I am here for you
"Hello," Harold said, knocking on the wooden desk varnished to a shine. A blonde administrative assistant popped up like a mole. Quite a charming mole. She was young, pretty, and though wearing a dark, professional blouse, she had a cleavage that could lift anyone's spirit in these trying times.
I'm here to see..." Harold stopped himself. Seeing wasn't the right word when talking about an urn with your coworker's ashes inside. "I'm here to pay my respects to Dean Laurier."
Of course, I'm sorry for your loss." The girl put an elegantly manicured hand to her ample chest and warmed Harold's heart with a look of sincere condolence. This cannot be an easy job for someone with a compassionate soul, Harold thought. "Mr. Laurier is in exposition hall B, which is here on your right."
"Thank you. Also..." He stopped her from getting back on her knees. "When do you think your mouth will be available?"
The girl's smile subtly changed from sympathetic to apologetic. "I just started with the gentlemen here." She pointed to the man standing on her side of the counter, looking annoyed at the interruption. "But I don't believe Mr. Laurier's widow has any non-family visitors yet, and her daughter seemed of age, as well."
Harold sighed. He would have loved to relieve some tension between such pretty red lips, but he wasn't the kind of loser who waited in line for a specific girl. "Alright. Thank you." Plenty of free mouths in the sea.
Like riding an invisible elevator, the girl disappeared behind the welcome counter. Slurping and sucking sounds began echoing once again in the otherwise hushed entrance hall of the funeral home. Man, it sounds like she's pretty good. It had been an eternity since Harold had his cock sucked. Or at least the last two hours since he walked up to that woman sitting alone on a terrace and had her suck out his cream between coffee sips felt like an eternity.
The distant future: the year 2027. The influence of widespread pornography has gradually transformed social norms to the point where fellatio is as familiar as a handshake. Oral sex started as an inevitable end to any first date, good or bad. Then it became polite to also offer a blowjob before the date (and during if the tablecloth was low enough to hide under the table). The next step was inevitable; if a woman's mouth is not currently being used for talking or eating, it makes perfect sense to stick a cock in it instead of wasting all that saliva and warmth.
"Oh, Harold. It's so good to see you." Victoria was gorgeous even in grief. Harold was instantly reminded of why Dean was so proud of his catch. Though slim, she filled her formfitting black dress in all the right places with a frontal V showing even more breasts than the assistant. The perky jubblies danced and threatened to slip out as she approached him, arms raised. It wasn't easy for Harold to meet her eyes, horny as he was, but to stare would have been rude given the circumstances.
"Vic, it's been too long. How are you holding up?"
She sighed, releasing her embrace. "I still wake up expecting him to be on the other side of the bed. But I have to stay strong for Beverly."
"Beverly," he said, noticing the young girl hiding in her mother's shadow. Since it was accompanying booty jeans shorts, it was hard to guess whether her black metal-band t-shirt was her attempt at wearing something somber for the occasion or simply a coincidence. "Last time I saw you, you were this high."
Harold ruffled her hair then used the same hand to put weight on her head, pushing the girl down. She only resisted for a second before realizing what he wanted. Once on her knees, Beverly put her phone down on the floor and fished the man's engorging cock out of his pants.
"Oh fuck me, I needed that." A mouth around his cock was sublime on its own, but that girl was a surprisingly decent cocksucker, too.
"Dean didn't have a lot of friends," Victoria said over the moist sounds of her daughter's mouth. Sucking an almost-stranger's cock was the most constructive thing that lazy girl had done all day, and her mother was happy to see her tongue getting some exercise instead of just her thumbs. "But he talked about you almost every day. Sometimes it felt like going out for lunch with you was the only thing he liked about his job."
"That's it, take it all the way, you little slut. Get those balls on your chin," Harold said to Beverly, fingers brushing through her bleached hair. Dirty talk was considered part of the experience and perfectly acceptable. Then he turned to her mother: "My condolences, Vic. He left us too soon."
Victoria hugged him again, pressing her chest against his. The fabric of her dress was so thin he could feel the nipples rubbing. He returned the hug with one hand and forced Beverly to the hilt of his cock with the other. The girl's heavy mascara ran down her cheeks as he squirted a long-overdue orgasm down her choking throat. Both Laurier women teared up for several minutes. For different reasons.
"Whenever you're ready, Mrs. Laurier, we can start the memorial service in the chapel," the assistant came to say after wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"I'll join you in a minute, Vic." Harold's ejaculation was swimming in Beverly's stomach, but she was still diligently cleaning his pipes while maintaining eye contact. There was little joy in her eyes and little enthusiasm in her suckling, but it's not like she was missing out on fun funeral activities. When Harold's cock was spotless inside and out, she quickly moved back to her phone.
"And what is grief, but love persisting..." The attractive assistant was acting as mistress of ceremony in front of a sparse crowd. Harold spotted Victoria's shiny black hair over the open back of her dress in one of the middle rows of seats. Had he not promised Vic he would meet her, he would have probably waited in ambush for the blonde woman to finish her speech. Though Beverly had done a wonderful job, his cock refused to stay down today.
Victoria cried on Harold's shoulder the moment he sat next to her. He shared her sorrow because the bombshell receptionist walked down the aisle too quickly to acknowledge his raised finger. When one of Dean's cousins or uncle or something pulled out a poem he wrote, Harold knew he wasn't going to be able to sit through this whole thing with an unsucked cock. He looked around for Beverly, but her cute little frown was between some other guy's legs—the same guy the assistant was blowing earlier. Did that jerk even know Dean, or is he here just to cockblock me?
Then Harold realized the obvious: Victoria was perfectly capable of mourning her husband with her mouth full. He was hopeless in consoling her but providing a distraction, that he could do.
With tenderness and care, Harold helped Victoria to her knees. The sobbing woman thought she was being encouraged to pray and put her hands together, but once Harold took her vacated seat to be directly behind her and cranked her neck back so that her face was upside down against his crotch, she understood what she was there to do.
Victoria opened wide, hands still together in prayer, and accepted the cock in her mouth. Precum oozed down to the roof of her mouth; she swallowed before relaxing her throat and letting Harold use her head as a masturbation device. Suddenly it made sense why Dean had kept his wife under the table at Christmas parties. Such a heavenly throat, gagging on his cock like an oriental massage on every inch; Victoria's oral skills were a secret the man took to his grave.
Family members took turns telling anecdotes and reciting more poems while Harold noisily fucked the widow's throat. His hands started around the slender, bulging neck but, with a will of their own, began sliding down under the dress's shoulder straps to plop out Vic's huge playthings.
Squeezing a woman's tits while she throated your cock was not the norm until 2028, but Harold was a man ahead of his time. In his defense, anyone who looked at such a perfect pair of melons would agree that he didn't have much choice in the matter. Victoria remained submissive, so the wordless debate was settled.
"Harold, would you like to say something about Dean?"
Harold didn't register that Dean's brother had finished his boring childhood story and was now addressing him. Vic was still sucking like a hoover as if performing a ritual that would bring her husband back to life, and Harold was responding by clutching her breasts like squishy handlebars and rolling the nipples between his thumbs and indexes.
"Harold?"
"Oh, erm, yes, of course." Because what else can you say in this situation. "Vic, why don't we finish this up on the stage."
Victoria, confused and bereaved, had to be helped up and supported for most of the walk to the front. They made quite a pair, Harold with a large erection glistening with spit sticking out of his pants and Victoria with her torpedo tits out and bouncing about. This was not a time for jokes, however. Everyone retained respectful silence.
Harold cleared his throat in front of the microphone. Behind the pulpit, Victoria was on her knees, doing her best to finish what Harold had started. Leaning forward, he was able to fiddle with one breast, at least, while he gave a heartfelt speech about what Dean's friendship meant to him. He took a long pause at the end, the bottled sadness choking away his words. Also, he was dumping a huge load of cum on the widow's tongue at the time. Harold said his final goodbye and returned to his seat, tucking his spent cock back into his pants. Since she was there, Victoria swallowed the cum and her tears to say a few words about her dearly departed husband. The goatee of sloppy blowjob spit around her mouth did not take away from the power of her words, and neither did the bare breasts that she forgot to stuff back into her dress. They jiggled when she sobbed.
Once all apologies and sympathies are given, what is there to do but seek one last blowjob for the road. Harold felt he was never given a choice today, just a leaf being blown in the wind. But now faced a problem almost worse: the paradox of choice. Beverly, Victoria, and the blonde assistant were together by the exit having a light conversation about the fate of Dean's ashes, but it seemed perfectly interruptible. It's in those kinds of situations you wish you had three cocks. Unless...
As a fellow architect, Harold felt Dean would have given him a nod of approval. His wife, his daughter, and his funeral arranger were lying down side-by-side on a table, either shirt up, blouse down, or dress open, all of them with their chin to the sky. Proving that patience was a virtue, the lucky man had them all to himself, spending about one minute on each throat and pair of breasts before moving on to the next panting mouth. Even Beverly had hidden gems under that baggy shirt as if she had borrowed her mother's. All six tits were like stress balls made of satin. The blonde assistant was in the middle, her throat the bearer of half of his pumps. Since she was the only one he had never tried before, it made sense to place her there.
The girls put their heads together for the explosive finish. Each had their mouths open like hungry baby birds and Harold, the mama bird, made sure everyone got their share of the seed juice.
The foursome parted ways with promises of a summer BBQ for Beverly and Victoria and an exchange of phone numbers for the blonde receptionist (he should have asked her name before it became too awkward). Life being what it is, plans fell through, and Harold never saw any of them again. But that's the best thing about a future of casual blowjobs: it creates beautiful, lasting memories from fleeting encounters.