I hope the stock market has crashed like a motherfucker by the time this letter gets printed. I am sick of suit-wearing pricks and stuck-up career bitches getting richer every day off their goddamned mutual funds, day trades and stock options. Fuck them all!
Me, I barely have two dimes to rub together since losing my job earlier this year. I wrote about that sorry-ass situation a few months back Penthouse Letters, March 2000 .
Long story short, I was doing yard work with a crew of other losers. Mrs. Doyle, an upper-crust cunt whose lawn we mowed, thought one of us had stolen her dog’s Cartier collar. She tracked me down at Angelo’s, my favorite bar, where she was disgusted to see me banging a ten-dollar whore in the bed of a pickup out back of the bar.
I was so pissed off at her for interrupting my screw that I shot a big wad of dick-grease in her general direction. She ran away like her Gucci skirt was on fire, and got on the phone to my supervisor. Sure enough, the scumbag canned me the next morning.
Only one good thing has happened in my shitty life since then. Last week, I was trying to bum free drinks down at Angelo’s with no luck. Even Manuel, one of my former coworkers, turned me down. I was debating whether to call him a cheap son of a bitch.
Then he said in a low voice, “I’ll give you something better than a beer and a shot, if you’re interested. Me and a few other guys have formed the best fucking club in the world. You think you might want in?”
I’m not what you would call the joining type. Plus I figured that whatever he was about to propose was more than likely crooked, and I didn’t have any interest in tempting fate. I already had two felonies on my record in this tight-assed three-strikes-you’re-out state. But that’s another story.
I snorted and hocked a big one into the corner. That’s what I like about Angelo’s–nobody gives you any shit for doing what comes natural. “Fuck that,” I said. Then I looked around to see if there was anybody else I might tap for the price of a brew.
Manuel grabbed my arm. “Wait until you hear the details before you turn it down, amigo. I’m doing you a favor.”
Okay, so he’s got my attention. And it turns out that the little bastard wasn’t exaggerating a damn bit. That’s because what he called the “best fucking club in the world” really was a fucking club.
Here’s how he laid it out.
“Me, Billy and Ricardo were getting shit-faced here on a Thursday morning last month,” he said. “It had started raining, so we knew we wouldn’t be cutting any more grass that day. There were only two other guys in here that early, plus Sammy.” Sammy was the bartender, a three-hundred-pound Samoan.
“So who strolls in but a sweet blonde babe who looked like she should have been shopping on Rodeo Drive?” Manuel continued. “I’m talking real class, with clothes like a fashion model. Her face was perfect, all made up like a Beverly Hills trophy wife, and her body was even better. You could tell she had nice, big tits, even though she was wearing a jacket that matched her skirt. That miniskirt hugged her hips good and tight.
“We figure that this squeaky-clean piece of ass will be hightailing it as soon as her eyes adjust and she sees what kind of shithole she has wandered into. Everybody else on the premises was in dirty work clothes, even the ones who hadn’t worked in a while.”
He chuckled and gave me a look. I let the remark pass. I knew I looked like crap and smelled worse. Doing laundry is one of those things that manages to slip a guy’s mind when he has been out of a job for a few months.
Manuel got back to his story. “We were a sweaty, rough-looking bunch, no doubt about it. Ricardo said something loud enough for the blonde to hear, about how he would just love to eat the fucking hell out of her rich, white-girl pussy. Billy called out, ‘You want some working-class dick up your pampered ass, baby? I’ll ride you straight to the other side of the tracks!’
“We all laughed at that. But we noticed that the babe wasn’t leaving. She just stood there, staring at us. We all got quiet for a second, wondering what she was going to say. But we sure as hell weren’t expecting what came out of her pretty mouth.
“She took a step toward us and said, ‘How many of you filthy bastards really want to fuck me, and how many are nothing but talk?’
“Johnny, that half-stupid fuck who used to drive a garbage truck before he got fired, spoke up quick. ‘I don’t know about the rest of these half-a-queers, but I’ll throw you a screw you won’t ever forget. You interested?’
“The blonde didn’t change expression, just looked around the bar. She said, still real cool, ‘Is he the only one? I was hoping a few more of you greasy scumbags would volunteer. What kind of pussies are you, anyway?’”
At that point in his story, my buddy grinned and took a long drink of beer, like he was taunting me. I could almost taste it going down. Fucker.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “None of us were going to turn down an offer like that,” he said. “Not even Sammy, and he was supposed to be running the joint. He locked the front door, turned around the Closed sign, and said, ‘Let’s go in the back.’ We thought he meant the parking lot, where we would use a mattress in one of the junked pickups near the dumpster. We started toward the exit.
“Sammy stopped us. ‘Not outside. The back room, so the owner won’t catch us if he stops by and uses his key. We’ll hear him come in the bar before he sees what we’re doing back there, and I can stick my head out and claim to be fixing a busted water pipe or something.’
“He held open the door to the storeroom, where he had a single bed. Apparently he sleeps back there. There were no sheets on the lumpy mattress, which had so many different-colored stains, it looked like a map of the world.
“The blonde glanced at it, then looked at the six of us. She gave us a tight grin, showing her perfect white teeth. Johnny was tugging at himself through his pants and practically drooling, eager to jump her bones. But she was definitely the one in control. She was the queen bee, and we were just a bunch of horny drones.
“She took off her jacket. Under it was a white satin halter-type blouse that left her arms and most of her back bare. No bra. Her nipples were hard, sticking out against the front.
“She sat on Sammy’s nasty mattress. Then she pulled her feet up on the edge of the metal bed frame and spread her legs–giving us a good look at her bare pussy, since she wasn’t wearing panties. It was totally shaved.
“‘Come on, you dirty fuckers,’ she said. ‘Give a horny rich girl what she really needs.’”
“Johnny got his dick out fast. He wanted to fuck her right away, but she had other ideas. ‘Let me suck on that big prick first,’ she said, grabbing hold of it. ‘Somebody else get down there and eat my pussy. And don’t ignore my tits, either.’”
“She reached behind herself to undo her halter top. Her tits were big and firm. When she stretched out on her back, her jugs still stood up nice and round. I dived between her legs with my mouth, hungry to get me some of that hairless high-society hole. She didn’t have that funky whore-pussy taste I’m used to. Her cunt juice was as sweet as lemon pie filling.
“Johnny was squatting on one side of the narrow bed with his big horse-dick in her mouth. Billy had pulled out his meat, too, and was on the other side. The blonde was stroking his prick. She would alternate sucking one cock and then the other.
“Ricardo and Sammy were sucking on her tits. That only left that weird fucker Jeff, the guy who used to work over at the transmission place, with nothing to do. He was yanking on his cock in the corner.
“As for the blonde, she was writhing around like the biggest slut on earth, loving all the attention. She looked down at me and said, ‘Put your dick in my cunt. I need to get fucked now. Fucked the way my rich goddamned husband never fucks me.’
“The other guys looked like they wanted to kill me for getting to be first, but I didn’t give a shit. I pushed down my pants, she pulled up her knees, and I rammed my dick home. She was creamy as a Hostess Twinkie inside, and as tight as a miser’s fist.
“She was strong, too. She rolled me onto my back, so she was on top. Then she sat upright, so she could still suck two dicks again while she was riding mine. Somebody undid her wrap skirt and whipped it off, leaving her naked except for her high heels. Two of the guys grabbed her swinging tits.
“‘Somebody play with my asshole,’ she said. I saw Sammy reach behind her body. Through the membrane that separated her shit-chute from her fuck-funnel, I could feel Sammy’s fat finger probing up inside her rump.
“I heard Sammy say, ‘You want a dick stuffed up your ass while there’s one in your pussy?’ The blonde didn’t take her mouth off the cock she was sucking, just nodded eagerly.
“I felt Sammy slowly pushing his thick cock up her butt. It felt like it was rubbing against my own dick. I’m no fag or anything, but it felt kind of good.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet it did,” I said. Manuel’s face got red and he flipped me the bird, then went on with his story.
“Anyway, I came pretty soon after that. When my dick went soft, the blonde raised up to let Jeff take my place. She sucked and fucked us for more than two hours, until all six of us had come at least once in her pussy, her mouth or her asshole. We heard a lot of banging on the bar’s front door by people wanting to get in, which we naturally ignored.
“Finally, the blonde held up a hand and said, ‘That’s it for today, boys. Somebody get me a towel.’
“Sammy hurried behind the bar and brought back a handful of the rags he uses to wipe glasses. She bunched them up to mop off the sweat and come from her glistening body. She said she might know some other girls who would like the same kind of action, and asked if we were at Angelo’s every Thursday morning. If we could promise it would be just six of us, and nobody else, she said she would spread the word.
“Sammy told her he would leave the ‘Closed’ sign up until three on Thursdays, but that any girls the blonde sent over could knock and get in. ‘It’ll be real discreet,’ he said, which must have been the first time in his low-rent life that Sammy had ever used that word.
“All five of us and Sammy were there the next Thursday at eleven–even though we thought we were wasting our time. But sure enough, a different high-society babe showed up just before noon. She was a brunette. She came in with a veil over her face. But once the door was locked behind her, she acted like she was as horny for working-stiff cock as her friend had been. I’d bet a week’s pay that the kind of language she used when she was pulling a train that morning never came out of her pretty mouth at a country-club social.
“The next week a different brunette showed up, a slinky Eurasian type. She was into some weird stuff, let me tell you. Let’s just say it’s a good thing that Sammy keeps a mop in the back room–and a shovel. Goddamn, that bitch was hot.”
I was staring at Manuel with my mouth hanging open. I was mighty damned impressed, as you can probably imagine. I remembered being one of the dumb bastards who had been outside pounding on the locked doors on one of those Thursday mornings.
“So how come none of you selfish cocksuckers mentioned any of this to me until tonight?”
“Like I told you, the blonde said only six guys. Maybe she thought letting more than a half-dozen men at a time fuck her and her friends would be a little bit too kinky.”
Manuel gave a horselaugh, slapped the bar hard and took another drink.
“But now we have a problem,” he said. “Johnny was thrown in jail last Friday for selling black-market cigarettes he had trucked in from Nevada. So we will be one man short tomorrow. Unless you’re interested.”
Which was how I ended up at Angelo’s the next morning, staring at the neon clock behind the bar. Around half past eleven, I started feeling like I was on a snipe hunt, and that I might have to knock out a few of Manuel’s teeth with a pool cue. Then a white Jaguar wheeled into the front lot and parked. Out stepped a blonde all in white, with a wide-brimmed hat and a big pair of sunglasses. She looked like she was in her late twenties and had one hell of a nice shape. Big rack, narrow waist, long legs. My dick woke up and started putting on weight fast.
“She’s a new one,” Manuel muttered. “But she looks as good as the others.”
Sammy had the front door unlocked and open before she could knock. The blonde hesitated a second, and then stepped inside.
“You here to get fucked?” Billy asked her. That guy is a real romantic, let me tell you.
The blonde swiveled her head, looking at us, although she couldn’t have seen much through those shades. Maybe she was making sure how many of us there were.
“Yes,” she finally answered. “Yes, I am definitely here to get fucked.” As she said it, she reached to take off her hat and sunglasses.
And goddamn if I didn’t recognize that icy, beautiful bitch. She was Mrs. Doyle, the same stuck-up suburban princess who had gotten my ass fired four months before. She didn’t seem to recognize me, even though I was sitting closest to her. That was typical. Nobody with money ever has to remember white trash like me.
I should have hated her too much to want to fuck her. But my dick wasn’t paying attention. That made it kind of hard for me to hold a grudge.
“Clarissa said that you use the back room–” she began.
“Right this way, lady,” Sammy said.
Mrs. Doyle walked in a real prissy way, more like she was eighty-two than twenty-eight. When she looked at Sammy’s single bed, which honestly did look like a few people had puked on it, which they had, she wrinkled her nose in distaste. She surveyed the six of us with equal disgust. I know I wasn’t the only one who thought she would turn around and head back to her car.
Instead, she started unbuttoning her blouse. “Let’s get to it, shall we?” she said. “If you filthy dregs of humanity can actually manage to make me come, this degradation might actually turn out to be worth enduring.”
That insult should have made me dislike her even more intensely–but instead, it made my dick harder. I was turned on by the idea that she thought I was scum.
She was wearing a no-nonsense white bra under her blouse. Still standing, she unhooked its back fasteners as casually as if she were alone in her bedroom. Billy took the bra from her and put it on top of a case of whiskey.
Her tits were fantastic, the hundred-percent-natural kind that hang down nice and full, with perfectly round nipples at their tips. I stepped toward her and cupped one of those jugs in my palm. Manuel was squeezing her other boob. I leaned in for a kiss.
“Good God, your breath!” she said. But she didn’t pull away when I planted my mouth on hers. I slipped my tongue in. Hers was drawn back in her mouth as far as it would go. I rolled her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. It got stiffer. Mrs. Doyle started slowly caressing my tongue with hers.
While we Frenched, she reached down to undo her skirt. The guys gave her some help getting it off–and her white cotton panties, too. Her bush was trimmed into a very neat triangle, like she paid a lot of attention to her grooming down there. She lay back on the nasty mattress.
“Get your cocks out,” she instructed us, sounding more like a schoolteacher than a seductress. “You dirty pigs have one hell of a lot of work to do if you expect to get me off.”
I ditched my clothes and practically jumped on top of her–kissing her mouth, sucking her big tits, making my way down to the golden valley of her cunt. I pushed up her legs and spread her thighs. Her slit was the straight-line type, very tidy, without the kind of meaty inner lips that I usually like. On her, though, this kind of pussy was perfect. The bitch was an immaculate, Barbie-doll goddess, as clean and perfect as I was dirty and flawed. I couldn’t get enough of her.
I almost didn’t notice the other guys. When I looked up and saw her sucking Billy’s dick and tugging on Jeff’s at the same time, while Sammy and Ricardo each squeezed a tit, all I saw was the ball-busting bitch herself.
I put my dick between her legs. Maybe I should have deferred to the more “senior members” of the club by letting one of them fuck her first, but I couldn’t help myself. I had never been hotter for a woman in my life. She moaned when I pushed my bone inside her cunt. She was good and wet, and slippery as silk.
I hate to admit it, but I only lasted about six strokes before I exploded. That was okay. I planned on going back for more later.
Ricardo took my place, pumping her box so hard that the metal bed sounded like it would collapse. Mrs. Doyle still looked bored. She blew me while Jeff climbed on. Then it was Sammy’s turn. Manuel asked if she wanted his dick up her ass.
“No, that sounds too hideous even to contemplate,” she said. “Stick to my cunt, please.”
“Okay, but how about doggie-style?”
She answered by getting up on her hands and knees, presenting her crack. Her big tits hung enticingly from her narrow chest. Manuel spread her cheeks with his dirty hands and slid his cock inside her pussy. In no time he was panting through his nose. He grunted, “Madre Dios!” when he came.
Mrs. Doyle still looked completely unmoved. She only seemed to be going through the motions, like a bored call girl. The other guys probably didn’t care. So long as they got their rocks off, that’s all that concerned them. But I was determined to make her climax.
I took Manuel’s place behind Mrs. Doyle on the mattress. I held the cheeks of her ass apart. The sight of her gaping pussy and the dainty pink notch of her asshole made my dick so hard, it hurt. I shoved my root inside her juicy cunt for “sloppy sevenths.”
Her asshole flexed with each of my thrusts, like it wanted attention. Mrs. Doyle said she didn’t want to get fucked in the ass. But it dawned on me that there was more than one way to skin a crapper.
I pulled my cock out of her slot, leaned over and shoved my tongue right up her fart flue. That did the trick. Mrs. Doyle yelped in happy surprise. Then she said, “My God, what are you–”
I cut her off by swirling my tongue around her asshole, then going back in again. Deep.
“Ohhhhh,” she sighed, practically melting. “That feels sooooo good. Don’t stop.” Her hand was between her legs, rubbing her clit.
I went for broke. I put my open mouth around her asshole, making a seal. Then I simultaneously sucked and probed my tongue inside her, fucking it in and out.
Mrs. Doyle came with such a loud, long squeal that I’m surprised she didn’t shatter the Jim Beam bottles on the shelf. Her climax seemed to throw a switch inside her–the slut switch. All of a sudden, she was tugging and sucking on everyone’s cock like a nymphomaniac set on overdrive.
An hour later, we were almost relieved when she called a halt to the proceedings and got dressed. Before she left Angelo’s, I couldn’t resist revealing exactly who had been the one to make her climax.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” I said, all cocky and proud of myself.
She looked at me without any expression, back in full ice-queen mode. “Sure I do. You’re the son of a bitch who stole my dog’s Cartier collar. But I don’t give a damn anymore. You just earned it!” She walked out of Angelo’s, got in her Jag and looked both ways before pulling into traffic.
I stood there looking dumb and feeling stupid. Manuel slapped me on the back and howled with laughter. “She still thinks you were the one! Ha! I took that fucking collar myself, and hocked it for a down payment on a new truck. Stupid gringos! Come on, I’ll buy you a beer.”
I looked at the big set of teeth he was showing me. I looked over his shoulder at the rack of pool cues on the back wall. I would be needing one of those pretty soon.
First, though, you can bet I was sure as hell going to enjoy that beer.–D.S.J., San Diego, California