MMMMM Good

Kids ate free at Honkers on Sundays. It was the chain’s desperate attempt to draw in some business on an otherwise slow day. Horny husbands brought in their wives and kids after church, the wives averting their glances and covering the eyes of their children from our scantily-clad waitresses. With their short skirts that barely covered their asses, and their big boobs stuffed into a cropped Honkers halter top that was two sizes too small, our waitresses weren’t exactly family friendly.

I worked the bar—the only job a man could have at the front of the house. Taking orders and delivering food was solely the domain of our waitresses, who were mostly ex-strippers with c-section scars and bad knees that prohibited them from making real money on a stripper’s poll.

The guy and his family were seated in the section opposite the bar, his wife in a calico church dress, their toddler son in smocked overalls. Tanya sashayed over to them, bending low at their table so the husband could look down her top and get a good glimpse of her fake tits as she pointed out the children’s offerings to him on the back of the menu—shit like that always got Tanya a good tip. The wife looked away, her lips pursed, as he nearly drooled down the front of his shirt, his eyes locked on Tanya’s pierced nipples, peeking out over the edge of her lacy D-cup bra. 

His eyes then locked on Tanya’s tramp stamp as she turned around to fetch their drinks, her skirt worn low to taunt him with fantasies of watching that faded butterfly bounce and jiggle as he pounded her cunt from behind. Tanya’s tip kept growing bigger and bigger—like his cock.

The noon hour had arrived and he had ordered a beer, sipping it slowly as his eyes wandered the restaurant. The wife was pulling up a Bluey episode on her phone for the toddler while her husband eye fucked every waitress that passed their table. I imagined him mentally calculating the position he would employ when fucking each of our Honkers babes—missionary, doggie, cowgirl—and where he would shoot his load—on her tits, on her face, in her hair.  

“I’m gonna take a piss,” he informed his wife, standing up from the table at an angle, hiding the raging boner in his jeans from her and the kid. “If the food comes, you and Charlie go ahead and get started.”

“But you won’t be here to pray over the food with us?” she protested.

“I think you’ll manage,” he scowled, making a beeline for the men’s room. 

The bar section was empty, and I had nothing better to do. So I waited thirty seconds and followed him to the men’s room, hoping to catch him rubbing one out. If I had a buck for every horny guy I had caught jacking himself off at the urinal at Honkers—well, I wouldn’t have to bust my ass bartending at Honkers anymore.

He was standing at the urinal trough when I walked into the men’s room. I presumed his jeans were dropped below his ass to avoid the inevitable spray back, but then I noticed that the fucker was indeed jacking off. Straight guys are so predictable. Upon closer examination, he was much younger than I expected. He had likely knocked up his wife on their prom night, a shotgun wedding a few months later. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” I announced, sidling up next to him at the trough, getting a glance at his hard eight-incher as I unzipped and pulled out my cock as if I was preparing to take a piss.

“Jesus, you scared me,” he startled, his fist stopping in mid-stroke, a drop of precum forming at the tip. “My wife, she’s on the rag, and I just really needed to—”

“Dude, don’t apologize,” I assured him. “Yours will not be the first load shot into this trough, trust me. Guys rub one out in here all the time.”

“Whew,” he exhaled, resuming his stroke. “I was worried you were gonna report me to the manager or something.”

“Nah—that horny fucker would probably just come in here and join you,” I laughed. “You like Tanya—your waitress?” I changed the subject.

“Yeah—she’s fucking hot,” he exclaimed, gripping his cock a bit firmer, his cock head engorging with increased blood flow.

“She’s a really good fuck,” I reported, having overheard two line cooks bragging about a threeway with her. “She had all her kids by c-section, so her cunt is still fairly tight.”

“You’ve fucked her?”

“Yeah,” I lied, pretending to be straight and, thereby, putting him at ease. “She fucking screamed her head off while creaming on my cock,” I lied again, watching his dick grow even more rigid as we talked about his slutty waitress. “You want me to set you up with her? You know, with your wife being on the rag and all.”

“Nah,” he shook his head sullenly. “I mean—don’t get me wrong—I enjoy looking at all the slutty waitresses here. But I couldn’t cheat on my wife. Shit, I feel guilty enough jacking off in here.”

“What’s wrong with jacking off?”

“My wife—she thinks that jacking off is a sin,” he sighed, removing his hand from his cock, his big dick just hanging there, praying for release. “The Bible says that man isn’t supposed to pleasure himself.”

“Then let me do it for you,” I offered brazenly, reaching over and taking control of his big dick, my fist wrapping around his engorged member.

“Dude—what the fuck—?” he started to pull back, but then stopped himself when I began to stroke him, his balls contracting involuntarily at my touch. He gave out a long sigh, licking his lips as I proceeded to jerk him off. “Jesus, that feels good,” he moaned, his head rolling back. 

“You ever done this before?” I asked, my fist squeezing his cock a bit harder, a drop of precum stringing from the tip. “Let another dude jack you off?”

“Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly. “A buddy of mine, before I met my wife. We’d go camping up at the lake and he’d spend all night jacking me off in our tent—my cock shooting load after load up my chest, and then he’d lick it all up.”

“You ever let him go down on you?” I asked, increasing the pace, his balls swinging back and forth, matching my rhythm as I jerked his big dick. “Let him suck a load out of you?”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “He always wanted to suck me, but I told him that I wasn’t gonna—Holy fuck, dude. What the hell are you doing?”

I had dropped to my knees and, turning his body towards me, had taken his cock down my throat in one, quick gulp. Reaching around and grabbing his ass, I pulled him into me, mashing his balls against my chin. Deftly, I began to suck him, my mouth a worthy substitute for his wife’s unavailable pussy.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he moaned, his hands moving to the back of my head. “Yeah, that’s it—work the head,” he guided me as I swirled my tongue around his bulbous cock head, lapping up his precum.

“When was the last time you got some head?” I asked, pausing momentarily as I licked his shaft from base to tip.

“Uh—Alissa Parker, sophomore year behind the bleachers, long before I started dating my wife,” he stated.

“Jesus—you haven’t gotten your dick sucked since high school?” I gasped incredulously. 

“Yeah—my wife—she doesn’t suck—”

“Well, I do suck dick,” I cut him off, stating the obvious before taking him down my throat again, his balls mashed against my chin once more. I knew that time was of the essence—I needed to get back to my shift, and he needed to get back to his wife and kid. And even though the restaurant wasn’t all that busy, I didn’t want us to get busted. So I went to town on that big cock, sucking him ravenously.

“Christ, you can suck a dick,” he marveled as I bobbed my head up and down on his eight-incher, my neck pivoting over and over again, his balls slapping my chin with each down beat. A wet thwack echoed off the tiled walls. 

“Dude—I’m getting close,” he warned urgently, his meaty hands gripping into the side of my face. “Is it cool if I cum down your throat?” 

“Mmm hmm,” I nodded, feeling his cock expanding down my throat, his nutsack tightening against my chin.

“Oh fuck—here it comes,” he barked. “OH FUCK—SHIT—SHIT—Yeah—Don’t stop—SHIT.”

He released a massive torrent of jizz down my throat, coating my tongue, his cock head throbbing against my tonsils. I counted ten—twelve—fifteen distinct shots of cum as his creamy load spewed into my hungry belly. Judging by the force and quantity, it had to be at least a five-day load. 

“Christ, that was good,” he extricated his spent cock from my throat, stuffing it back into his jeans as I wiped at my messy chin with the back of my hand. 

“Where’s Dadda?” a piercing scream suddenly erupted from the dining room. “I want my Dadda.”

“Shit—that’s my son,” he announced, zipping up his fly. “I better get out there. My wife’s gonna be pissed.”

“You got any plans this afternoon?” I asked as he hurriedly washed his hands at the sink.

“I gotta swing by the Home Depot later for some nails,” he reported, reaching for the paper towel dispenser. 

“My shift ends at 4 pm,” I shared. “How about you swing by here when I’m done and I can take you back to my place?”

“You wanna suck another load out of me?” he asked, an eyebrow raised, a devilish smile plastered on his face.

“Actually, I was thinking you might want to fuck my ass,” I offered. “If you might be game for that.”

“Fuck, that sounds hot,” he exclaimed, his cock straining in his jeans once more. “I’m game.”

And then he returned to his table and his over-priced plate of Honkers wings, his wife giving him the stink eye as his kid threw chicken nuggets at him. But he didn’t seem to care, his gaze locked on me as I took my place at the bar, his hard cock aching to shoot a load up my ass.