Waking Up To A Blow Job
He must have fallen asleep, because he woke up to the most delightful of sensations. His penis, still soft and wet, was being sucked up into a hot eager mouth. At first he didn’t know where he was but it didn’t really matter, because of the delightful events that were going on. A woman’s soft fingers cupped his flaccid hairy balls, pressing them against her palms. A tongue curled around the swelling shaft of his rod, tickling the sensitive underside, running across the velvety tip.
“Oh, oh,” he stared to say, and then memory came flooding back. “Mamie!” He didn’t remember just when she’d told him her first name, but somehow he knew it. He was lying on the big old four-poster bed, and the fat woman crouched grotesquely over him. Her greedy mouth incited his cock to another fat erection while her lips cressed the smooth slick shaft. Up and down, harder and harder, her head bobbed in frantic motion. Her big breasts also wobbling in time with her head.
She sucked him till he climaxed, he remembered, and then she kept on sucking until she’d drained him dry. Daylight was peeping through the closed blinds before they were done with each other. And even then, they’d have kept on as long as flesh and blood could hold up, except for their mutual fear of getting caught. She had a skill for giving blow jobs that no other woman he had ever met had aquired.
Mamie wanted to ask him, to beg him, to come back another night, but she didn’t have the nerve. Tom might have stayed longer, but neither one of them knew how to explain his leaving her house in broad daylight. When he finally did slip out into the street and make his way to his car, he was totally exhausted. He could hardly put it in gear and steer it back to the desert hotel!
Remembering the night with Mamie gave Tom a pleasant rosy erotic glow, and also another good feeling. He’d done something nice for another human being, changed the course of her life. He heard about it eventually, from the gossip in a local bar. week after her adventure with Tom, she’d invited a lonely widower to dinner. As the local gossips said, the fellow didn’t have a pot to pee in. The town was outraged when he stayed not only for dinner but for the night, and the next night and the next, until finally he moved his few clothes into the Widow Stoke’s house and settled down. Mamie didn’t care; she faced them all down.
“Hope he’s a good screw,” Tom thought fondly. “But he must be or ole Mamie would kick his ass right out again!”
Yeah, it’d been fun being the Love Bandit, as much as he did of it, anyway. But it didn’t bring him one inch closer to the maps he needed to help him rediscover his father’s rich mine. All he’d gotten out of it was a helluva good screw, and a souvenir: Mamie’s cream-stained pink panties, to join the hair ribbon her friend Lulu had given him.
