Dear alt.drunken.bastards,
I've been reading your fine newsgroup for a while, but I've never posted. Recently something happened one weekend which compelled me to write.
I was sitting in a local bar, minding my own business and wanting nothing more than to relax and unwind after a hard day at my Manhattan real estate office. Carrie (not her real name) the barkeep sauntered over to me and leaned forward, exposing her cleavage but, more importantly, giving me an uninhibited view of the beautiful, firm rows of liquor bottles behind her. My mouth became moist as I anticipated her question.
"What would you like?" Carrie asked, her eyes lowering to observe the bulging wallet I was sporting by then; I had been paid a few days earlier.
"I think you know what I'm here for, honey," I commanded.
Carrie dropped to her knees instinctively. With a swift and well-practiced motion of the wrist, she swung open the cooler door and reached firmly inside. She withdraw a glistening, dark bottle and placed it on the bar in front of me. She looked up at me, her brown eyes awaiting my approval. I smiled to her and Carrie stood.
"This'll satisfy me for the time being," I said and added, "but, you know, I think I really want to."
"You want to what?" she replied with a fluttering of her eyelashes. Carrie was no amateur at playing games. But I'd been around the block a few times myself.
"I want two beers," I confirmed. "But as I said, this one will do for now."
Carrie blushed and I apologized for possibly overstepping the boundaries so early on in the game. She swore that the next time, I'd have both my hands busy. Do I think I can keep it up all night, she asked. I wasn't entirely sure, but I knew that I was gonna give it one hell of a try.
I raised the rock-hard bottle to my lips and gently inserted its tip into my mouth. In seemingly no time, my mouth was filled with the bottle's gurgly contents. I continued massaging and rotating the bottle, over and over, until it was empty. I gently set it down and admired its splendor in the dim light of the bar.
Carrie'e eyes widened when she observed my ability. I assured her that my performance was merely a skill and not a talent, as anyone with the proper teachng and enough dilligent practice could do it as well as I could. It's a matter of technique, nothing more.
"So, are you teaching?" Carrie asked.
"Well, are you learning? If so, I suppose I am teaching," I replied.
"Do it again, for me, please. You do it like an animal. I could be your Brewslave[tm] all night long."
"Never fear, little one," I assured, "You may very well be chosen."
I smiled and withdrew my large, throbbing wallet for the second time, which caused Carrie to gasp as she noticed its girth had not diminished a bit. Though I did perform like an animal, she must have sensed that I would be gentle, because as I parted the wallet's silky folds, I timidly withdrew each individual bill and let it tenderly sink down onto the bartop.
Without further prompting, Carrie placed her beautiful pair directly onto the bar in front of me and requested I check them to make sure they were adequate for my pleasure. Gingerly, I massaged the left one, then the right, up and down, side to side. Carrie giggled as my finger drew tiny, invisible circles on each's texture. They were smooth and warm, but I needed an alternate stimulus.
"These beers are hot. Don't you have any cold ones?" I asked.
Carrie apologized and placed two different beers in front of me. I thanked her and began indulging my needs for the second time in as many minutes. Each of my hands now had a partner, and I was intent upon satisfying all my urges via any member I could grasp. Seizing the energy of the moment, I thrust the left bottle into my oral orifice and began gulping for all I was worth. As the beer erupted into me, I thought for a second that I would choke, but my throat relaxed and allowed the creamy swill to travel its course into my eager stomach.
The left vial spent, I repositioned myself to accept the full treatment of the container to my right. With an animalistic frenzy, I began repeatedly pumping the object into my aperature. I wanted every drop of what it had waiting for me, and no sooner had I begun quaffing than the stiff bottle exploded its load against the back of throat. I swallowed as quickly and as fiercely as possible, but the fermented broth spilled down my face and onto my chest, its wetness travelling across my shirt's cotton texture.
My taut, pink nipples stood erect as the chilled wetness enveloped my areolae and pectoral muscles. I had an impulsive thought to acquire a nipple ring, as my headlights were positioned on high-beam, but I scuttled the idea, as that would entail postponing the drinking for a while. Plus, St. Mark's Place was several streets away, and I did not feel like making the venture.
Carrie walking over and offered a towel with which I could mop up the excess remnants of my performance. I thanked her, accepted the rag and dried my face. Thank god I hadn't gotten any in my eyes! I then realized that this would be no simple undertaking, but nothing good in life ever is.
I demanded numerous shots of Jagermeister to prepare my system for further activity. Again, I gulped the solutions thrust in my face with all my ability and soon began to enjoy the tepid glow emanating from my center. I tongued each shot glass and savored every drop of the rich, viscous fluid that I could.
However, I was soon informed that I'd have to wait a while before drinking more. Carrie alleged that I was beginning to offend some of the patrons seated close to me. Despite my suble threats to murder their families, they insisted they were concerned for my well-being and that perhaps I should wait a short time before continuing any further.
A slow glance around the bar's interior revealed a motley assortment of patrons.
One young man, probably legal to drink for only a matter of days, was assaulting
the jukebox, evidently because it had taken his money and not played his selections.
His friends were shouting encouragement as he repeatedly thrust his clenched fists
against the box's front panel.
"Kill it, Reilly (not his real name), kill it!" the kid's friends were chanting. Damn lightweights, I muttered, looking further around the establishment. Oh well, I further deduced, if they're gonna learn how to drink, I guess it may as well be in some seedy East Village bar, where the rules exist as you make them up.
Two other youths sat in the corner, massaging the features of the curvaceous young things they had picked up a few minutes earlier. I sensed the mates were tourists, from their accents. As they stood fondling their catches, they were verbally exchanging predictions as to what the night would have in store. I cocked my head and squinted for a better view of their hands, which were travelling to various regions of their dates' anatomies, as well as for a better listen to their forecasts.
"Oy, Jaz (not his real name)," the first said. "This 'ere Guinness is th' shit, eh? I'm gonna enjoy every tasty drop of this one," his hands massaging the exterior of the pint glass.
"Bollocks, Paddy (not his real name)," the second lad replied. "Gimme a young, wet Bass Ale anytime. I wanna get pissed," his fingers teasing the pint glass in front of him.
I raised one of my (very empty) bottles and smiled a non-verbal "cheers" to the fellow boozers, who smiled back, one of them silently mouthing, "wanker" towards me. I've been told the expression means something along the lines of "I think you're cool," so I was honored.
As I was formulating a scheme to get more drinks, a young lady sat down at the stool
beside me. She smiled and tried to be discreet as she slowly inhaled the scent of
my newly-altered shirt. I sensed her excitement and initiated an exchange.
"Hey there, you sexy-ass chick," I began. "What's a pretty thang like you doin' in a smelly shithole like this?"
"I come here for the atmosphere and the stimulating conversation," she said. "What's your name?"
"Never mind that. Well, call me V.D.," I replied. "What d'ya call yerself?"
"You may call me Sondra (not her real name)," she answered. "Tell me, for what does V.D. stand, or do I really want to know?"
"It stands for Violent Drunkard. That a problem, hot-pants?"
"No," she said. "So long as you don't assault me, okay?"
"Whatever," I muttered, reaching for the towel again, as my cheeks began to feel sticky.
Sondra was very attractive: a streamlined figure, well-proportioned features, and she no visible cigarette burns or needle marks I could immediately detect. Her smile was entrancing and I sensed that we would get along extremely well that evening.
She ordered a beer and once the bottle was placed in front of her, my libido began its sensual dance throughout my mental recesses. Moving closer to her, I inhaled the musky odor of the beer and immediately wanted one for myself. As I had been "postponed" a few minutes previous, I knew that this was not an option, but I deduced I could achieve anything I desired, no matter what strategy would be required.
"You have the most beautiful glasses I have seen all evening," I said. "Well, scratch that. They're almost as beautiful as the pint glasses I was eyeing earlier. But you get my point."
"I...I do?" Sondra asked, stunned and blushing.
"Yeah, you do. I love the way they reflect the Budweiser neons in the window over there. That's way sexy. When I look into your eyes, I see little red bottles with the logo underneath. It really gets me going."
So far,so good.
All this rendered Sondra speechless, so I moved in for the kill. Gently, I began stroking her earlobes and caressing her neck, in an attempt to distract her from the beer that sat waiting for me directly in front of her. Sondra moaned slightly and leaned into my touch. She was my captive, her beer my prey, and the hunt was rapidly approaching climax.
"You smell so good," Sondra whispered. "What cologne is that?"
"I forget the name," I lied, "but I know it's a domestic brand."
I began kissing Sondra's soft neck and stroking her silky hair. She relaxed her head slightly backwards, her eyes closing in sheer ecstacy. I began moaning as I eyed the forbidden fruit of the carnal fluids which lay exposed, less than twenty inches from my face. With my right hand, I began massaging the middle of Sondra's back, my firm fingers slowly, eventually, travelling closer...closer...closer...
My breathing intensified as my pulse raced. The temptation of the prey succumbing to my physical desires was pushing me ever closer to the brink.
I could take no more. The impulses overcame me and my sensations exploded. I arched my back and began thrashing as electric sparks of pleasure made me gasp for air.
"OH MY GOD !! GIVE IT TO ME NOW !!" I screamed. Not fully realizing what was happening, Sondra began swearing and she clutched my shirt to keep from falling off her barstool.
I lunged forward, a blinding desire shooting through my body as I scooped up Sondra's beer and jammed it into my mouth. My hips began bucking as I tried to steady Sondra and keep my balance on the stool. Sondra began writhing under my shifting weight as I was fully on top of her, the bottle jammed deep into my mouth as both my hands flailed wildly in search of an object to grasp for stability.
"Take that damn beer! Take it all, you drunkard!" Sondra screamed, repeatedly battering her throbbing fists into my fleshy, warm stomach. Fortunately, her blows were somewhat flaccid and the pounding was not too intense.
"Gaaaarrrrmmpphhhhh!" was all I could summon, my mouth completely filled by the bottle's solid magnitude. Its length seemed to extend to my stomach and I was swilling its juices as rapidly as the spurts erupted from its neck. Within seconds, it was all over.
Sondra and I rocked furiously back and forth on our stools, then crashed together down onto the bar's hard floor. I carefully opened my mouth and allowed the drained bottle to roll free. Overpowering fists of pleasure bludgeoned my nerves and pummeled my sensory receptors. My body was tingling all over and the contractions were so intense that I could barely move.
"That was...the weirdest thing...I have ever experienced," Sondra managed between gasps. I must have knocked the breath out of Sondra when I landed on top of her. "You are like no other...human being alive...you know that?"
"Yeah, heh heh," I confirmed, between beer-induced spasms of pleasure. "That was...the greatest beer I've ever had...well, in five minutes."
I'm sure I'll never forget that wonderful evening at the bar, as routine as the whole tale now seems. I suppose it'll always stand out in my mind as special, if for no other reason than because I accidentally bit off the tip of that beer bottle I was swilling when Sondra and I fell off the barstools and swallowed it.
It was pure, blinding hell passing the shards through my system. I think that was the weekend I was orally penetrated by copious amounts of wet, tasty gin (against my will, of course) while on board a train to New Jersey. Ahh, but that's another story...
---- name and address withheld by request