Tight Squeeze

"It's 9:39 a.m., and I'm standing on the sunporch looking down on the bay. For what it's worth there's action there, sailboats, jet skis, and a couple of cabin cruisers churning out for Long Island Sound.

I'm expecting a call from my Ray Cohen any minute. He's the sixty-year-old prick agent that fucked up my contract with Warner Brothers. The phone rings, and I slide the bar.

"Danny my, man!"

"Don't get friendly with me, cunt. Did you get my money or not?"

"The money's in place. We need to pull a couple more strings...."

"What the fuck does that mean--in place? Get it in my account! I've got to say something, Cohen. For a guy who graduated from Northwestern, you've got rocks in your head. It's unbelievable. Get it done!"

I slide the bar. I think he got the message. I hope for his sake he did. I've about had it with these assholes taking advantage of my young ass. My douchebag father, Richard, is a piece of work, too. He hired Cohen. Richard keeps treating himself to Corvettes on my dime, and he's the one that found this condominium that we'll be staying in for the next ten days.

I gotta get back to Los Angeles after that, or I lose the option on my contract. I'm eighteen, but I play the thirteen-year-old brat on Tight Squeeze, the one that calls intervention lines and makes volunteer counselors believe he's about to kill himself. I'm having trouble making the weight, though, passing for thirteen. The show held a top slot for two years now, and I'm just about to get written out of the script. Never get tired of those blow jobs, though. The starlets can't line up fast enough.

And then there's a woman I spotted yesterday from my sun porch.

•

My telescope brought me straight into her yard, a straight line to her twat while she sat in a lounge chair wearing cutoff jeans. Her big pussy lips made her crotch all filled out and springy looking--like she'd jammed a balloon animal down her pants. She was sun-browned from the tops of her feet to the tint in her hair. She started doing some yard work: squatting, raking, pruning. By that time, I was on my way over. I stopped by her mailbox and gave her a chance to look up and recognize me, but she kept fucking around with flowers until I said, "Hey." She laughed like she'd heard the tone a thousand times before. And then she looked up, and I guessed she was thirty-five. She said, "Hey." She recognized me alright. She looked me up and down, and she knew I was sniffing around for pussy. "You're Danny Eltman," she said with a brilliant smile.

Yeah, she'd suck it.

"That's the rumor."

A pickup truck pulled up, and I had to suffer meeting her husband. He was so friendly that I thought they'd both be willing to blow me.

I went home and hung out in Richard's bathroom for a while. He's got a vibrating toothbrush. I took one of the mirrors out of the medicine cabinet, set it on the toilet tank, and leaned it against the wall. I fussed around with the angle, then I took my cock out and grabbed the toothbrush. I hit my spot, and my joint swelled up. I jiggled my sack with the opposite hand and continued to tap the sweet spot every second. Once I had it good and stiff, I jammed it back in my shorts and stepped up to the mirror. I yanked the elastic on my shorts down. Pop! It came swinging out just like I wanted it to. I kept practicing the move. I wanted to see what balloon-cunt would see when the moment came. Yeah, I was that sure of myself. I gave it more toothbrush. I drooled on it, and I worked the bubbles in. The head was getting spunky. I touched Richard's toothbrush to the cum and came away with a slack cum thread that hung on until it snapped and swung onto my nuts. Big twat is in for a treat. I used the toothbrush all over my spot, lifting my cock against my belly--a vibrating jerk off! "Fuuuck." Cum everywhere. I tried washing Richard's toothbrush off in the sink, but the warm water turned the cum into a white paste that I dug out of the bristles with a toothpick.

•

The husband's pickup truck is still in the driveway, and I'm wondering how much longer he's going to hang around. Richard's in the shower. He'll be eating a bit of my jizz soon enough. Now the woman is coming out with her husband, and their both carrying lawn chairs that they set up. Then she goes inside and comes out with green drinks. Then he goes in again and carries one of those straw beach bags. It doesn't look like the husband is going anywhere soon. As I mentioned, I need my cock sucked. She drops her ass in one of the chairs and glances right at me; at least it looks like she sees me. Fuck it. I toss on a Neiman Marcus skater-boy outfit--I get more blow jobs when I'm dressed in character--and I move it on down the hill. As soon they see me, they start waving like a couple of hillbillies. The husband lifts his drink up and gives me a nod. She's got her legs spread and flexed and I can see she does a lot of squats.

"How's it going, Danny," the husband asks.

"It's going fine, sir; you're certainly lucky to own a home in such a lovely neighborhood."

"We love it here," she says, glancing at her husband, "It's our second year in the area. We're from Beaver Falls originally."

"Where's that again?"

"Pennsylvania."

"You know, Joe Namath country," adds the husband.

Who the fuck is Joe Namath?

"Oh, yes, sir. Elaine and Glenn," I say, pointing to one and then the other with my best prevaricating charm."

"See, honey, he remembered. He even remembered to wear his little uniform."

What the fuck? "Well, I best be on my way,"

"Not so fast, stud," says Glenn, holding open the beach bag, "Do you recognize this weapon?"

"It looks like a Desert Eagle, sir."

"Why his voice is shaking, honey," says Elaine, "Are you scared, Danny?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"That's good, now get your ass in the house."

"I swear to Christ, I'll kill you right where you stand, Danny."

Elaine slung an arm over my shoulder and started me for the door. Once they had me inside, Elaine grabbed a tissue and dabbed the tears off my cheeks.

"Now this is the thing, Danny; I'm going to suck your cock--just like I think we all know you want, only I'm going to do it extra nice. The only catch is...well, if you cum in my mouth, Glenn blows you away."

She dropped to her knees before me, saying, "And your hands stay at your sides. You don't touch any part of me."

Glenn pulled back the weapon's slide and released a jolt like a hammer to an anvil.

I didn't even feel my shorts going down, but her mouth was clamped around my shrunken sack, gently nursing it into a hanging nut bag. There was no way to cancel the sensation as she gem-polished my testicles. She paused for a moment, and I felt the extra suction as she swallowed her saliva and then continued to mouth maul my bag. I felt her release. She went for my cock, staying to the head at first, clamping it in her mouth, tonguing the frenulum with witchy lashes, then pulling her mouth off with slimy pops. Each plunge was her attack, cock disappearing deeper, surrounded and suctioned by the warm, slopping deluge of her mouth. She took it down her throat, pausing, then pulling back as if to draw a sword from a fleshy sheath, only to plunge it back again, a prisoner cock, locked in the slow rhythm of her relentless stimulation. Ropey saliva hung from my scrotum. She reached, embracing my balls with her soft hands. And then she fastened her mouth on the sweet spot and pushed aside the last of my resistance.

I heard a click and a deafening pop, and then Elaine's head disappeared.

End