Suzanne held out her champagne glass.
Charming fizzed the wine right into her glass. Topped off his own.
"You're talking about the Boppettes as if you were sizing them up for some raunch action."
"Hey. I said I would try everything."
"Do you mean-?"
"I think part of Babette's problem is that she doesn't trust men. Doesn't let herself get as close as she does with her girlfriends. I'll bet she'd go down with Darleene."
"Suzanne, you may have something there."
"Maybe we ought to break in Babette on women. If you ask me, that whole band's a gaggle of closet lesbo dykes-"
"Or at least they will be when you have your turn at them, Suzanne."
"Mmm," Suzanne said.
She brought her glass again between her legs. Bubbled it into her cunny.
"Listen, Suzanne. Got to take a piss."
"So? Why leave me?"
"You have to go too?"
"Maybe. Sure."
"Let's go, then."
"Uh uh. I don't want to."
Suzanne parted her asscheeks. Smacked open her pussy. Pissed off a few shots of urine into her champagne. Held the glass aloft.
"Shit, Suzanne. That's heavy."
"Not after we try it. It'll be fun."
"I still have to piss."
"Why not on me?"
"Shit."
Suzanne grabbed her tits and pressed them up into his striding pecker.
His balls were squeezed between her boobs.
He snapped his buttocks forth. Released his sphincter and sighed.
"Ungh."
Then watered down her hide.
"Yes. So great. So hot. Oooooh. Tickles so good all over my soul, Channing."
The pizzle lubed the insides of his beefy tube. Scatters of slinky liquid sprayed into the air.
Showered her face.
Suzanne closed her eyes at the slopping piss. The urine foamed through her locks.
The trickle into a deluge grew.
Storming at the groveling young deb.
Sparkling spume rainbowed in the air. Reflecting lightbeams steaming in.
The showerburst separated in the air.
A thousand droplets hit the young miss.
The first batch slickened her hair completely. Same here. She ran her fingers through it, styling her coif discreetly.
Piss tumbled over her flesh.
Wetting down her thatch.
Smarting on up into her rawly rimmed rumpmeat. Flooding her fanny.
"Ni-ni-ni-ni-ni!"
Suzanne tittered.
She let off a batch of her own micturition down the insides of her thighs. It mixed with her cunt-come and sweat.
With the congealing jissom that dripped from her asshole and out of her bellybutton.
"Now let's get rutting," Suzanne said as she raised her glass.
She poured champagne piss over her mouth-cheeks and facelips, Sputtered out a spray as she choked a laugh in Channing's direction.
She espied his new erection.
Chapter 4
Primed prickmeat, ready to roll a load of come, pulsed tautly and painfully, trapped within Rudolph's pants. He thought of Babette's haunch. Gave his hips a launch up.
He looked about at the musical equipment piled up about him in the back of the van. Gave a shot to his pecker with his hand.
Rudolph listened to the clicks and clatters as the driver up front slapped another cassette into the tapedeck.
"How you doing back there, dude?" Patrick Hal-loran said. "Want another beer?"
"Sure."
"Break one open for me."
Rudolph's heart skipped.
He thought of the brassiere cradling the two knockers on the other girl's chest. The blessed breasts he had undressed.
The tops of those tits that he had seen-and kissed and sprayed with oral mist.
The tits of the sister of the guy who drove the equipment van.
Patrick pulled over to the rest stop by the side of the freeway, He liked to drink. And he liked to drive. But one at a time, please.
Patrick hoisted the chilled can of brew and shot the froth down his gullet, "So, Rudolph. We can chill out here until this can of suds courses through my bloodstream. Gets the alcohol used up."
"Okay, Patrick. You sure you don't want me to drive? I'm not mashed."
"I'm not too juiced either, my man. But I wanted a rest, and it's best to let the level of alcohol in your blood drop before you bop."
"Right. Especially with all this equipment we're carrying. Don't want that bashed."
"Or ourselves and other motorists either," Patrick said with a flashed grin.
He wiped more suds from his chin.
"Thanks for bringing me along," Rudolph said. "I didn't really know if the girls wanted me to show up or not."
"Really? I know for sure my sister does."
"I didn't get that impression."
"Well, Darleene does like to play it cool She thinks she's nobody's fool."
"She's been coy enough with me."
Patrick remembered the last time he had caught sight of his sister Darleene running around in the buff. Mighty fine stuff.
Tough titties and a crinkly little muff.
"On the other hand, Rudolph. I think we both might be able to shiver our timbers with the rest of the Boppettes."
"I really don't know them that well."
"I'm lucky. They practice at our house a lot, and when I come home from school I get to listen to them-more than enough."
"Yeah," Rudolph said aimlessly, meaninglessly. He thought of Babette's sylphlike form, warm against him in the water. And Darleene's dimpled derriere, and the cloven piece of thatch woven between her thighs. Sights he'd seen but never sampled.
"I think the music sucks," Patrick mouthed along. "But the dolls are almost good enough for them to pass as a band on looks alone."
"You think that Tabitha's hot?" Rudolph stuttered through his beerlips.
Slathers of the brew hopped down his neck. Into his teeshirt.
Reminded him of Babette's sweat. Darleene's kisses, watrous and deep.
"Tabitha's virgin." Patrick snorted. "But she's hot to trot. Now, Queenie-she's balled all the folksingers, but now she's into rock and roll. Least, says she has."
"They tell you that?"
"I can hear them. When they're rehearsing, they gossip in between numbers. This shit blares out through the sound system."
"What about Corky?"
"She's fucked so much her twatlips hurt to the touch. That's why she doesn't dance anymore. She just sits on her tuffet and taps the tom-toms."
"You have to be joking."
"I'm joking about it. But it's no joke. They're always talking about fucking and sucking and clothes and makeup."
"Hey, Patrick. This tape's run out. Want to put on that song I was telling you about?"
"Your soon-to-be hit, kid?"
Rudolph's face flushed. He knew Patrick had been playing in musical groups for well over a decade. He had majored in musical composition in college, and his knowledge and experience was overwhelming to Rudolph, who had merely been strumming his electric guitar in the garage for a couple years.
"Not a bad groove," Patrick mused.
"Thanks. Coming from you, I know that's a comment I can appreciate."
"But I can't understand any of the words."
"Goes like this: Her hips do twitch; comes on looking like a bitch. Her cunt do itch; so she gives her clit the switch-"
"Good rhythm to the lyric," Patrick said. "But you might want to soften the images a bit."
"But I want it to be mean and rude."
"Sure, you can do that. But restraint and relative subtlety can go a long way in making the words bite deeper."
"Yeah?" Rudolph said, not really understanding. "Like how?"
"Well, my lyrics might not be the greatest-you're the writer, I'm mainly a music composer. But with those words to your song, you can give it a momentum by not coming out so heavily and obviously. Like: Her hips do hop; comes in doing the bop-or something like that."
"No swear words?"
"Yeah. But they can be used positively-not so denigratingly. Like have the word bitch used in an up manner."
"Hippity-hop; the bitch do bop? Or maybe then you can go: Legs do twitch; dancing, looking righteous bitch."