Bullet Through Your Face (improved format) Read Free

point that he could barely control the foot pedals.
    When she was done, she slipped her mouth off, leaned backed,
and swallowed.
“Fellas like it more when a gal swallers,” she said. “Don’t know
why, but’cha git used ta the way it tastes.”
Gray barely heard her, nerves firing down. He felt like a big
sack of dough in the seat. Then he flinched, nearly yelped aloud,
when she slipped the condomed finger out of his anus. The
aftersensation radiated, and as she’d been removing her finger, he felt
some mysterious leftover of sperm ooze slowly out of his urethra.
Holy motherfucking shit, he thought.
She held her hand out the window, slipped the fouled condom
off her finger. It flew away into the dark like an expectoration.
“Ya feel better now?” she asked him.
Gray tried to say yes but his tongue clogged his mouth. Sucking
breaths, he nodded.
“I knew ya’d like it. My brothers tolt me ‘bout it, ‘bout how
they’ll come better during a blowjob with a finger up’n their ass.
Some gland up in there, little gland that makes yer jizz er somethin’.”
Gray could fathom absolutely no response. Had she said her brothers? Her brothers had given her a lesson in rectal anatomy?
Gray didn’t even want to guess, didn’t want to imagine what kind of
family she might have come from. But of course she’d been right,
too. Her technical intricacies had provided him the best orgasm of
his life. She rubbed his testicles some more and he was still spasming down. A finger up the ass, huh? Until then the only things to ever be
up Gray’s ass were turds, but he could hardly argue.
    He slowed the car down, unaware until now how he’d been
accelerating through the event. Finally he blurted out, “That was
great.”
    “I wanna do things ya like, ‘cos I like ya. If I do things ya like,
then you’ll pick me up agin, next time ya see me hitchin’home from
the crab-pickers.”
    “Kuh—count on it.”
“Cain’t have ya thinkin’ I’m a slob,” came her next inexplicable
chatter. Now she was rubbing his bare stomach, looking down at his
groin. “Cain’t be leavin’ a mess on ya, ya know? I always clean up
my messes.”
Gray flinched, nearly yelped again when she abruptly popped
his penis back into her mouth and sucked hard, sucking off those
oozing remnants. His hips and thighs tingled fiercely as the last
lingering semen was drawn out. His cock felt fat, half deflated but
still buzzing in luxuriant post-climax. She sucked her mouth off again
and simultaneously slid her hand back up the spitty shaft, squeezed
tightly with her index finger and thumb collaring his corona. A final
pearl of sperm appeared and she licked it right off.
Good God . . .
Gray eventually managed to get his mind back on driving. Her
hand lingered on his balls, a finger teasing between them. Jesus
Christ, can she give a blow job . . . Every aspect of his reproductive
capacity—from nerve reaction to sperm supply—felt utterly drained,
a bucket tipped over and emptied.
“You’s shore came a lot,” she observed next, smacking her lips,
“and you gotta nice cock, a nice-looking knob, and it ain’t all bumpy
like a lotta of ‘em.”
All Gray could say to the most inane compliment of his life was
“Thank you.”
“And you’re nice’n clean too,” she kept chattering. “No foreskin—not that I got anythin’against ‘em but—Chrast—so many
fellas don’t wash it out and it’s got all that smelly stuff in it. Yuck.”
    “I can’t say that I know what you mean,” he tried to joke, “since
I don’t have the benefit of your experience. So I’ll take your word
for it.”
    The attempt at levity went over her head. Another smack of her
lips, then she poised in the seat, animated. “And, ya know, yer come
tastes good, not like a lotta fellas, all bitter’n all.”
    My come tastes good, Gray repeated the remark in his mind. Oh
dear me, is this a night of revelation or what? Maybe if he ever got
a girlfriend again, he could tell her