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Thread: "What is a blow job worth?" featuring Selena Gomez

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    fanfiction "What is a blow job worth?" featuring Selena Gomez

    "What is a blow job worth?" featuring Selena Gomez
    Written by chitown

    Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction, containing somewhat explicit material, intended to entertain adults. If that's going to trouble you, or not permitted to you for some reason, read no further.

    A/N: Some time ago, a member posted a poll, asking if you'd be willing to service JB for the chance to do whatever you wanted with SG. While I agree wholeheartedly with TPG's response to the question, this story is a sanitized* version of an idea it sparked.


    I find myself lying naked on the scratchy carpet of a cheap motel room, trussed up like a rodeo calf, electrical cords tightly binding me, cutting off circulation to my hands and feet. Worst of all, he's positioned me such that, if I so choose, the pen held up between the wall and my ear can be driven into my brain. I'm seriously considering doing it as I listen to the screaming police sirens draw nearer.

    Why am I in such a predicament? Because once again I let the wrong head do the thinking. Let me explain.

    --

    I'm on the bed, between the girl's shapely legs. With 2 fingers moistened by the combination of her cum and my spit I've peeled open her single line slit, shaded by her neatly trimmed bush, to reveal her inner pink.

    "Please don't do this," the girl I'm calling Selena whispers.

    "I'm sorry, I have to keep going," the crazy in me replies.

    My cockhead, glistening with pre-cum, is just about to make entry when my attention is pulled to the door leading to the adjoining room.

    "Stop." His voice, conversationally pitched, lowers the sex sauna-like temperature in the room to a subarctic level.

    The first sign I'm in trouble – I've never met him, but something about him reminds me of the unarmed combat instructors at Fort Bragg.

    Now, I spent 8 years in the Army, 5 as an Airborne Ranger, and currently I'm a rising star on the regional MMA circuit. I'm just reaching my physical peak and his was probably 15 years ago, so I ignore the alarm bells in my head.

    I've left my butterfly knife with my clothes, but I'm damn quick, so in not much more than a blink of an eye, it's in my hand, (snick, snick) opened, locked, and flying at him. It's a good throw, heading straight to bury itself hilt deep in his neck.

    The second sign – he doesn't blink, doesn't flinch, doesn't duck, doesn't scream. What he does is bat it out of the air with a casual swat of his open hand.

    The third sign I'm in a world of hurt? Instead of drawing the Glock he has holstered on his right hip, he comes at me.

    Fighting in the nude has its advantages, I guess, like no long sleeves or neck tie for an opponent to grab. There really isn't enough space to be creative so I just try to overwhelm him with a quick flurry of offense.

    He surprises the hell out of me parrying the couple punches he doesn't outright dodge, and I block his first two. His third is a nerve strike that gets through, deadening my left arm, and that's pretty much all she wrote.

    Injured, off-balanced, and, I acknowledge now, clearly outclassed, he makes short work of subduing and restraining me.

    The girl, who as far as I can tell, hasn't moved from where I left her, starts to speak, "Jus-"

    "Shh, honey, no names. If he doesn't know who we are yet, it's best we not tell him now. Here take my shirt." Then, "Are your shoes around? And a key for the ankle bracelet?"

    Bizarre observation: his tie's a clip-on. Lazy, or smart?

    "Shoes are under the bed, I think. Key's in the bathroom unless he moved it."

    He gets her unchained and covered up in his shirt, her Converse, and the bed's blanket. Then he tracks down the camera, starts tracing the path of the cord.

    She asks, saving me the trouble, "What are you doing?"

    "They were set up to watch what happens in here. I need to know if they were recording it."

    "Oh"

    When he's done he kneels beside me, arranges the pen and says, "The two in the other room will live, you didn't quite manage to rape the young woman, so I can't justify killing you."

    I'd point out I tried to kill him, but my brain is now functioning somewhat, and I realize it's possible he didn't feel endangered.

    "Thing is," he continues, "given who we all are, it might have been merciful to do it, so I'm giving you the option." He then flashes a badge and credentials, "If anybody asks, I'm a federal marshal." It's so quick all I catch is a first name: George.

    When they're ready to walk out, he pulls a radio out of his pocket. "Officer needs assistance, Shady Pines Motor Lodge. Solicitation. Multiple aggravated battery. Unlawful restraint. Attempted rape. Attempted murder. Officer securing material witness."

    He wraps an arm around her shoulders, "Let's go"

    "What about –"

    "He made this disaster; he can clean it up. It sucks you're going to get caught in it."

    Sigh. I suppose I really should start the story with lunch.

    --

    I'm at IHOP, alone, digging into another stack of pancakes when a rotund black guy unceremoniously sits across the table from me.

    "You see the couple in the rear booth there?"

    Two teenagers. I'd seen ‘em once or twice before. A generic white bread, suburban, trust fund brat ‘rebelling' against his parental authority figure by wearing gaudy costume jewelry (if it was real, he wouldn't be eating here) pants hanging so low the world could see the skid marks on his briefs, and dallying with a gold-digging slut from the wrong side of the tracks.

    "What about ‘em?"

    "They'd like to add a little spice to their relationship."

    Relationship? Wtf can two kids, probably still in high school, possibly know about being in a relationship? "What's that to do with me? Or you, for that matter?"

    "Me, I'm here to see everyone gets what they want. You? If you'll perform fellatio on him to completion, you can do anything you like with her afterwards."

    I can't believe it, but I look back over, check her out. Long, dark hair; dark eyes; round cheeks; full lips; petite, with maybe an ok rack under her Smiley face T-shirt; no unsightly bulges in her skin tight jeans.

    Definitely an above average piece of ass, but worth giving some effete lump of shit a blow job? Not a fucking chance.

    I intend to say "No, thanks anyway," but because I'm in training and it's been awhile, what comes out is, "When and where?"

    He smiles as he slides a key across the table: Room 14 Shady Pines Motor Lodge. "Half an hour"

    It'll take 15 minutes to drive there so I've time to finish eating.

    When he gets up they leave their booth and head out. He holds the door and follows.

    A van pulls up; a couple guys in ski masks jump out, hood the girl, and drag her in while the little prick voluntarily joins them. The fixer looks back to gauge reaction in the restaurant as the truck speeds off and then drives away in his Cadillac CTS, leaving me to ponder just what I've gotten myself into.

    I wonder if the girl is really in on this, or if I get to be a hero? I was trained to be a hero once, Airborne Rangers and all that, except they declined to accept my 2nd re-enlistment because of my propensity to throw punches when I've been drinking.

    I drive to the motel figuring 4 on 1 isn't such bad odds as long as no one has a gun.

    I enter room 14 and the boy is lounging on the double bed in nothing but his undies and the big black guy sits at the table by the window, watching what appears to be the room's 2nd television?

    "Where's the girl?"

    Blackie spins the monitor around showing her sitting on the edge of a double bed, blindfolded, arms pulled around behind her back suggesting handcuffs. He points to the open door that reveals a closed door. "Adjoining room"

    The kid pipes up, "You didn't think I wasn't going to watch you fuck my girlfriend, did you?" and his squeaky voice just grates on my nerves.

    "Who's she talking to?"

    "She's been mumbling to herself since the game with the van. I'm sure you'll be able to get her attention," the big guy taunts me.

    The punk takes his skivvies off, revealing he's almost the size of a tube steak and already hard. "Let's get this party started."

    I should know by now the problem with not having a game plan. What's my next move? There's at least 2 hostiles not accounted for, so I have to wing it. All I'm going to say about this is it's unpleasant enough that I come close to puking my lunch all over the sniveling little shit, but he's got no staying power so its relatively soon I'm off him and his jizz is spewing out onto the bed.

    "Hey, you were supposed to swallow"

    "Don't you watch movies? Guys never swallow, girls are another matter."

    Blackie's up out of his chair. "This isn't the movies. Considering what you're getting in return, you'd better go again."

    A quick chop to the kids neck puts him under and it turns out his muscle is all bluster and no skill. A feint, a couple jabs, and then the right cross puts him down.

    I use strips cut from the bed sheet to secure them both. It won't hold against a determined effort, but should give me some extra time to collect on the bargain and leave.

    She stops whispering, sits up straight, squaring her shoulders when I enter the room.

    "Now will you tell me what's going on?"

    "Now? … Now I'm going to collect my reward."

    As I approach I detect the faint scent of urine, she probably pissed herself at some point before being cuffed and, I see now, tethered to the bed with a length of chain running from the headboard and shackled to her ankle.

    "Reward?" she's grasping at straws, "I have money. How much do you want?"

    "I'm not interested in the $20 in your purse."

    "Name an amount," she demands, believing she's found a way out of her predicament.

    I no longer know what the hell's going on, if I ever did, so I pick a ridiculous number, a la Dr Evil.

    "One million dollars"

    She mumbles, "I don't have that kind of liquidity," but then perks up, "you should talk to my boyfriend. He can make arrangements to pay you."

    I'm stunned momentarily that she's taking that number seriously. Maybe the kid's chains and earrings are genuine. Maybe I can collect them before I leave, I'm thinking. Then reality kick starts my brain again.

    "Just what do you think is happening here?"

    "Isn't it obvious? You all have kidnapped us, and now we're negotiating the ransom."

    Either she's an actress or she really doesn't know. "You're boyfriend traded oral sex from me for the chance to do whatever I like with you."

    "WHAT?!?" but her outrage soon gives way to despair as she accepts my explanation. Her shoulders slump, "What happens now?"

    "At the very least, I need a blow job from you. After that maybe I'll just drive you wherever you'd like and he can go scratch."

    She giggles nervously, "Do we really have to do the first part?"

    "Yes. Yes, we really do. What's your name?"

    "Sel-…Cecilia"

    "Well, Cecilia, first I'm going to remove your clothes because, frankly, you stink a little bit."

    "Yeah, sorry about that. I was scared"

    "You aren't anymore?" I ask as I open my knife.

    "No, I still am, just controlling it better."

    I start at the collar on her left side, across the top of her shoulder and down the short sleeve, the blade parting the fabric like a hot knife through butter. I'm just about to start the right side when, "Wait. What am I going to wear when it's time to leave?"

    "We'll work something out. Last I saw your boyfriend he wasn't wearing his clothes."

    She shivers as her shirt slithers down, the wrecked top gathering at her hips. As I slice through the bunched material, it dawns on me she wasn't planning on getting naked anytime soon.

    She should be wearing a strapless, half-cup, padded push-up if she wants to attract attention or even just excite the guy in her life, but the sports bra she's got on actually works to minimize her chest. A fact easily remedied with a few strokes and her twins spring up and out in freedom.

    The small, dark areola centered on her firm, pear shaped tits are irresistible and I sink down to take her left one into my mouth. I suckle her crown, she's delicious, and I'm about to graze her nipple with my teeth when the plaintive note in her, "Please sir," brings me back to task.

    I get back up, place a hand on her elbow to guide, say softly, "Stand up"

    She wiggles as I unbutton her jeans, tries to protest when I make quick work of the outer seams, but stands still while her plain cotton panties follow. I take all the trash to the bathroom because it's the source of the odor.

    I dump the ruined clothes in the tub, turn on the fan, wet a washcloth, grab a towel, and head back to her. There she stands, her cute little figure, as my mother would describe it, on full, naked display for me.

    Even though the blindfold obscures half her face and pulls her long brunette tresses back, I can still see the beauty in her full lips and round cheeks. With her hands still locked together behind her, her shoulders are pulled back naturally pushing her girls up and forward. She's starting to show eraser like nubs protruding from the small dusky circles.

    A slight innie navel in her smooth, slightly rounded tummy highlights her narrow waist. The flaring of her hips is centered by a neat triangle of dark trimmed bush and now I'm on my knees in front of her.

    She gasps as I start gently wiping her intimate area with the damp washcloth. I progress to her toned yet still soft thighs, cleaning any residue left from her accident. Her lower legs are firm as well, and I bet she looks fantastic in heels.

    I flip the rag toward the bathroom, softly rub her lower body with the towel, and she's trembling when I finish drying her off and discard it too.

    As I stand up, "ok it's time," and I lead her back to the bed, have her scoot toward the center. I crawl on, get comfortable with her between my legs, guide her face down to my crotch and lay back to enjoy.

    She starts with a few tentative licks of my flaccid member, and while they're nothing special, it has been awhile and I respond, growing larger. She traces the underside vein from root to head with the tip of her tongue and my hips give an involuntary wiggle.

    She gives my head a butterfly light kiss, and then proceeds to repeat it down the side. Back at the base, she trails her tongue down to my scrotum.

    My balls hang heavy in my sack as she moves on to wash them, one at a time. The center of her tongue lightly rasps the tender skin encasing my jewels and fuck, if it doesn't feel good.

    By the time she sucks my nuts into her mouth, one and then the other, she's got me hard enough to lift off my gut, stand waving in the air.

    "Sal- Cel- Cecilia," I stumble over her name, and since I suspect it not actually hers, "Shit, can I just call you Selena?"

    A shudder runs through her body and she allows my gonads to pop out. "You're in charge; call me anything you want."

    "Well then … Selena, as much as I'm enjoying the prelude, it's time for the main event." I use my hand to guide her face, her mouth back to my erection. "Time to suck me off."

    Her lips close around my head, locking in just beneath the ridge. She swirls her tongue around pokes my eye with the tip.

    Slowly she takes more in, deeper, until she's most of the way down and I hit the back of her throat. She starts to bob up and down to a languid beat.

    I watch as she bounces over my crotch, her soft lips sealed on my rod, her tongue caressing my staff, my mushroom tip frequently colliding with her uvula. Something's missing though.

    "Hey, babe, this is ok, but I think you can do better."

    She picks up the pace, occasionally tilts to the side, and the feeling of my head pushing against the soft inside of her cheek, the bulging out of her already round face is getting me close to busting, but the action also causes her to graze my cock with her teeth, and that just kills it.

    "Wait, stop. That's good, but you need to control yourself."

    She pops up off my dick, to sit back on her heels, the deep breathing from her exertion causing her chest to heave and consequently her breasts to jiggle in a very pleasing, very erotic manner.

    There's more than a bit of anger in her voice when she says, "If you want a real blow job, I need my hands free."

    I'm about to snap back that she's just trying to escape when I realize she's got a point. I'm missing the sensation of a hand stroking my exposed shaft, massaging my balls, while her mouth works me over.

    Since I have to admit she's right, I try a little laugh as, "And the first thing that happens if I uncuff you is the blindfold comes off."

    It's obvious she isn't expecting that counter when she quietly offers, "What if I promise not to?"

    "Swear to it"

    "I swear on all I hold dear not to remove the blindfold until told to do so."

    "Allright," I roll off the bed, "any idea where the key is?"

    "They said they were leaving them at the sink."

    I quickly return with the cuff key, leaving the other for later.

    She's remained in her sitting back, kneeling position, and as I stand behind her, seeing her dark brown mane fall over her back, hands clasped at her slim waist, hips flaring to a succulent little butt, I'm feeling tempted to just push her upper body forward and take her from behind. Or maybe even skewer that tight ass?

    Instead I unlock the bracelets, electing not to be the one to breach what might be a fragile bond of trust, and as she chaffs her wrists, I toss the steel onto the terry cloth and get back onto the bed.

    She leans forward, and easily enough has a hand on each thigh. Her palms glide over my quads, up to my hips, and then to the center. She gives my still moist, still ¾ hard dick a couple full strokes as she fondles my sack.

    She licks my head a few times, swirls her tongue around its ridge, but waits for my full hard-on to return before closing her lips on me again.

    She has her forearms braced on my legs as now she's stroking up and down in time to the bobbing of her head, accompanied by a Hoover like suction and a tender manipulation of my testes.

    I can't help myself, I'm thrusting back up at her, wanting to grab her head, jam my cock down her throat, when I wonder if that's what she wants, to get me off, to get this over with, but her hand is acting as a block.

    I'm starting to reach for her when I realize it's too late, I'm going to blow, but suddenly she freezes, her hand clamped painfully around the base of my prick.

    She successfully stifles my release and when we both feel my urgency has passed, she let's up on the pressure. While maintaining her grip on my privates, she begins to walk her body around, on her knees, until she throws one over my chest.

    I've now got a panty's eye view of her perfect pink rosebud of an anus, her still closed though slightly damp labia, and as she begins to work me over, I do reach up to squeeze her cheeks.

    The vibrations of her moan almost distract me from the fact she's let go my balls and is probing around my butthole with a finger even as she's sucking and jerking my cock for all it's worth.

    "Just what are you doing with that hand?"

    She spits me out, "You ever hear of the male g-spot?"

    "What? No such thing. We don't need it."

    Her body starts shaking, even as she continues to pump away and her finger slips inside. I realize she's laughing, "Just be patient, I guarantee you won't be disappointed."

    With that she's sucking on my lollipop again and it's almost covering the discomfort of her finger poking around where it should never be when –
    Holy Christ
    -she finds something allright.

    She strokes it once, twice, again; getting me to damn near thrust to the ceiling each time.

    Then she's let go my cock and swallowed it, her lips down to the base, nose buried in my jewels. She caresses that spot one more time while prodding a corresponding nerve under my balls with her thumb and I'm in sensory overload.

    I'm pretty sure the first blast goes straight to her stomach courtesy of the deep throat action, then she's pumping with her hand and I'm shooting up on her face before she closes her mouth around my head and sucks.

    I'm breathing crazy and sweating bullets as she gently strokes and licks, cleaning up the mess we've just made. Mercifully she just quietly slips her finger out. I'm not sure how much more of that I could handle right now.

    When she finally rolls off, to lie on her back next to me, I sit up to see her face obliterated with my white goo.

    I reach over, catch a rope with a finger and bring it to her lips. As she licks it off I ask, "Why? Why not just take it all in your mouth? Clearly you're not averse to swallowing."

    She smiles, "I'm under the impression guys like to mark their conquests," and then laughs a little bit.

    I take a corner of the spread, wipe her face, "At this point, I count more as your conquest than you as mine. Let's see if I can fix that."

    I lean over, squeeze both her breasts, their natural fullness trying to slide off to the side, her youthful firmness keeping them mostly in place.

    "You don't have to do this," she protests.

    "It's ok , I want to," and then I'm sucking her tit into my mouth and the salty tang from her recent exertions is a pleasant spice.

    I'm spending some time just playing with her funbags, alternating between them, caressing, massaging, squeezing, pinching with a hand, while my mouth soothes, relieves, washes, and then bites.

    I've switched sides for the third time when she finally breaks, a moan escapes, and her body relaxes.

    I slide my hand down over her abdomen, through the silky triangle of down, to the baby soft hairless skin around her sex.

    I rub a finger over her delicate slit as I trail kisses slowly along the same path, but I have to ask, "Waxed?" because there's no way she shaved this morning and then dressed so frumpy.

    "LHR actually"

    I look up in surprise, to see if she's joking and can't tell because I can't see her eyes.

    "You can take the blindfold off now"

    "Do you mind if I leave it on?"

    "Suit yourself"

    I've got a fingertip inside her outer lips when I return to trailing my mouth across her stomach, south to her hidden treasure.

    I've succeeded in coaxing some moisture out of her, onto my probing digit, when I reach the patch of down and break off again.

    "If you're willing to have that service done so intimately, why do you maintain such a healthy bush?" I ask as I nudge her legs apart so that I can kneel between them.

    A blush rises in her cheeks and goose bumps cover her body. "I shouldn't tell you, but I have a …. friend," and now she's beet red, "who frequently mutters about how much he enjoys running his fingers through my hair. I'm not a lingerie model, so …" she shrugs.

    I can't believe it. "You do that for that punk in the other room?"

    "No, not him," and there's iron in her voice.

    "Good," and I bury my face in her join. My mouth covers her slot as I push my finger deep into her canal.

    She gasps, but seems pleased so I lick her soft delicate skin as her walls snuggle my index finger.

    I work my finger around, suck her lips into my mouth and her hips wiggle, her breathing deepens.

    I add my middle finger to the probing as my tongue first touches her clit. She bucks up.

    "Fuck yes, eat me," but then, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me"

    "I do. You're enjoying yourself."

    "But I shouldn't be," and then I find her g-spot.

    "OOOH please," she's grabbing fistfuls of the bed cover as she squirms.

    I begin to run my fingers in and out, massaging her walls, probing, stretching, occasionally targeting her trigger zone while I'm now enjoying lapping up the sweet taste of her juices as she gets warmed up.

    She grunts, "Uuungh," when I force a 3rd finger into her hole, but gives me a "Goddamn yes" when my tongue grazes her clit again.

    She's tight enough I won't comfortably fit the fourth in, she'll just have to deal with my cock without that stretching, because I'm hard again and if she can give head like that I almost can't wait to feel what it's like to be between her legs.

    First things first though, I owe her an orgasm.

    I start to mercilessly pump those 3 fingers hitting her spot each time.

    "oooh …Ooooh…OOOOH…"

    I ignore the fluids now covering her delicate skin and attack her love nub as it peeks out of its home.

    First a gentle kiss with my lips and she thrusts her pelvis up into my face. I swirl my tongue around and across getting some animal screech from her throat. Finally, my hand continuing its relentless assault, I gently bite down on her fleshy bundle of nerves and that pushes her over the top.

    A flood of cum washes over my hand and face as her limbs are splayed out wide.

    I continue to slowly, gently finger bang the girl as I sit back to watch her cum, and it's a beautiful scene.

    When she's come back to the room, her breathing slowing toward normal, flexing her limbs to loosen up, I slide my hand out and bring up to my mouth.

    "Can I have a taste?" she asks, blowing my mind again.

    "Sure" but I bury my face in her sex, to lap up all her juices I can, without swallowing.

    I climb up over her body to give her our first kiss, a sloppy wet, tasty mess of lips, tongues, and teeth.

    She's moaning into my mouth, I'm groaning into hers, and I can't stand it anymore. I pull the blindfold off to see a hot lusty desire in her deep brown eyes.

    I reach down between us.

    She breaks from the kiss. "What are you doing?"

    Freed from her lips, I rear back a bit, the better to see what I'm doing. "Selena, we're going to fuck each others' brains out."

    "Please don't do this."

    "I'm sorry. I have to keep going"

    "Stop" the iceman interrupts.

    **

    Déjà vu is a bitch.

    I'm sitting in IHOP, carbo-loading, because I've run low on pasta at home when Selena Gomez and Justin Bieber come in, head to a back booth. I've about picked my jaw up from the table top when Kenny Hamilton drops his bulk into the chair across from me.

    "If you'd like an autograph, it can be arranged. Otherwise they'd like to be treated like anyone else out for a meal."

    "Just hers, and a photo with her, if that's possible."

    "I'll ask"

    Goddamn, I'm going to spend the rest of my life wondering if she's that talented, and what I'd be willing to do to find out.

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    sanitized*: the original draft set the scene in a club, George left a third corpse behind because he arrived later, and there was no deja vu to imply it never happened

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