CATERING TO INDIVIDUAL NEED

Stranger, age gap, no name sex, colossal trouser python,

It was a private function in one of the reservation-only boutique bars in the Country Club Casino.

The room had discreet private elevator access. I was hired at the usual highly lucrative casual late-evening rate.

Something had to get me through university and fund my first overseas trip.

I get the big tips for being polite and catering to individual needs.

The clients were often overseas or interstate businessmen being corporately entertained with a few drinks with and after a meal and then the gaming rooms.

They were older, but I'm not saying some weren't attractive or interested in me. Their wedding rings and avoiding business gossip held their minds and bodies in social check.

Their eyes were caught out occasionally, tracking my curves. But hey, I was mainly behind the bar.

Tonight's clientele was interstate, and Christ, were they seniors.

But I was too busy to take more than a cursory sweep around the room with my eyes. That was until a previously unnoticed buff guy, not with a super attractive face but with full-body muscle gain, likely some blonde bimbo's sugar daddy came to the bar for drinks.

He took me in the way all guys take in young, attractive women serving at a bar—just a male enjoying the female form—my female form—from his open, tall stance.

His extended perv — eyes roving over my cleavage, then back to my eyes and back to my breasts as he took the drinks I made off the counter.

Triple malt scotch — in three glasses, more money than I made in a night.

Still in my tip jar, he left the equivalent of an hour's wages.

Ten minutes later I was tidying up the tables as the flow of drinks slowed.

Giving the hosts an un-signalled hint as I collected glasses from the tables.

It was eleven forty-five already, and they should have headed for the gaming rooms fifteen minutes ago.

The dinner staff were long gone.

As usual, I had been alone here for the last fifteen minutes. I didn't want to nitpick about fifteen or twenty minutes of unwanted midnight overtime with my supervisor — if the dudes didn't move on.

I wanted to get home.

Well, home to what?

Sleep? Too pooped for my vibrator.

The group was leaving, being ushered out by their hosts. Then they were all gone. That was good.

I had ten minutes to wipe the tables, stuff all the glasses in the dishwasher, and go myself.

There were so many glasses. After filling the first dishwasher, I had to backtrack to the last table, which would have to go in the second washer.

I rushed to get it done — tray in hand.

The shape of a suited guy came out of the gents into my peripheral vision and moved towards the same table.

I wasn't concerned.

The tray smacked the table. I got busy reaching.

He would head straight out to the gaming rooms when he got what he had left behind.

Ignoring moi, the wage slave.

I was intent on grabbing and stacking glasses.

Our hand went for the same unfinished quality crystal shot glass at the same fucking time.

Crap! 

His hand didn't get the glass properly.

I didn't get it either.

I suppose the prick didn't want to waste the last quality mouthful.

The contents teetered and then splashed straight into his crotch.

Luckily, I caught the glass — 

Then followed the double pointless no meaning apologies.

Mine because, Christ, I didn't need negative feedback in the job that fed me!

"Sorry," I said.

His response was, "I guess I should apologise."

He made me feel invisible.

I raised my eyes from five foot four to his six-two. 

Quelling cutting remarks, I accepted his empty words with a curt nod.

His eyes were grey, mine blue — it was the dude who had checked me out at the bar.

I held my white apron out, which I had quickly removed from my black skirt.

The prick didn't take it.

God, did his mother still wash his pants?

I hate the self-righteous, stuck-up, privileged bastards who think they have a life above the hired help.

According to them, we should only be — silent and serving eye candy — pour the drinks —not spill them — and frickin clean up even when we don't make the mess!

And bend over in the restrooms on command and take it, doggy!

I glanced at my watch, still holding out my frickin apron.

For a couple of seconds, it shaped like a bizarre standoff. 

Until he asked politely and with an emerging smile: "Would you assist and wipe it off?"

"Sure," I was down on one knee, dabbing the guy's pants. 

The actions we take to keep a lousy job!

I was very professional to start with.

Christ! His pants were crotch soaked.

So I rubbed harder.

Not smutty hard, purely proficient.

How was I like any woman to know the gnarled, craggy guy was packing huge, serious meat?

A whooper trouser snake! A frickin' engorged python.

Pants bursting at the seams was a complete understatement.

He peeled his zip.

Zziiipppp.

Slick describes the reaction of my fingers.

My eyes boggled as my throat croaked, " Dang! Fuck me! That is meat!"

His spearing stiffness met my moist lips. I gaped to my gob's capacity.

The rest was muffled, sloppy enjoyment as his monster entered my mouth's portico, sauntered to the hallway of my palate, tickled the corridor of my throat, smothered my gag reflex, and I entered an unknown deep-throat paradise.

So frickin' deep.

I gagged. I spluttered. 

He had a behemoth penis!

His manly, beefy fingers grabbed my ponytail and eased me to the floor.

" Do you know the jackhammer blow-job position," he said.

I shook my head. His massive man-hammer was new territory. Here was the elusive unicorn of sex - ten inches and unreal girth.

"Squat," he instructed, " Plant your feet, hands spread behind your back."

I realised he was positioning me to swallow his man junk — the whole nine yards.

He dropped his dacks and briefs and straddled me. I understood he would slide his schlong down my throat like I was a frickin sword swallower. 

He did frickin squats over my face as I took cock beyond throat deep.

Holy hell! It was insane as I hit purrfect mouth and throat alignment.

I double-wrapped my hands around the base of his pecker to control an overfull mouth. Even hand over hand, the dude had sausage to spare. I became an automaton. A sex doll. Basely skull-fucked.

He withdrew and yanked me up to my knees by my ponytail.

"Lick my balls. Lick my arse, baby!"

Not one for usually being told what to do in sex, but hell, his cock led me to obey.

I suckled his big ball bag. His stiffy pointed high towards the goddamn ceiling. 

As I rimmed his arsehole, he groaned.

Drawing me up with the strength of Samson, his hunky fingers expertly removed my white work blouse and bra. 

It was my turn to impress.

I cupped my muffins.

" Crème de la crème," he said.

He seemed to possess the trinity: affluence, education, and insanely well-hung.

"Orrgh fuck, yeah. Oh my! Sweet Jesus, yes, yes, yes!"

He nibbled my nipples. The lightest of touch circled my entire breast with his tongue tip. Then squeezing my teats. Then spitting on them and sucking my nipples out from my body. Titty attention heaven.

With a deft movement, my skirt, pantyhose and knickers hit the tiles.

He simply directed me with his hands onto a chair and lifted one of my legs onto the nearly cleared table — my girly goodies — nicely spayed for his dick.

His cock played around my fleshy, shaved opening.

"Mmm, mmm," I moaned.

Nudge, goad, tap and dick slide between my petite crinkled folds.

Holy hell, it was big.

Fuck, I craved the massive.

I said, " Shove your giant polony into me now!"

Trepidation hit— Would it fit?

My eyes were fixed on the hot sausage entry.

And boy, it wasn't getting any smaller — it looked ever bigger approaching my cute girly flaps. I could see my coochie waiting, and he kept sliding his thick head around my wet crazed opening.

"Ooh, ooh," I crooned like a virgin on first penetration.

Just his head.

Just his head.

Simply his head.

So fuckin delirious delight.

"Ugh, ugh, ugh!"

His pork sword slid in inch by inch. And Christ, he had the inches.

Not all of it —but plenty to spread my greedy flapettes and excite my soppy, gripping fem-hole.

My fingers went unashamedly and enthusiastically to my clit. He was thrusting to a nice rhythm, and his eyes watched me excite my pink beadette.

A massive dick energised me. He was elated by my clit workout.

I knew he would go deeper —but not when.

I held the yum-yum anticipation, like waiting for a sweet dessert.

I was surprised as he broke our mutual pleasure by withdrawing his now-glistening fem-jus-covered knob head from my equally glistening pussy.

He guided me up and around. Lifting one of my legs on the chair. I placed my hands on the table for support.

"Oh God! Fuckin' Hell. Orrgh, raah, oof, raah, aghh!"

Gasped out by me as he stabbed fully into my coochie from behind. I was rammed, packed, and cock stuffed. Wow, was I getting the dicking of my lifetime — bloody inches of it.

I was moaning in total sensual sexual bliss. Sex doesn't get much better than a huge cock locked in your girdling pussy.

He was grunting. No kidding. Pumping and grunting. He was enjoying my tight, wet hole and the fact I had him— if not whole —a frickin' decent, fair share of a goddamn male python.

I felt great. He sounded great.

"Ugh, orrgh," he bayed.

My soft butt cheeks instinctively tried to jam back onto his pelvic bone.

Suddenly his colossal cock lanced my womb- a soul defying indecent thrust.

"Oof, raah, oof , raah."

Jesus, I knew what would await me one day if I popped out a kid.

I must have taken eight or nine inches!

Believe it was nine, I told myself.

We all want the memorable in sex.

Girl, you are good.

Girl, you are capable.

Girl, you could take any frickin size cock after this…bring em on.

Oh, Christ!

"Ooh, ooh, that's nice. My yes, ooh, ooh, ooh."

He changed the pace. Spitting in my gaped arse and mussing my rilled starfish with sweeping broad tongue swipes.

"Jesus!" I said, getting goosebump shakes and butterflies churning in my tummy as two fingers drilled and prepped my arse.

"I don't fuckin think so. Take my pussy again. I don't want my arse split wider than The Great Barrier Reef!"

"Sweetie, this is your once-in-a-lifetime chance for verified ten-inch arse destruction. Do you really want to miss out?"

"Oh, bugger me! Fill fifth base! Burgle my bunghole with your beef flute- no upgrade that to a bass clarinet!"

"Holy shit!" I yelped.

Yeah, one slow inch.

"Yikes!"

He nudged his second segment.

"Cripes!"

As he burrowed three.

"Raah! Hell's bells!"

Notching four, I rasped, "Sheesh!"

As he tunnelled to five, I gripped the table edge white-knuckled.

"Strewth, I'll frick burst! Orrgh, orrgh!"

Gouging to six, surely my flesh walls had to rupture!

"Ahh! Oof, raah, raah!"

Seven was heaven. He and I both discovered a space I never believed I possessed.

Bliss and smarting twinging spams combined.

"Ooh, woo! Aah, aah, aah!"

Foraging to eight made my booty quiver as schlong wrenched my bowels.

"Phew, phew, phew," close to hyperventilating.

"Oww, waah, raah, waah, raah, waah, raah!"

Blimey, his prodigious ball bag went thwack against my buttocks!

My whole body expanded as I embraced a fuckin' transcendental explosive anal-gasm.

"OrrrgghhHH!"

A pulse of contractions rushed from my gaped rills through my bowels, permeating my flushed breasts, blazing my lungs, and igniting my synapses.

He realised I was cumming by my breathing and shrill-pitched exclamation. 

He thrust deeper and faster, where it was nigh impossible to pierce, and I felt his cock jerk repeatedly where our bodies merged.

As he withdrew, jizz sloshed on the floor and dribbled down my thighs.

My Goddamn apron came in handy. 

He grabbed it, wiped his pecker, and he packed his partially relaxed meat away in his raised dacks.

Pleased with himself, the big dicked bastard watched me put my uniform on.

He kissed my forehead as I finished jiggling my pantyhose in place.

"The gaming room, I must go," he said.

And he was gone. He didn't look back.

I realised I had screwed a guy for the first time in my life without even knowing his name or him even asking mine.

No preliminary niceties — just fucking huge schlong.

I felt swell having catered to my and anothers individual's needs.

Still, I am an accommodating girl and not only with my date locker.

I left a note, for one extra hour of overtime without batting my pretty little eyes.