Tara on a Tear


She snatched the cool can of orange cream soda from the machine, popped it open and pressed it to her hot forehead, the bubbles hissing and tickling her brow. Screw him, she thought, opening her door and kicking off her sneakers. What the hell was Stu’s problem? Fucking men. No. Scratch that. Take that back. Not “men”. Boys. Nasty, dirty, sophomoric little boys. That was Tara’s big problem. She didn’t know any “men”. She downed the pop, ripped off her clothes and jumped into the shower, scrubbing away a thick layer of sweat, dust and anger. Jogging sure as hell hadn’t done anything to calm her down, maybe a good, hot shower would. She soaped herself into a frenzy, even rubbing the bar into her hair. Screw the goddamn shampoo and conditioner and body wash and louffa and herbal facial soap – she didn’t feel like being a girl right now. She wanted a simple, brisk “clean”. Lather up, scrub down, and wash the whole fucking smell away.

She toweled off, plopped onto the bed, and devoured the little chocolate mint on the pillow. God, that tasted good. She pulled over the room service menu and checked out the deserts. Death by Chocolate Cake! “Fucking – A!” She rang up and ordered it. “Screw my diet.”

She flicked on the TV while waiting. There were only three channels, all about farming. “I hate the Midwest”, she mumbled. She could be back in Boston right now, using the Christmas break to work on her master’s thesis, instead of putzing around Illinois cow country on this stupid trip.

How the hell did Sheila ever talk her into a cross country road trip to Aspen? She didn’t even ski! And who the hell were these frat assholes she hooked up to drive with? So far the whole trip had been one farting and leering and sticking asses out the window nightmare. Two bright accomplished women, and four stinking “boys” all together in one big old mini-van. Christ! She’d been covered in beer and foul language for two days, and stunk of cigars and coffee breath. All she wanted was a good night’s sleep in a clean room, some peace and quiet — alone. And what did she get? At the reservation desk goddamn Stu hands her his room key, grabs her ass and says, “What’s the problem? Not into sports sex?”

“Godammit!” she screamed, cracking him across the face with a teeth shattering slap. She grabbed the key, told him to “Fuck himself off in another room”, and left Sheila alone with the rest of her Huns. If Sheila wants to be just a piece of road pussy, let her.

The jog was supposed to work off her anger, but it didn’t. The shower helped some, but she still felt scummy, and something else….something she couldn’t put her finger on. What the hell was it?

Tara flicked onto the premium channel list, and looked desperately for a movie. They cost extra, but hell she needed something. A good old movie might do the trick.

The cake arrived, and she threw on a hotel robe to answer the door. “Thanks” she said to the Waiter, as he set the tray on her bed, bending over a bit. He wore a black polyester uniform that cupped his buns nicely. “Nice ass” she thought to herself, shocked at the images that came to her now, like a picture of this kid bent over naked while she stroked his hairy cock from behind. “Oooo that’s nasty” she thought, wiping the image from her mind, turning away and fumbling through her purse for a buck tip.

He left and she locked the door, wondering what the hell that little fantasy was all about. How the hell could she have such a horny thought now, after the rage she felt at Stu and the other pigs of his sub-species. “Just pent up anger”, she thought, digging into the cake. Good Christ it was good! Three kinds of chocolate in every bite. Damn, she almost swallowed the fork. She washed the whole thing down with a tall glass of milk, then fell back onto the bed with a growl of contentment.

But still, even after the glorious cake, she felt like kicking a hole in the wall. “TV! Retreat to TV!” she thought, checking out the movie channels again, desperate for distraction. She came across something called “Grrrrrl Cops”. The rrrrrs appealed to her, and she flipped on the one minute preview.

A fleshy porn video appeared, with three skinny girls in cop uniforms interrogating a prisoner, some poor schmuck they had chained to a wall. He had his pants pulled down off his ass which the girls were smacking with their bare hands. “Oh Christ!” said Tara, about to change the channel. But then the Grrrrrl Cops turned the man around, and Tara wondered if they were going to show his penis (while wondering “What the hell kind of hotel is this?”). Well, there it was, big as life, purple and mean looking. They must have been spanking it around quite a bit to get it that angry. It was obscene, pointing up like that, all ridgy and bumpy, and shit do they really need a close-up of it? “What a fucking cock.” was all she could say, shocked, again, at her language, and more by her interest. Here it was, in all its glory, the brain center of all adolescent Bostancı Escort frat boy pighood – the cock. And she couldn’t take her eyes off it.

One of the Grrrrls placed her nightstick under the man’s balls, lifting the organ up further, and spit on it. “Oh, that’s enough!” said Tara, about to flip off the movie, but her one minute preview was over anyway, and the screen switched back to the preview list.

“My God.” she muttered. She’d never seen a porn flick before; actually making it to college without that particular experience. Her lovers were all nice guys who didn’t seem to need porno (or at least didn’t flaunt their pig urges). All nice guys.

All boring guys, she suddenly realized. They were all smart and literate – but, damn it to screeching hell they were dull. (What the hell was it about her language today? Stu must have really gotten under her skin.)

She lay back on the bed and fumed. She couldn’t stop thinking about the movie, wondering what was happening. “What were they doing to him now?” She liked how the man was being humiliated, and pleasured. The spitting on the cock thing was evil, but damn it, “Don’t guys do that to their fingers before shoving them up our cunts? (‘Cock’, ‘Cunt’ – why the hell am I talking this way?)

She felt a wetness growing between her legs, and slipped a hand inside her robe to check. Her clitoris was as hard as a cherry stone. As she brushed it a shuddering sensation went through her. Her pubic hair was moist, and her lips were pouting open. She began to rub herself, while cupping a breast. “Oh Fuck!” she said aloud, surprised at how aroused she was.

There was a knock on the door. “Goddamit!” she yelled, getting up. She tied her robe tightly and opened the door. It was Stu, the pig. In his hand was a suitcase.

“Look, don’t fucking hit me again,” he said. “I just wanted to say what the hell was that all about? I mean Sheila says come out, let’s party for a couple of weeks, bring some guys, I know a girl, we’ll ski and fuck around and I mean, Jesus! So I’m getting the wrong signals, okay, you can tell me, you don’t fucking hit a guy. That hurt you know, I mean I think I have a loose tooth! So, look, I can’t afford my own room and you’ve got a double bed and Sheila’s with Jerry and the other two guys are sharing so I need a place to stay and I was apparently brought out here on false pretenses so I just need to stay here, that’s all.” He set his suitcase down, folded his arms, and stood there with a very tail between the legs pouty face.

Tara stared at him, and she knew why she was so edgy, so pissed, so Goddman riled up. Stu the man-pig was good looking, with a sexy mop of black hair, a tall, lanky body and nice shoulders that filled out a T-shirt nicely. She wanted him, she realized, the first day in Boston when they picked him outside his dorm. But, it took days of being immersed in guy talk and fighting off gropes and leers for her civilized soul to melt away and reveal the lusty girl beneath. She wanted to fuck him, she knew that now. She was as piggish as these foul boys who’d helped to bring her down to their level. She needed a cock – not a “penis” damn it. A cock. Even now, standing there, staring at this asshole, ready to shut the door in his beautiful face, she could feel her pussy muscles contract with anticipation of receiving the manhood in front of her.

“You got a credit card?” she asked.

“Yeah. My Dad gave me a Visa, but only for emergencies.” he replied.

“This IS an emergency you moron.” she said closing the door, “Now fuck off.” SLAM!

Tara jumped back up onto the bed, ordered another Death by Chocolate Cake, threw open her robe, flicked on the TV, selected the “Grrrrl Cops” video for viewing, thrust a hand between her legs, and rubbed herself into a frenzy. No way was she going to let that nose-picking prick touch her, she didn’t care how horny she got.

On the video the Grrrrls had their prisoner tied to bench in a jail cell, face up. They were fucking and sucking him and sitting on his face and humiliating and taunting him and Oh God it made her feverishly hot! With every smack against the man’s pale flesh she thrust a finger deep inside herself. With every “Lick me, ape” taunt she twisted a nipple. With every bite of his cock she rubbed her clit. His humiliation was thrilling. She finger-fucked and rubbed herself delirious, watching this perversion with wide-eyed lust. She was getting close, but was craving more than her skinny fingers. If she couldn’t have a cock (“Starting to love that word!”) she at least wanted a kiss.

There was a knock at the door. “Shit!” she said, shutting her robe and turning off the TV. She opened the door to the same Waiter, the cute kid in the crisp uniform. He put down the tray and turned around for his tip.

He had nice lips, very red and soft looking. But his eyes were dangerous. They were dark and deeply set, and secretive. She caught him looking down at her Erenköy Escort legs beneath her robe, then quickly looking back up to her exposed throat, and then up to her eyes, all in a second. He probably didn’t even know he was doing it; a knee jerk lizard brain reaction, instructions received not from the brain, but the balls. And he had a flashy gold chain around his neck. She decided he was just another macho prick who needed punishment. And, God, he had nice lips…

“Can you kiss me?” she blurted out before having a chance to stop herself. She realized she was thinking the sentence, and hadn’t meant to really say it out loud (or did she?) But when she saw his hesitation, his angst, his second of squirmy uncomfortableness, she pressed on bravely, as if she were in complete control of the situation, and had meant to ask it all along. “Kiss me.” she ordered.

“Uh, why?” he said. His eyes started darting around, like a bunny caught in a trap. His rabbit heart was probably pounding. These tough guys always crumble when women take charge. Poor little dear.

“It’s been a rough day, and I need a kiss.” she said, stepping into him, putting her arms on his shoulders. He could smell her soapy hair, which was still damp. A trickle of water had run down to her bosom only to vanish inside the terrycloth. As he looked down at her he couldn’t help taking in the swell of her breasts.

“Okay.” he said dully.

“Hmm.” thought Tara, “Not too bright. Who cares? I need lips.”

He leaned down and kissed her, tentatively, not sure what kind of freakiness he was getting into. But Tara would have none of that shit. She wanted a real damn kiss, and pulled his head down, crushing his full lips, smelling his musky cologne, feeling his scratchy face, and darting the tip of her tongue into this mouth. She lingered, tasting him. She bit his lip and kissed him again, exploring further with her tongue, pushing it past his teeth.

It was a fabulous kiss, just what she needed. But she could feel his member grow and press against her leg, and suddenly she wanted to feel it, weigh it in her hand. So she reached down, and cupped his cock though his pants.

“Mmmmphhh.” he moaned, not expecting this. She liked how wiggy he got whenever she took charge. So she tried something else.

“Would you like a blowjob?” she said, squeezing his cock. He nearly jumped out of his polyester uniform.

“Uh, sure.” he managed.

Then, before he could do it himself, she unzipped his pants. Out of his fly bulged his white underwear. She reached into the little jockey shorts flap and forced his cock through. She wanted to see it like that, sticking out through all the holes of his clothing. He was fully dressed, his prick sticking out like a third arm. It looked odd that way, prettier, without all the accompanying baggy flesh and hair. A nice, hard penis, all alone. Didn’t even have to know a fucking man was attached to it. She knelt down and sniffed it, rubbing it across her cheek, taking in its shape and weight, then opened her mouth and sucked it in. No foreplay, no licking or nibbling; she wanted it, she took it.

“Ahhhh God!” the boy cried, not ready for such a wild sucking. But Tara was ravenous, and moved her mouth and teeth around his prick mercilessly, smacking her lips and gulping him down deep into her throat.

“Hmmm. That’s so nice.” she said. What the hell was she doing? She was blowing some kid in a hotel room. This wasn’t exactly her. Shit, she’d only ever given three blowjobs before (and never really enjoyed it). But here she was, sucking cock, and loving it. She was heady with lust, drunk with dirty impulses, so satisfied to act on her basest urges.

She popped the lovely cock out of her mouth, and ran her hands over the kid’s ass. She knew what she wanted next. “Now do something for me,” she said, “and turn around.”

She was moving fast now, not giving the poor kid a chance to think or breathe. She was acting on instinct here, a pure animal instinct. The moment she wanted something, she went for it; and right now she wanted to play out the fantasy she had earlier.

He did as he was told. He turned around, facing the mirror on the far wall. She pulled down his pants to his ankles. “Bend over.” she said. He hesitated a bit, not wanting to expose himself like that (“Men are sooooo sensitive about their assholes!”) “It’s okay,” she said, “I want to try something.” She urged him on, pressing his head down (“Don’t men do that too? Push our heads where they want them to go?”)

With her urging he bent at the waist, his bare bottom sticking up. Lord, he did have a nice ass, nice and taught. She gave it a little smack. “Ow!” he said, getting annoyed. Standing behind him she ran one hand over his smooth cheeks, and reached around with the other to jerking him off as hard as she could.

“Oh fuck!” he yelled, feeling very vulnerable, but enjoying it too much to protest.

“Yeah, that’s it.” she Göztepe Escort said. “Spread your legs more.”

He kicked his pants off one foot, spread his legs wide and grabbed his ankles. Now that he had no possibility of tipping over she jerked him off even harder. “Easy! Easy!” he said, moaning. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuuuck!”

God she was loving this! She’d never done anything like this! It was exhilarating to follow through on every filthy impulse she had. “I love fucking this guy!” she marveled to herself. “I want him to fucking be humiliated! God!”

And what could be worse to a guy like this than to have a finger up his ass? (Christ! Could she do that?) It was a smooth ass, and with his legs spread she could see his little bung hole pucker open. “Mmmmm” she moaned, running a finger down to his crack. She spit on his ass, moistened her finger, and slid it into his rectum. “Cum you fucker!” she said.

“Ah fuck!” she cried, thrilled by her language. “You bitch! Ahhh God.” he screamed, trying to get up. But it must have felt good, because he moaned once and bent over again.

She watched herself for five solid, delirious minutes in the mirror across the room. She wasn’t crazy about how dirty her finger was getting, but, “Damn! Look at what I’m doing to this kid. This fucking macho prick!” She couldn’t believe this was her, Tara Goldstein, shoving a finger up this boy’s ass, and jerking him off like a jersey cow. The picture of her hovering over him, humiliating him, finger-fucking his anus, was surreal. “Holy God, why the hell is he letting me do this?” she asked herself. And she knew it was because of how foul she felt, how much she just didn’t give a shit what he thought of her, and that he was too intimidated by all that to resist her.

She popped out her finger, and tossed him onto the bed. She chucked off her robe and climbed on top of him. She maneuvered him until his head was hanging off the end of the edge of the bed. “Good! Who the fuck needs to see his face?” she thought, straddling him.

Her pussy was sopping, and slid over his cock nicely. “FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” she cried, as he filled her. Christ he was thick! And Lord she was on fire!

She rode him, pressing her pelvis against his prick, rubbing her clit. She rode him hard, like a horse, while he complained about the pain. “Too fast! Wait!” he cried. But she didn’t care if his Goddamn prick snapped off, this felt too gooooooood. She ran her hands under his shirt and plucked at his chest hair. “OW!” he screamed. His arm flung out and hit the TV remote. The porno flick popped on, and they watched it while they fucked (his view was upside down, but who the hell cared?). On the screen the Grrrrl Cops had a new prisoner, an enormous biker type, in leather, and tattooed from head to toe. They had him chained to the cell door with his pants down. He was fucking one Grrrrl from behind while the other Grrrrls yelled obscenities at him.

It was too delicious a sight – this big biker being “taken” by the hero Grrrrls. Tara’s pussy squeezed and clamped onto the pretty cock under her, until she felt an enormous eruption. “Ahhhhhh! AHHHHHHHHHH!” she screamed, cumming. It was an tremendous orgasm, but a quick one, like a man’s. An incredible orgasm. And when it was over, it was over. A nice quick fuck! And now get the kid out!

She jumped off him. “Wait…!” he said, but she was done. He flailed about on the bed, his pants still bundled around one ankle, his engorged cock waving about like a red saber. A pitiful sight. Tara grabbed the chocolate cake and devoured it. She was through with him, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it, so he grabbed his own cock, gave it one hard squeeze, and shot a rope of thick cum into the air and onto his face. “AHHHHHHHHHH GOD!” he said, sputtering at the cum dripping into his nose.

She allowed him a moment to recover, got her purse, tipped him ten bucks, kissed him on those soft, soft lips and said, “You’d better go.”

He dressed while she turned off the TV, gulped down her milk, and crawled into bed. “Bye” he said sheepishly.

She curled up to her pillow and yawned “Mmmmm. Thanks, sweetie…” she said. “Get the light.”

He turned off the light and left. She was asleep before he shut the door.

The next morning Stu, Sheila and the rest of the crew woke to find Tara standing by the minivan with a very determined, don’t-fuck-with-me look on her face. Sheila looked like shit, and rolled her eyes as if to say, “You would not believe the night I had!” The sex with Jerry must have been lousy. No wonder, with a pathetic pig like that. What did she expect? Probably let him get on get on top and drill her and fall asleep before she even got wet. Poor stupid girl. Better to be a Grrrrl.

“Okay, here’s the way it is.” said Tara, “Before we go anywhere, we’re going to clean the van of beer cans, pretzel bags and cigar butts. Smoking will be done at rest stops only, and there will be no drinking. The boys will sit in the back so Sheila and I can talk, and we’ll be in charge of the radio for the rest of the trip. Give me the keys, Sheila.”

Sheila had been letting the boys drive, and they were all maniacs on the road.

“Hey, who elected you … ?” began Stu.

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