How to Slob' on a Knob

Even the homeless guys don’t usually bother to sleep in some of the buildings in our town, and in our town we have a lot of places just like it. You can pick out what the spaces were previously used for from the archaeological levels of debris piled up on the floor, if you've got the courage to walk into the open doorways to begin with.

This particular building might have been a choice business location fifty year ago, now it’s just another abandoned ruin.

The doorway to this corner building seems to have once had a nice set of double glass doors. The doors were stripped out long ago and in their place somebody put studs to hold up the door frame, and then nailed a sheet of plywood across the front to keep out the tramps and the elements. There isn't much left of the plywood. There’s an incongruous sign in red and white advertising a nearby “party store” nailed to the right side of the door. A "party store" is the local euphemism for a place that sells cheap Malt Liquor to alcoholics.

It’s an oddly inviting doorway just the same for anyone who’s willing enough to navigate the tangle of dry rot to go inside.

So today I did just that. Somebody dropped the idea into my head to pick up some guy for one of those little illicit afternoon quickies that I like to do from time to time, just to get the taste of a good dick in my throat.

Once I identified my “Mr. Right” (or more accurately Mr. Wrong) and elicited from him the properly rude street-seduction and invitation to “get on the dick,” I let him pick out the location, since Mr. Wrong is not the sort of guy I like to take home with me. Not if I plan on having a T.V. and other valuables in the morning, anyway. But I’m the kind of bitch who can hold her own, so I followed him through this peculiar passageway.

Besides, with the veins in his neck bulging, it was pretty obvious that his brain was too preoccupied with the actual possibility of sex to think about thieving or any other skull-duggery.

As for me, it was all a matter of honor, since the man said he doubted I could handle all of his dick. “Are you going to break me down and bone me like you own me,” I asked? He smirked, and answered gleefully, “I’ll nail your ass to the cross!”

OK, come on, what hard core slut can resist such a nasty and sacrilegious proposition?

So I followed him to paradise, knelt down, unzipped his pants and prayed to the dick god. He rewarded my supplication with the appropriate throat-gagging head fuck, which after 15 or 20 minutes ended happily enough for both of us. He with his hard grunting load spurt straight down my throat, and me with the thick creamy mouthful he left me to remember him by.

While I never quite got the bone-work and crucifixion he had previously advertised, the location was hardly appropriate for that sort of thing. Besides, its 43 degrees out today. Too cold to drop my drawers, but a good day for a full throat slob' on his knob.

Just another pleasant afternoon in the city!