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Ding, Dong, Do Me Episode 4
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Ding, Dong, Do Me
Episode 4 in The Violent Adventures of Miranda Mandible
By Anne
Episode 4 finds Miranda gasping under the weight of grievous debts.
The battery on her bike has gone dead, she's run up a monster tab at
her favorite bar, and her lust for leather has driven her to purchase
$800 worth of bondage gear. Reluctant to barter her gorgeous body, she
decides to try her hand at door-to-door cosmetic sales. Avon Ladies
should skip this one.
* * * * *
Any woman can be a siren--that's the credo of Siren Cosmetics. Miranda
tries to remember it as she faces her first customer, who looks more
like a gorgon with three-day-bender bags under its eyes. Miranda
couldn't afford the Siren uniform, a trampy tinfoil number, but she
came as close as possible in a gold Spandex micro-mini. Her first
customer tells Miranda to shove a lipstick tube in her smallest
orifice, whereupon Miranda grabs a bottle of Suck Me Slowly Skin
Softener and empties it in the gorgon's face.
Despair trails Miranda from door to door, gnawing at her luscious ass
as one housewife after another tells her to screw off. At this rate,
she's going to end up giving peepshows in the alley behind Junkyard
Jack's just to get a pack of Camels.
"Try this perfume, or I'll slash the tires on your minivan, fuck your
husband, and come back in ten years to turn your son into a sore-
stricken pimp," Miranda snarls at her next potential client.
"You can have my husband," sobs the woman, whose bathrobe is stained
with what looks and smells like cat urine. "Everyone else has."
"Really?" Miranda perks up. "Why, is he hung?"
"Like a rhinoceros!' the woman bawls. "He's going to leave me unless I
give him a blowjob, but our marriage counselor told me if I tried, I'd
have to have an emergency tracheotomy. He's sitting in the den right
now, eating pork rinds and drooling over "Deep Throat.'"
"Lady, this is your lucky day," says Miranda, pushing past the weeping
creature. "Where is this monster? I happen to be the Grande Dame of
Fellatio. I can teach you everything you need to know. My fee will
give you a nosebleed, but if it's worth it to you, I'm your woman."
"Anything! Anything you want!" the woman cries. "I can't lose
Ferdinand!"
Ferdinand hardly looks up from the television as his wife skitters
into the den, followed by a black-haired Amazon whose massive tits are
sorely testing her Spandex dress. That's the mark of a genuine suck
freak, Miranda thinks, dumping her carton of cosmetics on the brown
shag carpet. He's not much to look at, with his shivering paunch, but
his wife wasn't lying about his size. With one hand he fumbles in the
bag of pork rinds; with the other he strokes something that looks like
it should be aimed at Libya.
"Hey, Ferdie," Miranda greets him. He throws her a red-rimmed glance.
And another. Then turns back to the TV screen, where a cock half the
size of his is being energetically Hoovered. "How'd you like a little
of that for yourself?" Miranda purrs. Finally she's got his attention.
Ferdinand's wife sinks into a beanbag to watch.
"Now, Ferdie, you're about to be the object of a sex education demo,
so don't get offended if I treat Mr. Happy here as if he weren't
attached to your less-than-articulate self," Miranda begins. Ferdinand
grunts. Miranda straddles his knees and asks him if he'd like to warm
up between her tits before she gets to work. He shakes his head.
"That means no," Miranda explains to his wife. "He's hardcore. I'm not
going to bother trying to sell you any lipstick today, because you'll
never get to wear it once you learn what I'm about to show you. First
you have to hold him the right way. Like you're shaking hands on a
multi-million-dollar mortgage." She grabs the base of his cock, which
promptly turns a livid shade of violet. "The first thing you've got to
learn, Mrs. Ferdinand, is how to breathe through your nose. Both
nostrils. Because your lungs are going to protest mightily. The second
thing you need to know is how to use your hands. Ferdie here is what I
call a two-fister, for reasons that are fairly obvious. Your jaws are
going to ache something fierce, and you're going to need a break.
That's what your fingers and your tongue are for. Ready, Ferdie?"
The behemoth nods.
With the tip of her tongue, Miranda encircles the engorged head of his
cock. Lovely, lovely--it's already leaking that salty-sweet fluid.
Once she's orbited the planet for a few minutes, she strums at the
little strand of skin that runs from the head to the shaft, then she
licks his crimson rod like an cherry popsicle. Meanwhile, her hand
vibrates at the base of his cock.
"Looks like Ferdie's had enough of the lollipop treatment," she says
at last. "Now it's time to operate. Remember, Mrs. Ferdinand, use your
teeth with discretion. Keep your mouth open wide enough so that you
don't scrape the skin off him, but he may not mind a little abrasion
now and then. Open wide, then tighten your lips as if you were taking
the last drag on the last cigarette of your life. Practice in the
mirror--you'll look like hell. If Ferdie here had a smaller
circumference, you might get some tongue action going at the same time
you're dragging him up and down, but he's out of luck. Keep your
esophagus relaxed, or you'll strangle to death, then slowly lower
yourself down on him--swallow, swallow, swallow--and when you can't
take anymore, tighten up those lips and come slowly back up. Whether
you inhale or exhale along the way is up to you. When you start to run
out of steam, use your tongue and hands the way I showed you. Got it?"
The woman nods, and Miranda descends, silently thanking God that her
brother used to hold her underwater for ten minutes at a time. Up,
down; up, down. The guy really should be kept under a silo. Ferdinand
groans in approval, and Miranda quickens her pace. She hopes he's not
one of those guys who do multiplication tables while they're getting
blown. With her free hand, she massages his balls, scratching them
lightly with her talons. Shit, she thinks, as his shaft balloons in
her mouth and he yanks at her long hair. She forgot to tell Mrs.
Ferdinand how to--
"Don't even try to swallow!" she cries, disgorging his cock just as he
shoots off. Like a scene in a TV disaster movie, the room thunders as
Ferdinand thrashs on the sofa. Plaster rains from the ceiling, a smoke
alarm goes off, and gallons of cream drench the wallpaper.
"There are some jobs that are just too big for any woman," Miranda
sighs.
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