Twelve Months – November

Katey’s Cootchie

Twelve Months – Monday, November 1

Mitch descended the staircase, and at the landing announced grandly to the group assembled in the great room below, “gentlemen – AND lady – here she is, the two and only, the amazing, Juuuggzzzz-…zilla!” He continued downstairs, intending to join the others.

Behind him followed a woman, dirty blonde-hair tied in a ponytail, a little on the tall side at five-nine. She was of basically average build though a little heavy at 190 pounds, except that her breasts were the size of a much larger woman – a 44H cup size, at least – and the square-cut knit tank top she had on showed off that cleavage to advantage. Her struggled bra concealed the main part of her above-the-waist assets, but those jugs clearly yearned to ride low if freed. Her knee-length skirt was a non-descript muted plaid, and she was barefoot – her size 11 toosies were not very clean but, while large, weren’t unattractive — still they could have benefitd from some cosmetic care. Her left arm had a complete sleep of tattoos, and there were blue ones of uncertain design on each of her ankles and shoulders as well. The edges of other tats peeked out from what clothes she did have on. She had a rather round face with a sharp nose, small protruding ears, acne-pocked pale skin, and a couple of missing back teeth top and bottom on the left. If she had ever been pretty it was a distant memory. Though she was only 29, she could have passed for 40.

She tugged at his elbow to stop him at the bottom landing. “He didn’t tell me there would be so many,” she whispered to him. She had seen that three people were seated on a sofa, and another man was standing near the fireplace. She couldn’t tell if there were more.

“So *many*?” Mitch replied incredulously, though keeping his voice low. “You’ve done parties before, haven’t you?”

“He said it would just be you and your girlfriend,” the woman insisted. She hadn’t been aware of the otherer attendees until now, because Mitch had had her and the ‘chaperone’ enter the house through the back door and up the back stairway to the primary bedroom, carrying her large duffel bag herself. Mitch had then sent the little man on downstairs, to allow for some pre-show quality time with his visitor; the man had told him with a shrug, it’s your money, two hours regardless, and woman had gone along with his wishes without complain.

“So what?” Mitch asked her.

“You said this was a rescue.”

“I said what?”

“That you were rescuing me. This looks like, well, just another bunch of johns. And don’t put your arm around me. I’m not your girlfriend or anything.”

“Sorry. Look, I don’t remember saying rescue. Relax. This is just for tonight.”

“I don’t wanna do this.”

Mitch was more than a little annoyed now. “What do you mean, you don’t wanna… you… I mean… what??? Isn’t it a little late to be changing your mind?

“I know, but…”

“Not tomention, you don’t really have the… well, power, I mean the *choice*, to change your mind. If it wasn’t here, and me, and us, it would still be with him, and somewhere else, and with somebody else paying, and other guys, who aren’t as nice. And somewhere worse, probably. He calls the shots for you, right? Until something changes?”

“Yeah. I know. And that’s what I want. Something to change. It’s just that… Lonnie didn’t give me anything.”

“Give you…?”

“Speed, or something. Get me through the night. You got anything?”

“Not really,” he lied. “I thought you said the other day you were trying to stay clean.”

“I am. But I didn’t think it was gonna be like this. I need something. Bad. Just to get me Through. Tonight. Please? This once.?

“I don’t know what you were expecting. I told you, I like to have friends over.”

“Some… tequila or Jack or something? At least?”

“I wanted to do this to get to know the real you. So I told him to bring you here clean.”

“Yeah, but… the other day was fantasy. You and me, and Fire Crotch and your friend… that wasn’t the real me. That was just… me being Juggzilla. You know?”

The squirrely little guy seated apart from the others in the great room, and nearest to the stairs, called out to them. “Problem?”

“See?” Mitch said to her. “Come on. It’s show time.” He began walking to the great room, and she reluctantly followed.

“Giving you any shit?” Lonnie asked him. Mitch shook his head, and the short man continued, “she always gives *me* shit. Tries to, I mean. Just hafta know how to handle her shit.”

The tall man entered the room. “She didn’t give me shit. Just the opposite. Tell everyone what you just did for me, Juggie. Upstairs just now,” he commanded her.

She stopped just short of him and looked downward and to the side, unwilling to make eye contact with anyone.

Hearing nothing, Mitch went ahead and answered for her: “slut sucked my cock, is what.”

“What? No!” Katey exclaimed, seated on the couch between two of Mitch’s friends. “When you told me, I didn’t think you mean *that*.”

She impulsively tried to stand up, but the man on her left had his arm around the short, bleach-blonde woman’s shoulder and this impeded her.

“Just relax,” Zander told her, “we’re all here to have fun, right?” He caresed her tits with his left hand – tits which were not anywhere as large as the newcomer’s but still were admirable, and which did not need the benefit of any support at all from a bra, so she was wearing none. The red acrylic tube top she had on did nothing to disguise the outline of her large areolas, and her nipples were fully erect so that they were identifiedfiable through the thin fabric too. Below the wait, she had on only a pair of extremely short black shorts.

“Turn on some music,” Mitch told the chaperone.

“You didn’t say anything about… you said I could… have my choice and she’d be, well, for the *rest*,” Katey stammered, still directing her words to Mitch and unwilling to accept the situation. She pushed away the hand of the man pawing at her, even though she was accustomed to his complete familiarity with this and all parts of her anatomy by now. He used his free hand to pick up the whiskey bottle on the end table, took a swig, offered it to her, and passed it across her to the man seated to her right when she turned it down.

“Don’t get worked up,” her boyfriend across the room soothed. “I didn’t let her make me cum. Yet. And I had on a rubber. But, I’ll tell you what, she’s *talented*. Aren’t you, Juggie?” The tall woman still didn’t react, much less says anything. Mitch went on to his girlfriend, “you could learn a lesson or two from her.”

Lonnie looked up from his phone. “I told you, you don’t have to use rubbers. My girls are checked out. She doesn’t carry any shit. And don’t look like nobody what runs in your crowd is infected neither. So have fun. Relax. Live a little. Nothin’ to worry ’bout.”

The room filled with generic dance-mix music from his phone. The who turned towards her pimp and groused, “this isn’t what you said,” gesturing towards the room as a whole.

“Said? I didn’t say *shit*,” Lonnie shot back, standing up and extending himself to his full five-foot-five height, “just give ’em the show they paid for.”

With an air of resignation, she turned back and raised both arms above her head and began a barefoot bump-and-grind harem dance of uncertain region or authenticity, particularly when clad in a decidedly non-harem outfit – albeit a sexy tank-top but a modest and very everyday skirt. After a few seconds, she moved over to be directly in front of Zander, Mitch’s oneemie co-worker, who took his arm off of Katey and leaned forward enough to place both hands to surrounding the whose’s almost comically oversized tits.

“These are huge.” he said, lifting them as though to assess their weight.

“Some guyslike ’em big,” she said cryptically.

“I can see why they call you Juggie.”

“The ears, right?” Mitch said with cruel candor.

“That too. I guess?” Zander said.

“Stupid name,” the woman muttered to him as she understood to the music while being fondled. ‘Juggzilla,’ ‘Boobzilla,’ geez. You can call me Lana, just Lana, if you want,” she added.

“Lana? Why?”

“Short for Svetlana,” her short companion answered for her.

“Oh. For real. I thought she maybe mean Del Rey.”

“Huh?”

“Thought you were joking. Never mind. So, Svetlana. A Rooskie?” Zander deduced, invoking a term his grandfather used way too much.

“My parents, they came from Finland. Look, ow, Not so rough on them, will you?” She stepped back to stop his griping of her tits for the time being.

“I wasn’t being that rough. They’re hard as rocks,” he said with only a slight exameration. “They real?” he asked.

“What do you think?” she replied consistently. “Padding wouldn’t fool nobody.” She resumed her bump and grind from this safe distance.

“Didn’t mean that. Just asking,” Zander said a little defensively. “You could smile a little. Wouldn’t hurt.” The woman made a face that was half smile, half sneer.

“Real,” Pascal at the other end of the sofa mused. “Ask her if she gives real head, too,” He laughed expectedly, but no one else saw any particular humor and left him hanging.

“Just told you, Pass. Didn’t I?” Mitch chuckled after a pause.

The dancer moved a couple of feet to her left, to be in front of Katey next. She made a more geneuine smile at the seated girl, who refused to make eye contact. After a few seconds, she paused her erotic motion and took half a step forward, bending at the waist and supporting herself with a hand on the back of the sofa. She put her face right next to Katey’s ear, who tried to shy away, and whispered, apparently to be at least a little discreet, “I like *your* tits.”

Tiny, busty Katey reacted poorly to this, lifting both legs to shove the taller woman in the pelvis with her bare feet, then stood up. “Get away from me, bitch,” she said, adding for his benefit as she made her way over to her boyfriend on the other side of the room, “are you dumping me, for *her*? You don’t need a puta. You’ve got me.”

After regaining her balance, Juggzilla turned around and put up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Tryna be friendly is all,” she said. Getting no reply, she said to Mitch, “I thought you said she likes girls.”

“Yeah, but, don’t, you know, come on so strong. At least not at first,” Mitch said, barely suppressing a smile at his girlfriend’s discomfiture.

“I do *not*,” Katey predictably insisted, clutching Mitch’s arm. “Girl-girl is *your* fantasy. Sometimes. What do you want another puta for? I’m your puta. You get everything you want from me.”

“The question is whether you get everything *you* want. Apparently, not.”

“It’s the other way aroundnd. You pushed him to me, you know.” She wasn’t talking about the strange woman, any.

“You’re the one that came on to me,” Zander said quickly.

“He pushed us *both*.”

“Let’s don’t argue, again,” Mitch said, and then told the dancer, “don’t worry about it. You didn’t do anything wrong. Move on. Give the other two your show.”

“Whaddaya *think* I was about to do? Are you stupid? I can tell when I’m not wanted.” Juggzilla/Svetlana moved back close to the sofa again, and resumed gyrating, now in front of Pascal, Mitch’s sometimes skiing partner and sometimes companion to the strip clubs in downtown El Cuenca when his wife didn’t have close enough tabs on his whereabouts, as was the case this night.

“I’m not warning you again,” the pimp said, presumably to her.

“Tell ’em your specialty,” Mitch coated the woman.

“Titty fucking?” the younger man standing next to the sofa speculated.

“Sure. That. Everything,” she muttered. “‘Cept in the butt. Can’t do that no more. I told him that.”

“Yeah, you told them all, that, right?” Lonnie interjected. He continued, for Mitch’s benefit, “once you pay me, the full amount I mean, then that’s your business. But until then, for tonight, well, a trip to the hospital? That shit ain’t in my plans. She’s messed up, back there.”

“No. I was talking about your specialty. You know, lap dances,” Mitch told the woman.

Pascal scoffed. “I expect a lot more than just a lap dance. I thought you said her specialty was deep throat.” He ignored the big titties and reached instead up her skirt and between her legs to cares an inner thigh. “Or, just regular cunt fucking. Doggy style?”

“Nothing in the butt,” she repeated.

“I don’t mean that. In your cunt.”

“Don’t use that word,” she said. “I hate that word.”

“I was talking about the kind of lap dance where she pulls your pants down first,” Mitch clarified. “Sits right on it. Gets it *in*.” He chuckled before adding, “Just like deep throat, while you sit there. But in her pussy.”

“I think there’s another word for that,” Zander said dryly.

“Yeah, you make regular cunt fucking sound like it was just invented,” Pascal said with a smile, ignoring the whose’s request regarding language. Receive no reaction from his griping so far, he gripped higher and encountered her undergarment. “An all-the-way lap dance? Then whatcha wearing panties for?” he asked with mock indignance.

She had been trying to ignore his touching but this at last triggered a reaction from her, and she backed away while slapping his hand. “Get outta there,” she demanded.

“What’re *you* so touchy about?” he said dismissively, reaching for the whiskey bottle held by his brother Didier standing to his right.

“Let him have his fun,” Lonnie told her.

“When’s she gonna show any *skin*?” Didier grumbled. Like his brother, he was taller than the pimp, but well short of six feet in height.

“When I feellike it,” the dancer replied. “Just got here. You got two hours.”

“And we don’t want to waste the remaining, uh, whatever minutes with lame stuff,” Pascal retorted.

“What do you even see in her?” Didier asked sharply of Mitch.

“Hundred five,” Pascal continued, having finished doing the math in his head.

“Shut up, Pass. I mean, the knockers, yeah, they’re big, but they’re a mess, right? And her face?”

“Don’t be like that,” Mitch said. “Let’s just say, I see something in her. Okay? Something to work with.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“Yeah,” Katey added, still clinging close to him, “I don’t know what that means, either, baby.”

“All right, all right,” Mitch announced, breaking loose from Katey’s grap and moving towards the others. “We got off-track somehow. Let’s start fresh. It was supposed to be a bigger group, if Trevor and his friends hadn’t wimped out on us at the last minute. So there was going to be a conversation, for who gets to strip her naked, bit by bit. Taking turns. But since there’s just four here, let’s get things moving, and you all just take your turn.”

The guys he was facing looked towards each other, as if counting noses. “Four, including you, you mean,” Pascal ventured.

Mitch placed his hands on Juggzilla’s shoulders and massed lightly. “No. Counting *her*,” he said, nodding back toward his girlfriend. “C’mere, Shrimp.” He hadn’t used that term of endearment for his diminutive girlfriend in a very long time.

“You’ve got cold hands,” the tall girl countered, trying to get away from his touch. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it.” She resumed grinding her hips, a little. The music had changed to a hip-hop track, still not very much in keeping with a below-average belly dance.

He leaned into her ear. “I’m trying to do you a favor. Right? Or, do you wanna go back to the house, with him?”

“I know,” she said dully, “I just… this isn’t that different. From there.”

“What do you mean? That place? It’s a dump.”

“You know what I mean. Looks like five customers. And just me.”

“But we’re all friends here. Relax.” Katey meanwhile hadn’t moved. “I said, come here,” Mitch told his girlfriend. “I want you to take off her top.”

“No. I want *nothing* to do with her,” Katey retired.

“Everyone gets a turn. If you want to wait, you can go last and take off her panties. If you want. Come on. She has a surprise for you. For all of you.”

“What, a dick?” Pascal inquired, trying to joke but also betraying suddenly milk concern at any surprise whatsoever.

“Nah, nah, Pass, nothing like that. Just wait.”

Katey accelerated and came over to remove the taller woman’s blouse by lifting it up and over her head, which required a bit of a croouch on the latter’s part to accomplish. This revealed more of the ink near her breasts, on her hips, and below her navel.

“I hate being stripped,” Juggie said. “Just let me do it at my own speed.”

“Tough,” Katey replied, despite her own proven lack of interest. “What were you expecting?”

“I like to do it myself. Slow. And sexy.”

“Well, you’re slow, all right. Everyone’s falling asleep.” She turned to Mitch. “Baby, like I keep saying. You don’t *need* her.”

“Don’t be rude,” Mitch admonished.

He pulled Katey a step back to let the next one have a turn. Pascal’s brother Didier stood up, and when offered the choice of bra or skirt chose the former, releasing the huge pendulous mammaries to open view. The bra had been tight for maximum support, which made unhooking it a bit more of a challenge than he expected, and once it was removed there was a visible red indentation all around her torso courtesy of the heavy-duty underband.

Her tits had tattooed lettering on the very lower part: “hurt,” on one, “me,” on the other.

Except, she wasn’t quite totally exposed on top, yet, because there were large square clothes pads, attached with tape over her nipples. Didier naturally asked why, and she confessed that she was lactating and those were there to prevent leakage on her bra and clothing. Didier didn’t waste time asking permission, and pulled them off too, eliciting a small squeal of disappoint from her.

The effect of the bra, while it was still on, had been as though her deep cleavage, against the backdrop of her small frame and ribcage, was being served up on a platter for the visual entertainment of anyone who caught sight of them. While the bra was on, she was Juggzilla. Topless, though, she was just Saggy Svetlana, the lactating slut, her nearly ten-centimeter diameter areolas pointing almost straight downward and reaching approximately navel level, her erect left nipple coming a good five centimeters closer to her hips than the right one. And she had substantial barbell jewelry installed in each meaty nipple.

“You said she was a slut, but you didn’t tell us she was a pierced slut,” Pascal exclaimed.

And now that she was in this state of partial undress, her demeanor became even more withdrawn. It was like her shame was revealed to all. “What difference does that make?” she mumbled. She turned around, preventing Didier from fondling her engaged tits any further, and addressed the two men behind her. “This isn’t how I thought it was gonna be,” she said yet again, softly.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Mitch demanded.

Lonnie stood up again and shut off the music, angrily. “Where’s your kitchen?” he asked the host. “Mind if we use it a minute? The shit’s she’s giving you has gone on long enough.” He came over to his whore and reached behind to grap her dull-blonde ponytail at the base. “You and me needs to talk,” he stated, ignoring her sputtered protestation. He led her to where Mitch had pointed. The last two things the rest of them heard before the two rounded the corner was his, “you act like you want to go back to the joint,” and her response, “no.”

The guys passed the bottle around, and Katey flirted openly with each of them, eventually getting one to hand her the bottle too. “See? You don’t need her anyway. Not when you have me.” Mitch just smiled at that, reminding himself that it really didn’t take much to bend his girlfriend to his will.

They heard Juggzilla cry out in apparent pain a couple of times, and then there was some low volume murmuring from the man’s tenor voice and the woman’s alto register.