Celebs Meet CSSA #22: Eliza Dushku

Celebs Meet C-S-S-A #22: Eliza Dushku (MF, cons, oral, FDom, inter)

See, normally this is the part of the show where I say something funny. But this here is a labor of love, and a return to the game. So I’ll just say if you’re not 18, don’t read this. Or at least don’t get caught. Places are real but the reality described therein isn’t, ‘nawmean? Also, I quoted “Crimson & Clover” by Tommy James & the Shondells which is surely illegal, but I don’t know what to say about that other than “C&C”‘s the best song EVER and I needed it for the scene and don’t sue me. Also, I should mention just in case this flitters by the
radar of Eliza Dushku: suing me would be counterproductive and very sad for I am a poor boy and nobody loves me. I mean, you want to sue someone, you should sue Fox, putting you against the last year of Friends & Scrubs AND Smack!Down! That reminds me, if you could drop this letterbomb off at Fox with the Dark Angel shirt wrapped around it, I’d be much obliged. The point is: HOMAGE. Not actionable lawsuit. HOMAGE.

Now, time for me to give some props:

To Cheap Trick for recording “I Want You To Want Me”.

To TRL, for setting the Celebs standard, and to that Billy Gunn-lover KMB for the repeated incessant kick in the ass that I am only now taking to heart.

If you’re enamored by this Another Step Closer To Rollerball production (and why shouldn’t ya be?) you can give me feedback at godhateme79@hotmail.com.

* * * * * * * * * *

I wish I had something deep and eloquent to say, but work most of the time is work, y’know? I don’t quite want to say it’s Office Space but that being said it’s nothing interesting usually: point people along, get them to the right place, smile.

Unless it’s the Comic Con.

Well, then, shit just blows up huge: 80,000 freaks hitting the San Diego Convention Center, famous people shuttling in and out the loading docks, and all while you try to maintain your own voice in the sea of chaos, comic books, and pale freaks.

Luckily, by Sunday, the worst of the storm was over. The worst of the storm had been yesterday, with Halle Berry & Angelina Jolie inhabiting the same room consecutively and a mass rush combined with the half-mile of geek heaven that had been on the bottom floor below them–ye gods. If they ever invent a word beyond chaos, that was it.

But that was then and working the front drive was now, herding people along for the last day. The busiest stretch of the year, and yet despite my month-long work, I hadn’t had a mental breakdown and seemingly survived.

Annnnnd…why jinx it? Why say it out loud? But I had ever since I’d found out.

Eliza D. was coming to town.

I had deeeeep lust for her and had for years. She made Season 3 the best Buffy season and woe to those who dared disagree with me. She’d filmed Bring It On at my high school & college and invaded my dreams in cheerleader skirts. And then there was the Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back thing–expecially considering the past two days I’d met Mark Hamill & Kevin Smith on seperate occassions–that inspired me to write my last pornographic effort. After C.L.I.T., well, what was left?

“Butch?”

“Hm?” One of my scheduling bosses, Pete. Hope he didn’t realize I was asleep at the wheel during this temporary lull.

“We gotta switch you.” I didn’t mind that; the sun was out, bright, and in my eyes, sunglasses or not. “Harris got sick, and we need someone to cover Ballroom 20 for the day.”

“B-ballroom 20?” I knew what THAT meant, even if he hadn’t said it. Eliza duty. Time to repent and once again bow in the direction of our Lord and Saviour, the inimitable Jesus Christ for the hookup.

“What happened?”

“He ate a bad carne asada burrito from the cafeteria. You asked me about it like 58 times, and it’s nothing too major, just work with the other security, you’ll be fine.” Fine? I was about to have a seizure! ELIZA DUTY! I had dreams of her signing PROPERTY OF ELIZA DUSHKU on my arm all week and now I was going to be taking her out into the teeth of the ComicCon. I mean, meeting Kevin Smith was a cool unexpected bonus, but I didn’t want to fuck him. Well, not as much as Eliza, at any rate.

“So take your 15, and then get upstairs to clear it, and down to the dock.”

“Uh, thanks, Pete.” I was shellshocked, almost to a loss for words, which people in the know would tell you happen every Red Sox World Series.

* * * * * * * * * *

I tried to think about something else, anything else. The View Askew merch I wanted to pick up after my shift, the fact I’d have to get up at 4 for work Monday, and nothing stuck. ElizaElizaEliza kept running through my head like a White Stripes guitar riff. I cleared 20 and got down to the dock and paced like an expectant father. Time went by but seemingly in reverse. And then…

Everything changed. A black limo, DIVA209, pulled into the east loading dock. And then, a total Wonder Years moment.

I

First, a couple of guys who looked like M.I.B. extras hopped out. The sun died off a bit, leaving a fog in it’s place. Did that really happen? Probably not. But I remember what I saw. Oh man. Burned into my eyes like a cattle brand.

Now, I don’t hardly know her

Blue jeans.

But I think I could love her

White tank top, grey stripes.

Crimson and clover

A few streaks of blonde…

Over & over

…but still Eliza Dushku. And here she come walking over, too.

“You security?” My mouth opened. Nothing came out and I’m surpised flies or hummingbirds didn’t come in. I gulped, nodded. She smirked at me. I got hard almost immediately, and something in my boner woke up my brain for the first time in what seemed like years but was probably closer to 45 seconds.

“Let’s get you upstairs for the meet & greet,” I said. Yeah, wiseass, it wasn’t “Bond. James Bond.” but considering I hadn’t expressed my wish to have her run away with me and father my children, it did the job. We got to the freight elevator and she leaned back in a corner, the suits watching her every move and looking at me briefly. Considering the lack of threat I pose at 5’8″ and 150 after Thanksgiving dinner, I’m sure they were mentally cashing in their checks.

“You been doing this all weekend?” That accent. I was going to have a handless orgasm. I began explaining how I got rotated around to “need” areas in the center and how this weekend, obviously, had been explicitly crazy.

The freight elevator lurched to a stop, she tousled her hair a little bit, and the four of us quietly snuck through a side door and out down the stairs before going back upstairs through the kitchen.

* * * * * * * * * *

She was talking about her show. My heart was racing through my chest. I was 100 feet away having my lunch, trying desperately to not beat off outside in front of other patrons, God, and who cares what else. I was getting dizzy. I was surely going blind.

It was the best I’d ever felt.

Suddenly, I snapped awake. One last roar of applause meant the rest of my sandwich was going to have to wait, and I snuck into the side door as she came off the stage. Her security guards were right there with me and formed a little protective triangle.

I could hear a moan rise up, a moan that stated all the Eliza Dushku will NOT be signing signs weren’t just hype. I frowned a little–I knew what that felt like. I was on the other side of it a couple years ago, and it blew HARD.

“I should…” She trailed off. She felt guilty. I felt horrible about doing this to fans, but my job was my job. Suddenly, I saw her frown turn into a placid look, quickly followed by a smile.

“Steve. Dave. Butch. Follow me.”

We all opened our mouths to protest but she took off down the hall. We ran after her, with about 3,000 running after us. She ran across the hallway, into the Sails Pavilion. She knocked over a sign for Neil Gaiman and I could see from behind, outside on the terrace, flashbulbs were going off like fireworks.

“I’M SIGNING FOR THE NEXT TWO HOURS!” And then, this roar erupted. I thought an earthquake had happened. Suddenly, I looked at Steve & Dave for the first time all day.

“HELP ME.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The rush was on, and it wouldn’t stop. Thanks to Steve & Dave, we got the guerilla signing in order in the pivotal first five minutes with a line. A massive line, but one nonetheless. Nothing like a horrified panic to make you forget about the weapon of ass destruction your pants were smuggling.

But if we were concerned for her safety, Eliza seemed like she was home. She took the grey Sharpie I had intended to get her to sign something for me with and went to work. Everyone got personalized talking time for a couple minutes and we had to entreat her to move it along due to her mass popularity. She took pictures. She kissed cheeks. She signed anything and everything: one of the signs that said she wasn’t signing (“The fuck I’m NOT!–Eliza Dushku”), Buffy shirts, foreheads, autograph books…it just kept coming. She just kept smiling, and laughing.

“How’s it going?” Steve said, leaning over and looking in some nausea over a guy’s cast around his arm.

“I could go all day! FIVE BY FIVE!” Eliza said back, drawing a cheer from those in the front. Dave shook his head. “You seen anything like this?”

“Just Jolie, and Kevin Smith,” I said back.

“She just DOES shit like this. Just decides she’s going to sign, or she’s going to go to 7-11 because she needs a Slurpee fix. Keeps you awake, if nothing else.”

We looked back down at the table and never ending line. I looked down at my watch and suddenly it was 3:45. She’d been going for nearly two hours, and I needed to sign off for the day.

“Dave, Steve, I gotta punch out. I’ll be right back.”

I scurried downstairs and did so, giving a “theelizasituationgottamoveseeyoutomorrow” to my bosses as I flew in and out of the workroom in record time, still in uniform.

Up the stairs and I was flying on adrenaline. Steve met me as I ran up to the table. “The conventioneers are saying we gotta book.” Sure enough, as he said that, it was announced it was 4 and Eliza would have to stop signing. Quickly, she said goodbye and we rushed her off down the freight escalator to the limo and out the SDCC, my gear in my hand.

Steve and Dave were leaned up against the wall, breathing heavily. I was sitting down I was so tired, the waking up at 5 and the subsequent adrenaline withdrawl getting to me.

Eliza stood, breathing heavily. And it dawned on me I was off the clock but still on duty. Her chest drew me in like a culling song. She looked at the meter, then turned over to me as I pretended to fiddle around in my backpack. The elevator whirred to a steady stop, and we four walked out. She signed an autograph for a pregnant woman and for my co-worker Mark, and suddenly I realized it was over. I’d had my fun.

“You know of anywheres I can get a bite? I’m wicked starving.” she said, getting into the limo.

“Well, what do you want?” I asked. Suddenly, Steve & Dave pulled me into the limo and gave the driver a signal.

“Sorry, man, but she’ll sign another two hours knowing her. We’ll drop you off where you need to get.” They moved into the middle, leaving me in the backseat of a limo with the best thing to come out of Boston since Aerosmith.

“I’m in San Diego, I should probably have some Mexican for lunch. You know a good place?”

I ran it over in my mind when suddenly I got a brilliant idea. Now, truth be told, there’s an excellent place about a block away buuuut…

“How long’s it been since a guy went down south on you?” I smiled, and put my hands in the air to indicate I meant the less sexual indication of the question. Truth be told, if she’d kicked my ass I probably would’ve gotten off on it. She looked at me quizzically, before she opened her eyes wide.

“You couldn’t possibly think…”

“Oh, si, senora,” I said. “I do. MUCHACHOS! To the border!”

* * * * * * * * * *

So an hour later, we were in Puerto Nuevo. It’s a sleepy lobster village where there’s lobster, a resort, and nothing else except the ocean, mariachi bands, and enough cheap booze (well, enough cheap anything) to make someone squeal in delight. I’d been here for Spring Break with friends and loved it. Who wouldn’t?

The limo pulled in and we walked a dusty road. We stopped at a little shop, where she bought a couple small guitars for her brother and I a few wrestling masks I couldn’t get on the gringo side of the border. I took her and the guards to Las Briscas, and up to the second floor. They all looked to their right.

“Oh, man.” Eliza said in a quiet voice. It was the Pacific Ocean, and the sun was slowly beginning to set. “This is nice!”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “as long as you’re fine with telling the mariachi bands no every four minutes.” I looked over at her, I couldn’t help it. She just kept looking at the ocean, the wind blowing her hair back, her ass in those jeans, the riveted look on her face. It was cute, which made it that much sexier.

“¡Señor!”

And with that, we sat at a pair of far tables. Steve & Dave seperated themselves by a table, and left me with Eliza at another table while they began talking about the Kobe case and the effect it’d have on the Lakers. I normally would’ve been all over Laker talk, but after I’d ordered four extra-large lobsters, Eliza asked me a question.

“So what’s your story?”

And so, being unfamous without a resume, I went into it. My job I’d just gotten, how I was four classes away from a journalism degree, the writing I’d done for newspapers and the novel and the screenplay I was working on (though of course I said I’d done more than I really had), and how I’d found this place. I kept sneaking peeks around at the ocean, or Steve & Dave yakking it up over Coronas about the triangle offense, but when I returned and looked her in the eyes (for looking elsewhere would surely have resulted in me being thrown from the balcony) she was looking back. Scanning me. As our own Coronas and full-course meal arrived, I felt oddly at ease, like I was supposed to be here. Like I was supposed to be spending time with the hottest girl that’d come into my life and one of the finest women walking the planet. I wished only for the courage to make a move, to say something–FUCK!–to kiss her, when suddenly she opened her mouth and said the words I’d been praying to hear…

“Is the butter supposed to turn the tortillas a different color?”

Rats.

“Yeah, that just means it’s working.”

And we ate and drank, and the sun set five beers each later, and I was ready to call it a night.

* * * * * * * * * *

“ONE MORE TIME!”

Eliza had a different plan.

And so I found myself working off the Mexican dinner twenty minutes between Nuevo & the border in a Rosarito Señor Frogs, dancing along to my favorite Daft Punk song on a relatively uncrowded dance floor. I was letting the Coronas work it’s way through me, but Eliza’d added a yard-long margarita to her take of the evening, and that was when things changed.

We danced pretty closely together but I tried keeping her at arm’s length because if she got close to me in the state I was in (awake) I knew what was going to happen next. “After this next song, we have to go!” she yelled. I nodded, not wanting to say anything. I knew I had to get up early tomorrow, and things were better off. For continuing the thoughts I had was surely torture. I had always thought of myself as something of a good dancer, sobriety or no. But as I watched the dark side of slaying move across the floor, I was surprised my penis didn’t break through my jeans like the Kool-Aid Man. She moved gracefully and yet there was no doubt that she was no stranger to the virtual dryhump aspects of dancing. As the playlist gave way to 50 Cent, Eliza sidled up next to me, and spun back-first into my front, putting that ass right up against my groin. Maybe it was my birthday.

BLAM.

Hard-on.

I felt an acute sense of “Oh, shit” and braced myself for the subsequent ass-kicking storm. I would’ve been into it, because I’m very sad like that but it still would’ve been a girl kicking my ass in public. Her hand reached back, aiming straight for my face.

Cradling the back of my head? That was NOT the imminent beatdown I had thought, that was…almost…like she liked knowing she had this effect on me. For a brief flash, I was irate. I’d gotten a major league case of blue balls and I didn’t see any relief coming any time soon, and now that Eliza had felt the tip of the proverbial iceberg any excuse I made to get out of her sight was going to be perceived as me going to exorcise my demons. Which would be totally the truth, but it’s not something you want the girl to know as you do it. We kept dancing and right before I thought she’d let sleeping dogs lie she backed it up right into me again, moving it back and forth more aggresively. In a good sign, the song ended shortly after. I hadn’t come all over myself, and she grabbed the yard-long margarita holder and followed me down to the street where I flagged down a taxi.

We hopped in the backseat and I instructed Puerto Nuevo. We drove off south back towards Puerto into the teeth of the night. I felt a hand trapizese across my stomach, an easy spot for tickling, and I gave a small laugh as Eliza’s hand tickled my belly.

I still don’t know why. Maybe it was the fact I couldn’t catch a signal unless I was a traffic cop. Perhaps it was that damn Santana & Michelle Branch song coming out of the radio that I’d hear forever whenever I got hard. The drinks helped. The fact I’d kept the fanboy drooling down did too.

But there’s still no explanation in my mind for that hand leaving the safe hilarity of the stomach and wandering down into the steamy jungle of my groin. I gasped on contact.

“Easy,” she said to me. Slowly, she began guiding her hand back and forth against my cock, rubbing her other hand absently against my chest. “I know you want this. I saw how you looked at me. I know how hard I got you. I’ll take care of it, I promise.” I meant to say something in response, but all I could do was moan and wonder when the alarm was to go off. It usually happened by now.

“Mmm…this is a lot of cock. Not that fake shit I’ve been getting from Aly.” A wink as I looked down on her. She’d slurred the last sentence but all I heard was “getting from Aly” and almost unbelievably my cock began getting bigger.

“So big,” she murmured. “I think I may have to taste this for myself.” She undid the zipper, and reached in with both hands. She couldn’t get a good look due to the lack of light now but I knew I had hit maximum length into the double digits due to her expert stroking. A hand reached under to cup my balls as she began jerking me off nice and slow. “Yesssssss…” I hissed, “please…”

And then the same mouth and that imperfect perfect smile wrapped itself around my cock. I leaned back in the cab (in the cab! HOLY SHIT!) and slumped down a little, it felt so good. I reacted like I’d been punched in the face. Her left hand enclosed the top, and her right cupped me underneath and the balls, and she began humming around my penis that was stretching her mouth. I suddenly realized this was actually happening to me, and my eyes, half-grogged on lobster & beer, snapped open. I began stroking her hair. “That’s…so….fucking…good…” Every word was an effort, a desperate gasp for air filling the between as she let herself into the door of my candy store. She slipped a hand into her jeans and began touching herself.

Eliza Dushku touching herself. Sucking me off.

I had tried to pretend I had unstoppable willpower, but I was only a human male.

“Eliza! It’s happening!”

“Mmm-hmm…” she nodded. She didn’t release her mouth and suddenly I felt the chill of her tongue swipe across the slit, before gently caressesing the underneath of the head, keeping it gripped firmly between her hands.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum in my mouth, protector.” One last hard tug, and I groaned, and suddenly it came flying out of me like escapees on a prison break, making my eyes cross. Making me fire a massive load of fresh creamery butter all into Eliza’s mouth, as I slowly became one with the seat and she finished me off. She licked slowly around her mouth, smiling from the floor. I barely had the strength to notice we were now pulling outside the lobster village, and as I looked over at Eliza grinning and sticking a wet index finger in her mouth, my choice became painfully obvious.

“La resorta.” I think I said, or something along those lines, but who the hell knows. Two minutes later I’d zipped up, staggered up, and left a $30 tip and a cab smelling of sex.

You could tell I wasn’t in my right mind at all anymore: the ride had cost just under $25.

* * * * * * * * * *

I was bouncing in place as the clerk checked out a room for the night. I knew I was dreaming now, but who fucking cared? It felt like it was happening, even as I put down Butch Fong on the registrar. I got the keys to room 4628 and there was a me & Eliza-shaped cloud of dust where we’d stood the second before.

Scampered down the stairs, past the hot tub and Jacuzzi, and after some hyperactive key fumbling, got in the doors. The ocean was practically coming in to the kitchen.

“Hi,” Oh, right, the whole about to fuck the unattainable star thing. Nearly forgotten. Well, some parts of me hadn’t. She pushed me back against the wall, covered the five-inch difference in our heights by scissoring me about the waist, and began putting her soft full lips to mine. Our tongues quickly met each other and decided they liked each other as much as the rest of our bodies; I could taste remnants of myself on her and while I would normally be disgusted I went with the flow. I couldn’t stop this, this was history.

I could feel her walls through her jeans juicing up as she continued to forcefully dry-hump me against the wall. “You’re my first,” she said to me in a gaspy moan between face sucks.

“First security guard?” ‘Cause the way she’d worked me over in the taxi, that was damn sure not the first time she’d gone down, and I was willing to wager a joke I wasn’t the first fuck-and-run fanboy in the annals. Not that I minded.

“First black guy. Had to get it out of my system, you know?” She smiled at me, and I sort of wiggled my eyebrows. Then I grabbed her around the waist and ran forward, diving onto the bed with her underneath me. We both laughed as we hit the mattress, and I began taking off my shirt, slowly. She began sitting up, caressing my chest and getting my nipples hard, and began putting her mouth around my left one.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said between breaths, “I got to give you equal time.” It was the only noble thing to do.

“Mmm…a boy with a big cock who knows about reciprocity,” she moaned as I slid the jeans off her body. “I may have to keep you in permanent rotation.” She looked down at me. I wiped sweat out of the corner of my eyes, and stared at her panties. A soft blue, turned dark from her own efforts. And she used reciprocity, correctly at that. I was in Geek Heaven. I took the panties off, and threw them on the bed.

“All right, enough admiring, go to the source,” and with that she shoved me between her legs.

Correction: NOW I was in Geek Heaven. I should explain something: I’m naturally verbose. I have a genius-level (barely, truly) IQ. And in times before the world began to have its evil way with me, I was one of the freaks known as a journalism major.

That being said.

That being said, going down on Eliza Dushku, feeling the heat come off of her, that aroma making a beeline for your nose…some things the English language doesn’t cover. Some things language doesn’t cover. Fortunately, while I am tongue-tied now, at the resort I had no such problems and began with an all-genitalia-covering swipe. She gave out a pleasurable groan, sighing deeply as her head fell back onto the beige pillow. She was wet already, so I did some mental telepathy on my right hand to keep it from twitching before I slid a finger into the pink.

“Hey!” I looked up. She grabbed the middle of the shirt, and ripped it open. No bra. Her nipples were either very hard or pointing at me as if to say “So HE’S the one!”, and there were tan lines. And then, the breasts. Not nothing, but not some freakish sideshow display. Just right like a third bowl of porridge, as I used to say in high school. It was a beautiful, definitive moment of my life.

I said something for roughly 15 seconds that had no vowels. Then while I was drifting off to Babblelon she pushed me back into place, my tongue running back and forth. It was a mild shock to feel her pelvic bone jar my head back a little when I was trying to spell out “HOLY SHIT” so a second finger went in there for retribution. “Yeah, eat that pussy right. Good boy.” I flicked her clit with the underneath of my thumb, nearly choking on the flow that was coming. I looked up, blinking through her essence. I gave a short laugh, watching her lick the top of her breasts before suddenly realizing there’d been a temporary power outage.

“What the hell are you…” Well, before that sentence was finished, I was sitting on her stomach, a breast in every hand and my cock running through the middle. Normally, I wasn’t this forward (if this actually came to pass it’d be my first) but I was obviously dreaming, so who the hell cared? I immediately warmed up the 10 inches with a titty blanket and started pumping away.

“You dirty…bastard…” I was looking straight down into her eyes, a mixture of shock and anger…giving way to lust. “Fuck my tits, fuck the shit out of them.” I reached back and began rubbing her clit, and soon my free hand was joined by two more slender, feminine ones.

“Oh, shit!” I was having way too much fun here, I still hadn’t fucked her yet and already I felt the surge pushing forward. “Ohhhh! I’ve dreamed about this for YEARS!”

Eliza leaned forward and began licking the first drops of the second wave into a new home. “Mmm…about as long as I’ve dreamed of getting this much dick.” I could feel her body writhing and hiccuping underneath me as she continued jacking off. Another thrust forward, and she covered the head and licked the slit.

“Ohhhhhh fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” I sounded like a trained opera singer, and with that slitlick I pulled out of her mouth and began jacking off frenetically all over her tits, lower lip, neck…what am I, doing an A & E Biography on my boys? Suffice to say there hadn’t been that much white flight since the mid-sixties. I began dialing down, gasping for breath as I used her sides as placeholders. I was breathing in deep. In fairness, it was extremely intense. I gave a crooked grin as I tried to remember the last time a session had gone this good. It was then I looked down and saw a naked Eliza Dushku underneath me, groaning as she rubbed my jizz into her chest with a couple fingers, pausing to lick other fingers, her other hand a whipping motion bringing about a face I’d always seen in my mind’s eye.

I scooted down, and with my mind in the state it was in decided it was time for Miss Faith to make Black Thunder’s acquiantence.

“Oh…OH!” First one was when the head got in there, and the second one was me delivering the rest. She was a tight fuck; not virginal, but tight. I was sitting back with her pelvis slightly above me, her legs draped off to the side. She went back to scooping fingerfuls of my seed and eating them alive. “You fuck my pussy, stretch me out, slam me, ohhhhhh…” I could feel a minor tremble around my dick, but as hard as I was I had just come so I knew I was good to last another little while at least. “Fa…ha…” I could hear her laugh a laugh that wasn’t quite evil scientist but wasn’t quite kosher with what was happening, either. I groaned as I got faster and harder.

“Faster…harder…” My hands reached around and cupped her ass, leaving her no wriggle room away from me. Her hair scattered all over her face, sweat was running down her tight stomach, and yet what was drawing me in was the muscles of her thighs, flexed to the maximum, pumping gallon after gallon of Dushku onto my dipstick.

Viva Mexico.

“Faster…harder…” Things had now progressed to such a loud level that despite being less than half a football field away from the Pacific I couldn’t hear a single wave crash into the breaks out back, just the unbeliveable rhythmic beat of my balls smacking against her ass and our mutual groans of passion until someone finally relented.

“Harder! Harder! Faster!” I could feel my legs start to weaken but I was willing to let the fuckers break before I stopped this. My tiring smile righted itself into a grim mask of determination as Eliza suddenly decided to skip Advanced Dirty Talk and just go for the doctorate.

“You a big boy? Say you’re going to make Faithy come!”

“I–”

I never got to finish that thought, because suddenly a slick hand was pressing itself firmly against my esophogus. The face I saw look back at me was a familiar one, a pretty one obscured more by evil than animal lust. It didn’t matter she was still going, because she had left. And been replaced. And as part of me prepared myself for an eternity of hellfire, brimstone, and poking, the other part of me–the part doing the thrusting back despite the attempted choking–wanted to die this way. I knew what was coming next.

“I can make you come,” she said. “I can make you d-die.”

I wanted to say something, anything in response. But my eyes were beginning to roll in the back of my head, and thus I can only remember not what I said, but what I mouthed.

Fuck.

Yes.

Fuck yes to WHAT? Dying? Fuck yes to coming? Fuck yes to both?

But before I could ask the final question that would’ve officially made me a part of the Old School Batman Announcer Closing the Show Fan Club, something happened. The pressure around my neck lightened, then released.

And Eliza Dushku had an orgasm the way Apu had a good run with “Thank you, come again.” Not just a capital O; capital everything, hyperfonted, bolded, italicized, underlined. Slowly, she fell off me, back down onto the bed. I still (remarkably) hadn’t come since the titfucking, and remained standing with my hands bracing my body against the foot of the bed. We were both taking shallow breaths, and for a while the waves could be heard against the ocean. It was a bit of good news/bad news: got to fuck Eliza, she almost pulled a Hutchense on me.

That being sa–thought, it was pretty good. Despite some rust, I’d managed to do it 3 times. As I continued the self-congratulatory praise, I suddenly felt a familiar tongue removing the sweat from my balls. I looked down and saw her eyes dance at me, right before she went back to sucking me off. Her hands grabbed me as if I was the last crevasse before the K1 summit, and then she began jerking me off into her mouth.

She wasn’t going to need to strangle me to death because the next orgasm was going to be so much of a tidal wave of spunk the force necessary to generate it was going to give me a heart attack. Ah, you know what they say: live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful and highly marketable corpse. I reached down and began playing with her stiff nips, making the international sign of money and it produced the desired results. The jerking quickened, and one hand grasped firmer while another began rubbing the color off of my sack. I leaned over forcing more down her throat, and began eating her out.

The time was 4:69.

Suddenly, I wanted to see this: make sure it was real, that I wasn’t going to wake up with a fucked-out pillow or something. I slowly leaned off of the bed until I was standing up. Eliza didn’t miss a beat, bless her, and locked her arms around my midsection. I followed suit and looked in the mirror. I saw her ass, barely. I began licking that wet pussy like a thirsty dog finding a water bowl, and making about as much noise. I felt the waves of moaning reverberate around my groin as she moaned, right before I lost all ability to hear by her wrapping her legs together behind my head. I no longer had to think, or breathe, or contemplate. I had one purpose and one reason to live: lick. Lick until my tongue wore out, then use the underside to buy recovery time.

I began coming now, and I took a deep breath/massive scream to the man upstairs. I spread her open as far as my arms could manage, held on to her ass for dear life, and sucked her clit until I thought it was going to come off into my mouth. We both let out incoherent screams for the next little while as our bodies threw out everything we had left. Finally, when I’d dropped the last, I released her. She fell back first onto the bed. Her naked body was something that belonged in the Louvre, less the parts of the landscape I had blotted. Her hair went to all four corners of the bed and she was panting, with a smile on her face. Idly, she stroked her stomach and laughed. I’D done that. I’D! Done THAT! A cum-soaked smile appeared on my face, and then…

I collapsed on the bed. Screw gym membership, this was good for me. Then again, on the other side of the coin it’d damn near killed me on multiple occassions; hadn’t worked that hard since the last P.E. class I had to take in high school.

“That’s it.” I said to the ceiling, and possibly a camera.

“What’s it?” Eliza asked me, laying up on my stomach and putting her feet up on the headboard. She gave another short laugh. “You can die happy now?”

“Well, it’s all downhill from here, obviously…”

“Obviously.”

“But that’s it. I’ve given everything. I’m spent. You took my energy, my reserve energy, the reserve reserve energy…I don’t know what the hell I was running on the last time that wasn’t fumes…” She shut me up with a kiss. I get pretty verbose sometimes.

I stood in the shower after that, for it was about quarter to four and about time for me–unbelievable to reconcile as this was–to go back to work. I could’ve blown it off but they’ve got this system like the dentist where they penalize you if you don’t put in a day’s notice and bleargh, the point is I was going back to where it all began. I got dressed, we grabbed our things, and quietly tiptoed up the stairs to check out of the resort.

Steve. Dave.

Whuh-oh.

Steve or Dave on their own could’ve driven me into the ground like a tent spike with an overhand fist to the temple. Steve AND Dave together with sufficient provocation could shove me into a cube in roughly 3 moves.

“It’s cool.”

They deflated immediately. I remembered breathing was the new black this year. And six minutes later we were back on the road into Monday-crossing-the-border traffic like there wasn’t an eight-hundred pound gorilla making our foursome a quintent.

* * * * * * * * * *

Traffic hadn’t gotten really bad yet so we were able to cross and I got to work about 20 minutes before my shift was going to start. The limo pulled up, and I stepped out with my bag of churros I’d bought at the border.

To my surprise, Eliza followed me out.

“You’re awful quiet,” she said.

“I usually am when good things are over.” I looked at the backdoor employee entrance.

“Well, it’s not necessarily OVER.”

She smiled at me, brushing some of her hair off my shoulder.

“It’s not?”

“Pay attention to your phone, stud.” Another quick peck on the cheek. “See ya.” And into the limo. It started to pull away, and I watched disappear into the early morning fog of Southern California.

Suddenly, the limo backed up and came back in my direction. She loved me! She couldn’t bear to live without my sweet lovin’. The limo pulled up parallel and the window came down.

“YOINK!”

The window came up, the limo sped off honking its way off the premises.

“Bitch stole my churros.” I grumbled. She was so going to get it up the ass for that.

And with that, I went back to work.

“It’s just masturbation, where’s the harm in it? Where’s the harm in it, I ask you? I masturbate! I do it like I think if I keep doing it, I’m gonna win something.”

–Dave Attell

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