uh. Just-- a lot of history, there."

"Well she speaks very highly of you..."

"Is that sarcastic?"

She laughed. "No. It wasn't meant to be. Is that so surprising?"

"Maybe not..." I said--then, more nervously, "She's not here now, is she?"

"No. She worked earlier."

"And she told you about me?"

Carrie bobbed her head left and right in a half-nod, half-shake that meant neither 'yes' or 'no'. "Girls chat. Y'know. Especially two girls who've lived in this town a long time and know a lot of the same people," and then, as if trying to reassure me, "Really it was nothing bad."

I relaxed a little, and sipped my whiskey.

"So you're from here then?" I asked.

"I'm from Gallup originally. But I've lived here-- around fifteen years. You?"

"Born and raised. Can't seem to make it out of this town."

"There are worse places," she said. "But still just bad enough to still be fun."

"I suppose you're right. Still-- small enough that even complete strangers know who you are half the time..."

She laughed. "That's true. Everybody knows everybody around here," then, with a sideways glance that was sharp enough to do some damage, she added--"You know what she told me?"

I looked at her. She really would've been beautiful ten years ago. She said she moved here fifteen years ago. At that time, she would've looked like an angel. She still had it in her-- but the years had come and gone and obscured some of that youthful beauty she must've used to have a double-ration of. At least she still had some of it left.

"What did she tell you?"

"How did she put it-- she said... you were the nicest bad guy she ever knew."

"Well. She should know. She tempted me to cheat on her own sister with her right after she moved in with us. I tried my best to resist but in the end... well, we can only withstand so much pressure."

"And how long did that take?"

"Uh. Maybe three hours?"

She whistled. "You did good to last that long. Don't beat yourself up about it, too much. Jenny's a good lookin' girl. I've seen pictures of her from a few years back-- hell, I would've fucked her brains out."

"Does she look much different?"

Carrie shrugged. "She's happy now. At least, that's what she says." It didn't answer the question-- but in a way, it said everything I needed to know.

"Anyway, when a girl like her gets it in her head that she wants something, she gets it. Sooner or later. I should know..." Carrie smiled her seductive smile again. Given the context, it made me nervous-- weakened my willpower. I sipped my whiskey again.

Noticing the silence, her tone changed. "Give me a sec," she said-- then did a lap around the bar, asking if any of the guests needed a refill. I watched her as she went-- first to the other couple sitting at the end of the bar-- then to the guys playing pool. God, she looked unbelievable in her tight tank top and torn up jeans. She was the complete opposite of the kind of girls I'd gotten mixed up with lately. Katie and Ash were young, petite-- inexperienced. Carrie was middle aged, full figured, and spoke with authority. She also did remind me of Jenny-- who had been young, had a petite waist, but unlike Katie and Ash had a full figured bust, and was more experienced. Those were some wild days-- hiding from her sister, my long time girlfriend, who didn't know what to do with my big dick or my intense hunger for sex. But her younger sister, Jenny-- she knew what to do. It had led me to one of my first big ruins with women-- among the first of a seemingly never ending chain that always seemed to lead me here-- with women like Carrie who you knew were nothing but trouble. My mind began to swirl with the burning liquid in my glass. If I wasn't careful, Carrie could become another link in that chain. I told myself to take out a 20, leave it on the bar and walk out. What are you doing? I asked myself. Leave now before it becomes any more of a certainty.

Carrie returned. "You still good, baby?" Such a professional. I lifted my glass and nodded. Carrie winked at me. She may have been in her 40s, but she had energy-- a spring in her step. She flipped her hair around, revealing a fairy tattoo she had behind her left ear, and reached into a mini fridge to pull out two beers. She popped the lids off the top, quickly turned to smile at me, and walked back to the pool players.

She stood and chatted with them for a few minutes-- polite conversation. Perhaps a little flirtatious, but just friendly. Laughter. Meanwhile, I looked at the door. My whiskey was almost empty. Maybe it was time to go...

"'Nother double, sweetie?"

I looked up. She had the bottle of whiskey already in her hand. Saying no just felt-- rude.

"Sure. Last one."

"Ppphh," she scoffed-- "C'mon. Stay and keep me company. Heck, keep me safe, you never know what's gonna happen around here some nights. Jenny told me that you were very strong..."

She pushed the glass in my direction, biting her lip-- really eye-fucking me now.

"How late are you here 'til?" I asked.

"Last call is at 1:45. Close at two. I usually head home around 2:15 on a night like tonight," then, with a meaningful look-- "Why?"

All the sudden the ball was in my court. I could decide to go on, or take my own advice and back-pedal. I looked at Carrie. I had been with a decent amount of women at this time in my life-- but none quite like her. I could tell even then that she would be an experience. A handful. Maybe even a woman who could dish out just as much as I was capable of giving. Maybe that would be worth having, at least once. Just once...

"When do you usually go to sleep?" I asked.

Her sexy grin again. She leaned forward against the bar closer to me. I could smell her cheap perfume. "Depends. Onnnn... if anything is keeping me up."

"Maybe I could keep you up."

"I'm sure I can keep you up."

I took another small sip of my whiskey. The familiar burn, the swimming of thoughts and desire mashing into a single goal beginning to form like a ball of lust again in my stomach. I felt my crotch begin to gently throb in my pants.

"Fine," I said "I've got nothing to do tomorrow," I grinned back at her. The dye was cast. Everything that happened after this point was just an inevitable matter of course, both of us playing our prescribed parts.


4.

"Brr! It's so cold out..." Carrie said, pulling her heavy coat up around her as she locked the back door to the bar. We were standing in the alley in back of the building and the night was nearly silent and shockingly cold. We could see our breath hanging in the air at our every exhalation and spoken word. "Do you have a car?"

"Yes, but. I walked here tonight. Don't wanna get popped, y'know?"

With a heavy click the bar door locked shut. She turned to face me, and I was once again struck by her beauty-- so stunning and incredibly sexy, but just on the verge of being totally eclipsed by old age, fast approaching--nipping at her heels. It wouldn't be long now before her beauty or good looks would become an afterthought--a memory, something you had to look at old photos to see. As she currently was, she could conceivably pass for her late 30s, but it was a stretch. And yet the final brilliant flicker of her beauty and sexuality seemed to burn more brightly now that it approached it's end. There was a sense when you looked into her eyes that she was painfully aware of all of this-- the dwindling of her beauty, the remaining heavy burn of her profound sexual hunger, and the sad but slow acceptance of her coming old age. But for now at least she could ignore it-- especially now with a young handsome man to accompany her home.

"Oh. Yeah-- I know what you mean."

"You don't have a car?" I asked.

"No. DUI last year. Cheaper to just get rid of the car than to pay for the goddamn breathalyzer. My place isn't far."

"Want my coat?" I offered-- feeling chivalrous, but secretly hoping she would decline.

She paused. "Won't you be cold?"

I paused in return, suddenly wishing I could take my offer back. "Yeah, but if you're really cold--"

"I'm freezing," she insisted.

"Well. Here--" I said, beginning to unbutton my coat and slipping it off my shoulders. "You may need to wear it under yours--"

Carrie similarly began to shed her large, heavy coat. She looked incredible, but frigid, in her black tank top and tight fitting, torn up jeans. "Hold this..." she handed me her coat as she snatched mine out of my outreached arms and quickly wrapped herself up in it-- my close-fitting, dark grey wool pea coat. Then, retaking her larger, fluffier coat, slipped it over mine-- and voila! She was now double layered while I stood in my tight-fitting muscle shirt. She sighed relief.

"Ah! Thank you-- much better. Smells good, too," she said, giving me a once over look. "C'mon-- let's get you back to my place so we can warm you up." And off we went into the night.

Carrie had yelled out 'last call' quarter to two as I sipped another double whiskey she had poured for me. Then, as she was nearing her close-- she asked me sweetly to wait for her out back.

"Maybe you can clear up some questions I had about you and Jenny," Carrie had said. "She told me some things that were-- kind of hard to believe..." the tone in her voice was suspicious and doubtful, but I knew precisely what she was referring to. Despite everything that happened between Jenny and I-- including her sudden and seemingly inexplicable distance and departure from my life after our short but intense affair was discovered by her sister-- it was interesting to hear that Jenny had supposedly had positive things to report to her new friend and co-worker, Carrie. Jenny never would've guessed that Carrie and I would somehow meet-- and that Carrie would have an opportunity to get my take, to confirm or deny anything that Jenny had claimed about me. And I thought I had an idea as to what those claims might've been. It was hard to imagine how much Jenny would've exaggerated. My affair with Jenny really solidified my a****listic lust-- and throughout our affair I became increasingly determined to work, train, and perfect my sexual abilities. Once, around the time when Jenny and I had really begun to hit our stride in the bedroom together-- she turned to me, dripping sweat and breathing heavy, totally naked and ravished-- and said, "You fuck better than most male porn stars that I've seen in videos." Her words always stuck with me in particular because, once I had set my mind to it, it was precisely what I was after. When I first started fucking Jenny-- now years ago-- it was my intention to fuck her like a porn star. It was my goal. And together, day after day, night after night, after her sister-- my girlfriend-- would go to bed at night, Jenny and I would fuck like we were possessed; I would practice everything on her, over and over again-- edging myself to climax and stopping just short in order to prolong the experience as long as our endurance could allow. I committed myself to strengthening every muscle in my body so that I could be capable of doing more and more. And she in turn was a perfect, young, stunning dark haired porn starlet, just barely able to take everything I could give. Then-- all at once, our affair was discovered by her sister, and everything quickly fell apart. It wasn't long until Jenny drifted away and left me as well. Ever after, it was one girl after another-- all of them over-matched when confronted with my techniques and desires, my sculpted body, and my large cock. Not to say I didn't enjoy any of the other girls after Jenny-- cute little virgin Kate, or sultry Ash-- but neither of them were capable of taking me at my absolute best. So I had let myself go a bit, and I had begun to question what kind of relationship I wanted, and sex suddenly began to feel less and less important-- and perhaps even a part of my life that was in the rear-view mirror.

Then, by chance, I met Carrie-- who knew of my reputation even before I even knew she existed, much less knew her name. And at just the time in my life when I had really begun working on my body again, and felt nearly back to my old self. And she was just the kind of woman who might be able to take me back to what I felt with Jenny, maybe a little more. As we began walking down the dark alleyway in the direction of her place, the desire to really let myself go crazy on Carrie and fuck her brains out harder than I had with any other girl in recent memory grew within me. With every step toward her bedroom, the desire seemed to magnify within me.

Perhaps she sensed this as we walked by the brief silence between us.

"I wasn't really expecting company tonight-- I hope you don't mind if my place is a little messy..." she laughed lightly as she offered her apology.

"Doesn't bother me," I said. "I'm usually more comfortable in places that aren't spotless anyway."

"Yeah. Well, my place is pretty far from spotless, so..."

"It's no problem."

Another pause. "So. Anyway I was saying earlier that our mutual acquaintance Jenny had some interesting things to say about your guys' relationship. I figured-- as long as I had you-- may as well get your take."

"Sure."

"And, I mean-- some of this was pretty personal. I hope you don't mind that she told me and if you don't wanna answer that's okay, too..." The way she said it made it seem as though what she really wanted to hear was that I would be honest and answer all her questions, no matter how 'personal'.

"I don't care. I'll tell you the truth. I've got no reason to lie about anything."

"Well I mean-- some of it just sounded. Y'know, sometimes some girls can kind of exaggerate things they've done or guys they've been with. It's okay-- we all do it. I've done it."

"What did she say?"

"She said-- well, first of all-- she said you more than anybody else she's ever been with could really fuck like a porn star. And that you had a cock bigger than most porn stars she's seen, too."

"So what do you wanna know?"

"Well. I just wanna know-- what you think about what she said. Is it true?"

A sense of hopefulness in her voice. I turned to look at her and found that same hopefulness in her eyes. She wanted it to be true. A small blade of her dark, red wine colored hair was blown diagonally down her face from the wind, but she made no effort to right it.

I laughed. "I can't say if I 'fuck like a porn star' or not, but... I don't know why I'm going to tell you this, but, even before I met Jenny I began to wonder if I had a problem with sex. Like, if I was a sex addict. Because I love fucking-- and not just fucking, but I love that feeling of totally losing myself in sex and letting myself become an a****l. It feels incredible in the moment but I always fucking regret it afterwards because it has destroyed my life many times and usually destroys the girls' life, too, because the only way I fuck 'like a porn star' how Jenny puts it is if I treat the girls I'm with like they're a****ls too. And the thing is-- in my experience-- it works. I become an a****l, and I turn her into an a****l-- and together we just go crazy and fuck our brains out and it's incredible and awful all at the same time. When I was with Jenny-- I made it a point to try and fuck like a porn star, and I guess I did... but I cheated on Jenny's sister with her, and it felt amazing at the time but it left my whole life in shambles. Before Jenny there was a girl named Jessica-- and I practically ruined her marriage with her husband fucking her in their house, in their bed... turning her against him. And after Jenny, I took advantage of a virgin girl, totally ruining her and possibly ruining sex with anyone else for her for the rest of her life-- and then denigrated and humiliated a lesbian girl who was curious about what it was like to have sex with a guy... it's just been one mess after another, to be honest. But-- I guess to answer your question-- yeah. I fucking love sex. I love it so much it ruins my life and the lives of the girls I'm with. Because when I fuck a girl, I want her to never enjoy anything less than me ever again."

Carrie remained staring at me as we walked. I felt her eyes on me, felt vulnerable from my confession-- but also relieved. It meant that-- if Carrie and I were going to go through with whatever it was we had in mind-- she would at least know what I was capable of, somewhat, so that she could decide for herself if that's what she wanted-- or maybe... maybe even help me move past it. Was that too much to hope for?

"Wow," she said at last. "Yeah. That kind of makes sense... Jenny said that you were so good it was kind of infectious and that she didn't really recognize herself after a while. She said it felt good but it was also really, really damaging."

That hurt. It hurt because it was true, because I felt the same way.

"What about the other part, though?" Carrie asked.

"What other part?"

"The part about you having a big cock. Jenny said--"

"She said what?"

"I mean... it's ridiculous."

I said nothing, but I turned to look at Carrie-- a look that indicated that I was ready to hear any number, no matter how ridiculous.

"She said it was a foot long. "Literally a foot" is what she said. And like, this big around..." Carrie then held her hands out in front of her-- both of them-- carefully recreating what Jenny had demonstrated, creating a circumference similar to a tin can.

Again, I said nothing, my expression didn't change.

"Is that true?" Still the slightest tone of hope in her voice. Hope? Most girls are overwhelmed. But to hope...

"I'll let you find out for yourself, if you want--"

"So it's true then."

I let my silence speak for me. It was true-- and we both knew of the inevitability of her discovering the truth for herself at this point. The rest was mere formality.

"You're-- what do they call it. You're a 'unicorn'."

"Excuse me?"

She laughed. "Well. For you that may have a double meaning. A unicorn is someone who is, like, a perfect catch-- and super rare. But in your case, you also happen to be hung like one. Well, like a horse, but I feel like saying you're hung like a unicorn has a much more appropriate ring to it..."

"I have no idea how rare it is. But it's definitely a blessing and a curse..."

"Oh. It's a blessing... I just think that-- probably Jenny or other girls you've been with just don't know what a blessing it is or can be if you know how to work it right." Carrie said, enthusiastically, and then perhaps noticing the ripples of goosebumps across my bare skin, took my arm and squeezed it tightly against her. I could feel the warmth of her breasts radiating through her layers of fabric and could smell her perfume and hair dye. She looked at me with her green eyes-- she was very close to being my height. "You must be so cold. We need to get you home so I can warm you up..."

"How close are you?"

Smiling, she said, "Real close."

Together, we quickened our pace. We were at her doorstep not ten minutes later.


5.

As we approached the dim yellow light bulb lighting the way to her front porch like a lighthouse as it glowed faintly in the cold dark night around us, she resumed her apologies.

"Really, don't look around-- it's such a mess. It's so embarrassing..."

"I honestly don't care."

"Well, you haven't seen it yet. And my daughter lives with me, she's probably still awake. Don't feel awkward, though-- she's an adult now. God, I feel so old..." her voice sounded boisterous and youthful though, perhaps hoping to not seem old. The hoarse rhaspiness of her voice belied her poorly masked disguise, however. It was a sexy voice, though. Some girls were said to have 'bedroom eyes', but Carrie seemed to not only have bedroom eyes, but a bedroom voice. Sultry and steamy. It was the kind of voice that would whisper all the dirty things she wanted you to do to her in your ear with hot breath and the smell of sex wafting throughout the room.

I halted outside her house-- it was a small place in the sketchy side of town. Run down and hidden away from the main road-- it was behind another house that you had to walk around in order to get to. It seemed as though it used to be a mother in law suite from the main property that was sub-let out. There were blankets and sheets hung in the windows instead of curtains. Coffee tins full of cigarette butts and wooden crates were stacked up outside the back door. Aside from the yellow glow of the bulb, and the soft white light coming from behind the blankets covering the windows the world was pitch black night.

The walk had sobered me up some, but after our conversation, our flirtations, and our long walk to her place, I was already committed. I was going to be balls deep in Carrie within the hour-- sooner if I could manage it. It didn't bother me that we were in the impoverished part of town, or that her house might be run down or infested with cockroaches-- none of that mattered to me. In a way, the filthier it was, the better. It was somehow deeply satisfying and simultaneously wretched that I had found myself in this self-serving, lust-crazed place again-- fully admitting how much sex had ruined my relationships with women to a woman approaching her 50s who seemed just fine with that. Wanted it, actually. The more I could wallow in fucking this woman who wanted nothing more than my cock from me, the worse I would feel and the better the fucking would be. And the worse it felt, perhaps the better the odds would be that I could move past this and find something and someone who could mean something important to me.

Carrie might've been nice, sexy-- and might even know how to handle all of me. But she wasn't going to be the girl I could settle down with. She wasn't going to be the 'happily ever after' type.

"How-- will your daughter mind that I'm here? That we--"

"Oh! God no, don't worry about that..." Carrie said as she stepped up to her back door. "She's not that innocent herself, either... Skinny little thing, though. I keep telling her she's gotta put on some weight..."

The door opened and Carrie stepped inside. I followed closely behind her. Carried turned and waved me in, pulling the hoodie from her jacket down and pulling her hair free. "Come on in," she said-- not missing the opportunity to sound apologetic one last time.

I stepped inside into the kitchen. The floor bowed under my feet-- the cheap linoleum was warped from water damage, or from broken floor boards beneath. The counter was hidden beneath layers of dirty pots, pans, dishes, and cups-- each with some remains of food or beverage unconsumed and left to harden. The place was small-- the living room was immediately to the left of the kitchen, where a girl-- perhaps 19 or 20-- sat in her panties and a baggy hoodie sweatshirt inches from the T.V. eating from a pint of ice cream, hair pulled up into a ball on the top of her head. Though the lighting was dim, she looked biracial-- half black, half white. She had thick black eyelashes, clumped with heaps of mascara-- and her eyebrows looked stenciled into position above her eyes. Carrie was right-- she had the same face as her mom, but her body was thin as a rail. I thought maybe it was d**gs-- but maybe it wasn't.

"Hey Kari," Carrie said.

"Hey Mom."

"This is Kevin-- he's a friend of a co-worker."

"Hey," she said to me, monotone. Then, to her mom, "Who? Lisa? Becca? Jenny?"

"Jenny."

Kari looked at me then for the first time-- just a glance. "Hey," she said again-- seeming to mean it a little bit more this time.

"Nice to meet you," I offered-- feigning interest. The rest of the house was dark, but I could dimly make out the shape of a man laying asleep on the couch behind Kari, white, seemingly naked-- and also quite skinny.

"Want a drink? I've got whiskey-- or whatever else--" Carrie produced two glasses, blew into one of them, then looked at the second and grimaced before placing it on the counter of dirty dishes to be done later-- at some future date. She found another-- a plastic mug that said LAMASTER & FOWLER: PARALEGAL on it.

"Uh. Yeah. What are you having?"

"Tequila," she said-- exhaling and removing her jacket and my own quickly. Her body came into view again and I drank the sight of her in.

"Me too," I said.

"Fuck yeah," she responded-- and grabbed the handle of tequila down from the refrigerator nearby. The cap was already missing, perhaps lost somewhere on the floor that seemed impossible to see through the layers of clothes, blankets, food wrappers, boxes, chairs, and more dishes. I tried not to stare at the surroundings-- I knew Carrie was self conscious about the place. Even still, I didn't care. It could've been worse and I wouldn't have minded. It smelled like smoke-- cigarette and cannabis-- alcohol, and dust. But it didn't smell like actual filth. It was a mess for sure, but it could be worse. And there didn't seem to be any a****ls... domesticated or otherwise.

I watched Carrie pour us each a hefty glass. I noticed that Kari was already putting on ear plugs connected to her smart phone and zeroing her attention in and away from her Mom and the new strange man she dragged home from the bars.

"Here you go," Carrie said-- holding my stiff drink of tequila out to me. I took it, and she clinked her mug against my glass. "Cheers," she said-- and slammed her drink back. I followed suit and threw mine back in echo of her-- it was quite the undertaking with as much as was in there. It was cheap tequila too, and it burned mightily as it went down. After a wince, I looked at Carrie who appeared to not mind the stiff taste, and was already pouring us another round.

"I gotta catch up, you had a few before me but I think you might need a few more. Let's-- go back to my room?" She gestured over her shoulder, her thumb tucked into the handle of the bottle of tequila in the hand she was gesturing with, lifting it up so that it rested against the side of her right breast.

"Yes," I said-- sounding eager and still recovering from the Herculean drink. "Yeah-- sounds good."

She grinned meaningfully again. "Alright! Come on-- it's a little cleaner in here anyway," she said. I watched her turn and walk into the dark hallway behind her.

She gestured with the bottle in her right hand to a dark room as we passed it on the right. "That's the restroom, should you need it... Sorry for all the underwear hanging up, no dryer."


6.

Carrie continued her walk a few steps forward and reached to her left to turn on a bright ceiling light that illuminated a fairly large room, given the size of the rest of the place. Carrie's room was also a mess-- but mostly from an outpouring of clothes, knick-knacks, boxes, and empty alcohol bottles. I also happened to notice two or three prominent dildos on a bedside table beside the mattress. The bed itself was set within a 'bucket' like frame, and before a large wooden head board with wooden poles. The sheet was half on-- the other half pulled up from the bottom right corner and stretched diagonally across the surface. The blanket was rumpled into a pile on the right of the bed. Two dirty looking pillows lay there against the wall like homeless men sleeping against the side of a building.

The door closed behind us, and I heard a lock. I didn't have much time to think about it before Carrie walked further into the room from behind me-- my eyes following her shapely ass as she walked into the room, swinging the tequila bottle by her hips and taking another heavy drink, her hair spilling down behind her as she tilted her head back. I likewise drank again, committing further-- not wanting to think about the feeling of being trapped like a fly caught in the web of a spider. An elegant, malicious spider...

Carrie filled her glass again and wheeled around to face me. The look in her eye. She was really feeling it now. She bit her bottom lip and walked toward me.

"Another?"

"Hit me," I said, holding out my glass. She poured-- slowly and with only a momentary dart of her eyes looking down at my glass before they returned back to mine. She set the tequila bottle down on her dresser-- set crookedly on top of a pair of pants and the flat surface of the wood top. She brought the glass to her lips and drank a smaller sip this time-- but already I could see in her eye that she was drunk. Drunk but not sloppy-- she was transformed, but not belligerent.

Suddenly her eyes opened wide-- remembering something.

"Oh!" She said, and set her glass down too. "I know what I wanted to do. Stay here-- okay?"

"Alright," I said-- confused, watching her. She rushed past me-- another waft of her scent blowing past me in her wake as she did. She unlocked her bedroom door and flipped on a light in the bathroom in the narrow hallway beyond. I looked around the room. The bed. The bed was a king-- plenty of room to move around. It was then I noticed that hanging from the headboard spokes, but folded back to d**** down along the top of the bed against the wall, were two fluffy pink handcuffs. It seemed she liked to be restrained... My cock pulsed in my pants longingly. I had never really done that sort of thing before, but wasn't against it. I could do that, I thought to myself.

It had been so long. And in a misguided attempt to try and curb my sex-focused ways, I had even attempted to refrain from masturbating as much as I could. As a result, I knew I was going to be driven to my heightened, maddened state fairly quickly. That'll be fine, I thought to myself. She can handle it-- she seems like she's been around the block a few times. If it were anyone other than her, it might be a problem. But I'll bet she can take more of me quicker than anyone else I've been with has been able to. Then, looking at the dildos on the side of her bed, realized that she might be adequately stretched to take me with ease. They were humongous-- but still not quite as large as I am.

Maybe fucking her will feel like what it feels like for normal sized guys... I mused to myself. Every girl I'd ever been with had always been so tight-- and had needed so much 'prep' before they could take me. I might be inside Carrie in record time.

Suddenly Carrie returned-- closing (and locking) the door behind her again. In her hand was a tape measure. She walked up to me, shifting her weight to one foot and looking me in the eye, her dark red hair spilling out down the sides of her face and across her bare shoulders seductively.

"I thought maybe we should get an absolutely accurate measurement..."

"Okay," I said, "But I can save you the trouble and tell you I'm 6'1"."

Carrie's only answer to this was to give me a look that seemed to say-- har-har, dumbass, but the seductive grin on her face remained.

"Oh, you meant--" I said, keeping the bad joke going.

"Uh huh, right... I like that you're taller than me, because half the time I'm taller than all the guys that I'm with-- but right now I'm more concerned about length and width, Kevin-- and for a very specific part of you..."

"Well let me just tell you right now to keep that tape measure out because there's going to be one measurement now and a different, larger measurement in a little bit..."

Carrie bit the tape measure-- the loose plastic kind that tailors use-- between her teeth and grabbed me by the front of my pants, pulling me toward her. "I'll fucking measure you on the hour, every hour like it's my full time job if it means I get to work with this cock." Though, as she said this-- her words were muffled on the tape measure in her teeth-- and sounded more like I'rr hruckin' messur yer on hre hour, erry hour, rike irrs mer furr hym jrb irf irt mearns err gert to worch wir ris corch.

Carrie's hands were deft, urgent, but well practiced and strong. I had been in this position before-- in fact, preferred it. I loved watching girls' reactions to the first time they pulled me out and saw what they were in for. Usually, however, this event unfolded with a little trepidation on their part-- and there was some hesitation along with a sense of them slowly and methodically revealing me to themselves, growing more and more stunned as I'm exposed before them inch by inch. Carrie, however, unbuttoned and unzipped me before her as though it were Christmas morning. The look in her eye was something similar to, what did you get me? What did you get me?

I was laid out bare before her, my pants and boxers still in her grip around my thighs. I was 'chubby', but not fully hard or erect. Still, my veins running along the length of my cock, just under the skin, were thick and pronounced. I bobbed slightly in the air between us.

"Holy fuck. It's true..." she said, matter of factly. Then, "Holy shit... " as though it was still dawning on her, even as she stood staring at it, the tape measure dropping out of her mouth as she said it.

She took me in her hands-- her strong, long fingered hands-- and jerked me firmly. It was hard for me to tell if she was just that comfortable with my large cock from all her experience, or if I had just gotten used to girls who I had to coach on what to do with me and how to do it from my past two relationships with Kate and Ash. Carrie, by comparison, was like a hand-job masseuse, and it wasn't long before her efforts were showing results. She watched her own hands glide up and down me. She switched to different grips easily and deliberately-- pumping me at first with two fists, one positioned closer to the head, massaging the top half of my cock, while the other took the base, massaging me from my balls to the halfway point where here fists met-- or by cupping both her hands together around me and sliding up and down the entire length and strong but loving pulls, drawing blood toward the head of my cock firmly, before returning her hands back to the base and pulling more blood toward the tip-- toward her.

"Dear god Kevin... I'm not gonna lie. I've seen a lot of dicks in my day. But you-- you are really, really something special because oh my god..."

I was firming up in her hands. I could see her biceps flexing as she pulled on me, jerking me with skill. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, she opened her mouth and a long drop of spit fell from her lips to my cock-- a perfect bullseye-- which she then integrated into her jerking motion, lubricating her work.

She looked up at me, smiling. "You like me, don't you? I can tell."

I groaned. "You certainly don't seem too intimidated..."

Her left hand reached down to my testicles-- she began to knead them, gently but firmly enough to make them respond instantly to her touch. She leaned into me-- her large tits flattening against my chest.

She pulled her hands all the way up to the head of my cock and squeezed. I felt the wetness of my own precum spill into the palm of her hand as she held me.

"Other girls were actually able to take you like this?"

"Through a lot of effort, yeah. Sometimes. And with a lot of prep work. I usually had to go down on them first just to even get things started. I've gotten pretty good at that, by now."

"Mmm. I'm sure. Well-- I think you're really going to like me."

"Oh yeah?"

She squeezed me tighter.

"Uh. Yeah. You're going to be a challenge, for sure-- but..." She slid her hand back up to the base of me, squeezing me there, and then pulling toward the head again-- hard. It was working. I was getting rock hard quickly. "I might be a little bit more prepared for you than most other girls..."

I reached out and took the front of her pants in my hands-- starting to unbutton and unzip her so that we could begin. She reared her hips away from me, chuckling.

"Ah-ah-ah. Not just yet. What's the rush? I don't work tomorrow..."

"Yeah? Me neither."

"That's convenient. Because even if you did I don't think you'd be able to show up. Anyway-- where's that tape measure... Ah!"

Carrie knelt down in front of me, making a point to position herself right in front of my cock but just barely keeping her face from actually touching it. She also seemed to be aware that from this perspective, I was able to see her ample cleavage. Her tits were still contained in her bra and tank top, but from my view-- they looked gorgeous. Carrie was easily going to be the largest busted women I had ever fucked up until that point, larger than Jessica had been, or Jenny, or even bigger than Holly was-- way back when. And for as fit as Carrie was, her breast size was even more remarkable. I wondered briefly if they were fake-- and if I would be disappointed if they were-- but shook the idea out of my mind. It didn't matter. Whether they were or not wouldn't effect the outcome of what Carrie and I were going to do.

Carrie grabbed the measuring tape, which had become uncoiled on the fall, and stretched it out between both her hands. My cock was now pointing straight out and up. She placed her elbow flat against the base of my cock and measured me against the length of her arm. I stretched from her elbow past her wrist-- reaching closer to her pinky's knuckle on her right hand. She shook her head, smiling, and repeated, "Dear god... Okay. Let's see what we see... you're fully hard, right?"

"Actually, yeah-- it feels like it. Usually it takes a bit longer, but..."

"...But you are really, really looking forward to fucking me, aren't you?" she said-- grinning. Without waiting for an answer, she took the tape measure and lifted the end to the very base of my cock, pressing it flush against my tight abdomen. Her finger rubbed against the light stubble there that had grown since I wasn't planning to maintain myself for any sexual activity for a while. Next, she stretched the tape down the length of me, right toward my circumcised tip. It was like measuring a diving board-- I wobbled stiffly as she pulled it across toward the head.

"Not twelve. f******n inches... and a little more. Ho. Lee. Fuck."

Even I was surprised to hear that, but she looked up at me and pointed to the number on the measure. "You've gotta take a picture of me!" She said enthusiastically.

"Here," I said-- reaching down and getting my phone out of my pocket. I activated the screen and went to my camera-- and zoomed out. There she was on my screen, kneeling before me, her face right next to the tip of my cock, smiling in shock and giddiness. I snapped a picture. "Got it. You look fucking great..."

She winked at me. "Thanks. By the way... the biggest I've ever had..." she took the tape measure, still pressed against me, and measured whoever was her previous record against me. She indicated the nine and a half inch mark.

"Nine and a half?" I asked.

"That means that you are an entire average sized penis larger than the largest cock I've ever had. Oh. My. God! Okay-- now around..." She took the tape measure and wrapped it around the thickest part of me-- right in the middle. She pulled it so that it rested snugly around me and indicated the number that appeared there.

"Okay. You're as big around as the biggest guy I've ever been with is long. What the fuck world am I in right now?"

"Having second thoughts?"

"NO!" She blurted. "You're the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me! Really, Kevin-- I don't think you understand how fucking good you're going to have it now... It's hard to believe you could've had anything decent with any girl before me..."

"You sound pretty sure of yourself."

She just smiled wickedly at me. "You'll see just how sure I am. Another picture."

I focused my camera phone on her again-- indicating where the tape measure read "9 1/2", and snapped a photo.

"You've got way too much clothing on in these pictures," I remarked.

"Mmm. Send them to me." She told me her number and I sent them off. Meanwhile she got her own phone out and snapped a few more pictures of my cock up close. I really was beginning to feel as though I was on display. It was a peculiar feeling, but kind of hot in it's own way.

"Okay," Carrie finally said. "Get undressed." She was commanding and assertive-- and I felt compelled to comply, but noticed that she was not stripping herself.

"Aren't you going to...?" I started-- but she interrupted.

"Good things come to those who wait," she said in reply, an odd foreboding in her voice as she said it.

I stripped completely naked before her, feeling glad and confident that I had really taken the opportunity to hit the gym hard in my current stretch of unemployment-- and my efforts were very apparent. I was close to matching-- or possibly was matching-- my absolute top physical condition I'd ever been in my life. Without a woman or a job in my life, I occupied much of my free time in every aspect of my condition-- and my arms, chest, abs, and back were as optimal as they had ever been. Only my legs weren't quite as defined as they might've been five or six years earlier. Still, as I looked to Carrie who feasted her eyes on me, I felt very proud in the work I had put into my physique. And yet-- I felt strangely vulnerable. She was truly eye-fucking every square inch of my body-- and more than ever before I suddenly felt like a piece of meat for someone else's enjoyment.

Carrie was speechless, but she took a few steps back away from me and began to snap some more pictures on her phone of me.

"Oh god..." she said-- her voice a raspy whisper, absolutely dripping with lust and anticipation. "Oh fuck..." she said again, seeming to notice and admire something else about my body. "Oh god Kevin. Oh fuck this is going to be so good... Turn around."

I turned around. "Oh god... Fuck, this is just unbelievable. You're fucking perfect!"

I laughed uncomfortably. "Thanks,"

She walked up behind me and I felt her hand-- small but with long, strong fingers-- caress my back, sliding down to my waist and then my ass. She slapped me hard. "Turn back around," she demanded, and I turned.

Carrie continued to run her hand across my body. Her hand rippled across my abs-- the coveted 8 pack I was after had just started to take shape only a week before. I flexed my body absent mindedly wherever her hand went-- across my abs, up my ribs, across my pecs, up to my shoulders and down my sculpted arms. Her voice hummed in pleasure as she caressed me. I wanted to reach out and touch her-- but somehow I felt as though she would pull away and scold me, so I endured her touch across my body, her eyes scrutinizing every inch of me. Meanwhile, blood was pumping into my cock hard-- it bobbed in the air between us, begging for attention.

"Oh Kevin," she cooed. There was something like pity in her voice. "Oh Kevin I'm so sorry..." she straddled my cock between her legs-- in order to do so, she had to lift her one leg up high and over me as though she were mounting a horse. A horse, or... a unicorn, to use her metaphor.

"Why's that?" I asked, curious and concerned-- but meaning to keep the question light sounding.

"Just because of what you told me earlier. About your addiction to sex."

"What do you mean? I mean-- why are you apologizing about that?"

The fabric of her jeans rubbing against my cock on either side was maddening. The chafing, the warmth, the sensation of being so close to her but separated by the heavy fabric where all I wanted to feel was flesh. The heat of her crotch pressed firmly against me was unbelievable, though. My cock stretched out underneath her cunt and ass and stood erect out the back of her. At her height, she only had to stand on the ball of her feet in order to tuck me between her legs. Her one hand reached behind her and grabbed the knob of my cock like it was a manual stick shift in a truck and rubbed the tip of me sensually. I oozed between her fingers. She pressed her chest against me-- I felt her large tits buoyantly flatten against my bare chest and again I was confounded by the irritating feeling of fabric, clothing that separated us from truly touching. Her face was just slightly turned up to mine-- so close I could kiss her, and yet it felt as though I wasn't allowed, somehow. Being this close without actually starting was unbelievably maddening. It was torture.

"It's just that-- I know how you feel. I've also had destructive relationships in my life that were pretty much completely sexual. And even though they were bad for me, I also kept falling into them. Over and over again..."

"Oh?" It was all I could manage to say. Knots of twisting, agonizing lust were corkscrewing through my groin and stomach as she rubbed the head of my cock in her hand-- twisting it gently as though it were a doorknob; my precum like glue between her fingers. She was rocking her hips back and forth gently, 'humping' my cock between her straddled legs. The friction of her jeans was equal parts pleasureful and cringe inducing.

"Yeah. What did you say you felt like? An a****l?"

"Yeah..."

She bit her lip, her green eyes drinking my wanting gaze. "I've felt like an a****l too, at times. I know you said you've been trying to escape that cycle for a while now, haven't you?"

I gulped. "Yes..."

"Yeah..." again, piteous-- as though she felt sorry for me. "I know. It's tough. And I'm really sorry, because if that's true then I was probably the fucking worst possible girl you could've met tonight, because I really... really want you to be an a****l, Kevin."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. And I'm going to make you one. I'm real sorry, but you're just-- the most incredible fuck toy I've ever seen. I mean, my god Kevin-- your cock feels like a steel pole between my legs right now-- and you're sticking a mile out behind me. I mean-- I have to fuck you."

My vision was shaking-- it felt as though my eyes were vibrating in my skull. With her every word, I was being driven more and more insane with lust and need.

"And it would be such a shame if it wasn't as perfect as you are. This is probably going to be totally fucking awful for you but you'll thank me later, alright? Tell me you're going to do exactly what I say."

"What?"

"Tell me. You'll do. Exactly. What I say."

Her hand was twisting around the head of my cock like a chalk at the end of a pool cue. The head of my dick was now totally glazed with my own pre-cum-- her hand was sliding around my head as though I was covered in hot wax.

"I'll do it. Anything you say. Please, I just have to have you."

"I know, baby..." more pity. "You will."


7.

"Lay down on the bed. On your back."

I did, immediately, without hesitation. I needed to cum inside of her-- on her-- too much to waste any time hesitating, asking questions, or arguing. I remembered the handcuffs. I thought that she would want me to use them on her. Would she be using them on me instead?

"Gooood," she urged me-- talking to me like a pet. "Good boy. Just remember-- the better you mind me, the happier the both of us will be, okay?"

I nodded.

"Okay?!" She repeated, more angrily.

"Okay!" I said.

"Okay what?"

"Okay-- Carrie?"

"Okay. Don't piss me off, Kevin-- I can make your life fucking miserable. Or I can fuck you better than you could've ever dreamed before meeting me. You decide, okay?"

"Yes, Carrie."

"Good. Don't move. If I come back and you've moved I swear to god you're going to fucking regret it."

"No, Carrie."

I heard her door unlock and then she was gone from the room.

A part of me wanted to look around-- but given the instructions and the severity of her tone, I didn't dare risk it. Also-- in a way, it was kind of sexy. I had never really been bossed around by a girl who wasn't so intimidated by my size before, so it was new and exciting. Still-- another part of me couldn't ignore the fact that I didn't really know this woman very well. I didn't even know her last name. Or anything about her really except that she was a bartender downtown and knew Jenny. I wondered too if she was 'clean'-- or if she was on the pill. I doubted she had any condoms that could fit me. Could that be what she was going to get?

Seconds passed to moments-- moments turned into minutes. I became uneasy-- and still, my cock stretched out daring to touch the ceiling above me. It was so bright-- the overhead lamp had only two settings: on and off-- and my nudity in a strange place made me feel incredibly exposed. My head swam with the spins of drunkenness, tequila and whisky on my breath. The desire to grab my cock and jerk it, simply just to abate its need to be touched, was overwhelming-- but somehow I felt as though I was being watched, and that if I broke Carrie's command, things would indeed get much worse. So I remained still.

Minutes seem to pass and I felt as though I was about to lose my patience when Carrie did finally return. The door closed with a little metallic locking sound, and she approached the bed-- tipping the bottle of tequila back against her lips with one hand, drinking mightily, and in her other hand she held a boxed roll of plastic cellophane wrap.

"God you look fucking incredible," she said-- beginning to sound a little drunk. Small wonder, as she's already thrown back the equivalent of about five stiff drinks in less than half an hour. "I can't believe this is happening. Look at what you've done to me--" she gestured to the crotch of her jeans-- a small but noticeable wet stain was visible there. "That's how fucking wet I am right now. Of course, I'm not wearing any underwear, but still..."

"Carrie-- I need to fuck you."

"Oh I know, baby. And I want you to. And you will-- but you are so fucking special and I need a real fuck so bad I can't risk you finishing before I've really been given a proper fuck."

"Trust me. That's never been a problem for me. I mean, Jenny even said--"

"Don't-- argue with me. That is, like, my number one pet peeve is fucking arguing..." She lifted her one leg up and climbed on top of me, straddling me, my cock shooting up behind her ass like a rocket ready for lift off. "Please? I'm only going to ask you nicely once."

"O-- okay..."

"I need you to take these..." she dropped the box of plastic wrap on the bed next