“Now,” he added “make yourself eloquent and minister to my dick.”
“Teeth or no teeth?”
It was a classic Hartford whore statement, but Mark opted to “make it middle class”. He didn’t need a taste of Ramona’s early days, where she could charge more for a blowjob by virtue of a no-uppers grin? Not this time, at any rate.
Ramona sneered, called him a pervert again, and took his dick into her mouth. She crossed herself as she did. Whether it was over the teeth or the setting, she didn’t say, but whatever distaste she displayed evaporated when she tasted his dick. She loved how it bulged when it felt her mouth slip over it. She inhaled deeply as she took it, thinking that if she couldn’t actually have his balls in her face, at least she could enjoy their scent.
As she sucked, Ramona swooned, not because she worshipped Mark’s magnificence but because she conjured up a pussy in her head and longed to know how it would feel to have a cock swelled inside her. She wondered how it would feel to finally have a dick on the inside instead of outside.
In all honesty, she wasn’t sure she’d really let Mark’s dick inside what would be a $30,000 sculpture, but that didn’t stop her from giving good head. She tongued Mark’s dick with enthusiasm, working up and down its length and paying special tongue attention to that tender spot just below its head.
Mark groaned in hearty appreciation but he wanted more: he wanted to face-fuck her. He leaned forward and, bracing himself hands-first against the top of the Honourable Hooker’s tombstone, began to push-up himself in and out of her mouth. Briefly, Ramona’s teeth scraped over his head and, flinching, he wondered if he should’ve gone for the lower class accommodation.
But his dick throbbed, his balls grew tight, and Ramona made little sex sounds – the whimpers of a good bottom getting done – and other than that one scrape, her mouth felt oh so good. It was a wet and wonderfully open thing, made all the more delicious by the rumbling groans vibrating up from her throat.
However, as much as he might like to, Mark didn’t want to come this way. He had other plans, just as morbid as doing a hooker over Hooker’s marker and they didn’t conclude with a blowjob. He pulled his cock from Ramona’s mouth, uttering a moan as she let it pop free.
“Get up,” he rasped. He helped her up, giving her time to get steady on her feet, before moving her over to another grave.
Unlike Hooker’s tombstone, this grave had a tablestone – a tombstone laid flat atop several walls of stone, meant to mimic a sarcophagus. Mark patted the tablestone’s top, motioning to Ramona. “Time to bend over.”
“You’re going to keep me in confession for a month, you know that?” Ramona complained.
“At least you have a priest for your private demons, honey,” Mark replied. “Me, I want my demon exorcised.”
Ramona huffed, “Enough with the clichés,” as she bent over the tablestone. She laid a hand to each side and held herself there, just like she was at the kitchen table. She felt Mark lift her skirt and pull down her panties just enough to expose her ass. She heard the snap of a lid and then felt Mark’s lubed fingers at her ass. “At least you’re generous,” she opined. Mark smiled. If only Ramona knew that she was pressing her tits against an ancient, morbid poem that warned Death is a debt to Nature due/Which I have paied & so must you, she might insist on the convent.
Mark kept that esoteric knowledge to himself and slathered Ramona’s hole instead. Then, he slipped his finger inside, as much to claim his territory as to ready it. He loved Ramona’s ass and he financed her well enough that she only had to do out-call domination. That ass was his and someday Ramona’s cunt would be as well.
“You have the perfect hole,” he told her.
For the first time all evening, Ramona giggled and, looking over her shoulder, smiled broadly at Mark. His words were manna to her ears, especially when she fast-forwarded into the future and applied those words to her cunt. However, the here and now was a riskier place, and she knew from her street days that one only had so much time in which to conclude business.
“You better get to it, if you want to fuck me before the cops show up.”
Mark grunted in agreement, took his cock in hand, and aimed it at that perfect hole. Slowly he pushed. Ramona’s hole resisted ever so slightly before it acquiesced and let the head of his dick in. Ramona moaned lusciously; she liked the feel of his cock making headway as much as he liked the feel of her hole giving way. Mark pushed a little more and felt himself slip in further.
Normally, Mark would’ve slowly inched his way in and out and up Ramona’s ass. He liked taking his time in encouraging her to open up to him, but when he looked up from her round ass, the cold stone memories of the long-ago departed jutted up from the ground all around him as if they were watching. The grounds were quietly eerie and only the sounds of leaves rustling in a tree top breeze and the occasional late-night vehicle punctuated the silence. Mark was glad for those sounds of urban normalcy; they kept him from imagining the dead rising up to watch him.
Which would’ve kept him from Ramona and her willing ass. He took her by the hips and began a slow but firm reaming. Ramona groaned again as his cock went to work on her, then threw back her hair and arched her ass to show she liked what he was doing. And her response – sexy, defiant, willing – sent Mark right into frenzy mode. His slow reaming went straight to merciless ramming.
Ramona grabbed the tablestone when Mark slammed into her and clutched it for dear life. An abject moan escaped her lips every time Mark rammed his dick up her, and her whole body reacted every time he pulled back. His dick was relentless in its pursuit; swift and selfish and something else.
And swift, selfish fucks don’t take long. Between Ramona’s perfect hole and his hungry dick, Mark felt his climax approach in no time at all.
But not before Ramona got to issue her own selfish complaints. Mark’s fury had pushed her right up against the tablestone, pelvic bone first, and she had just issued her fourth expletive when Mark pulled out of her and pushed her aside. He barely uttered “move!” when, pumping his dick with his hand, he came, spurting a stream of come over the tablestone. Gasping as his orgasm raged through him, he caught the last bit of spunk in his hand.
Next to him, a vexed Ramona declared, “You bastard!” as she rubbed her crotch and lowered her skirt.
But the scene wasn’t over. Not yet it wasn’t. Not until his orgasm subsided, until his panting returned to quiet breathing, and until he had the presence of mind to put his dick in his pants.
Then and only then did he conclude the scene: he took that last bit of spunk and returned to Hooker’s grave where he wiped it over the dead man’s name. He looked to Ramona. “Now I’m a fucking pervert.”
Ramona, pointing to her crotch, hissed, “You shithead! You rubbed me raw!”
“Is there a problem here?”
It doesn’t take a big stretch of imagination to know those are the words of a cop on duty and, sure enough, one of Hartford’s finest had finally caught up with Mark and Ramona. Rising from Hooker’s grave, Mark answered, “Not really, officer. I just wanted to take in a little history after dinner. She’s miffed that I dragged her in here after dark.”
Ramona turned to face the officer, said nothing but crossed herself like the good Catholic girl she always wanted to be.
“Next time, visit before dinner,” the cop said curtly. “These grounds are closed after dark.” He scrutinized Mark and Ramona as he spoke, trying to assess just what they might’ve been doing. He hadn’t seen the scramble typical of people trying to hide drugs and paraphernalia as he approached, neither did he smell pot or alcohol on them. All he’d really witnessed was a woman apparently scolding a man so quietly that he couldn’t detect any clues.