An Erotic Evening With The Juggernaut by N.P. Yuggoth

Ginger's blood is pumping.  It feels as though the veins in her temples could explode.  She holds Sandy's hand gingerly as they skip off to the bathroom.  The restaurant is bumping tonight, as it is Taco Night. 

But Ginger has something else besides tacos on her mind.  Actually, she does have tacos on her mind, but not the Mexican dish.  And she's not going to be feasting at the grand buffet made up of thrice reheated meats and stale tortillas out in the dining room.  No, she will be chowing down in a sordid stall in the ladies' room.  Dear, innocent little Sandy is going to learn a whole new meaning of the term Taco Night.

Inebriated by several shots of Jose Cuervo during this glorious celebration of all things Mexican, Sandy knows that something is about to go down.  Her heart races in response to Ginger's hand upon hers.  There is something about Ginger's confidence and promiscuity that make her a fully self-realized, independent and assertive woman.  And the way that Ginger has been downing Jager Bombs and flirting with those oh-so-exotic Mexican boys speaks volumes of her experience.     

Ginger is just the type of woman that Sandy would love to be if only she had that type of experience. 

Just a moment ago, they were out there on the dance floor, Ginger plunging her bodacious booty into the crotch of Jose, the obese night dishwasher from their place of employment, as she got low.  And oh boy, when Jose saw that black thong creeping up out of her skin tight black jeans, he nearly had a heart attack.  Sandy was doing her best to dance like a pro, shifting her weight from foot to foot, pointing her fingers in the air in along with the music, but her eyes kept wandering to her role model. 

The other onlookers had all their eyes fixed in the scene unfolding, too.  Even the unmarried and unemployed men forsook their whining foreign whores to get a glance at the perfectly tanned and well coiffed temptress in black as Ginger worked her magic on the floor.  Her eyes perfectly accented by a thick application of mascara and golden hoop earrings dangling, and pheremones dripping from every pore, Ginger was dressed for success. 

It came all at once.  Just when the tension with Jose could barely reach another apex, Ginger grabbed Sandy by the arm and began grinding on her leg.  At that moment, Jose finally succumbed to the scourge brought on by the 3000 calorie meals the kitchen staff had been serving him night after night.  Grasping his chest, Jose collapsed to the ground, spasming, speaking his last words, "mi culo es en fuego," over and over again until they fell silent.

"C'mon, let's get out of here before the cops come," Ginger commanded Sandy.  "We've gotta finish this!"

Naive and frightened, Sandy could barely reply.  "But where?"

"To the bathroom!" Ginger pointed, and grabbed Sandy's hand. 

The tension is almost too much when they slam through the door to the bathroom.  The music and chaos in the main dining room is but a muffled hum, and the scent of tacos is replaced with sanitizer and subtle odours of pissy amonia, farty methane and shitty sulfur. 

Ginger walks into one of the stalls.  Sandy stands in front of her, eyes wide. 

"C'mere, bitch," Ginger growls, and pulls Sandy to her, grasping her firmly around the waist. 

Before Sandy can object, Ginger's tongue is caressing hers.  Sandy tastes Jagerbombs and Newports, the choice of every consumate barslut.  Sandy's only tasted cigarettes once, when she was trying to look cool in front of the defensive end of the high school football team back in her hometown in Idaho.  Now, like that fateful day, she struggles to project a non-existant aura of confidence. 

Nervously, she puts a hand on the back of Ginger's black tank top, feeling the hotness and rawness of sweat seeping through.  The savage energy of Gigner's sexuality flows through Sandy's hand and into her blood stream.  Those pheremones go straight to Sandy's brain, knocking out her defensive inhibitions.

So beautiful.  So powerful.

Ginger is too drunk to realize that Sandy's tongue slides around aimlessly, recklessly, like a figureskater on ibogaine.  She doesn't even notice that Sandy's eyes are wide open in shock and horror.  Ginger enjoys the scent of Sandy's Lady Speed Stick and the slight softness of her nascent lovehandles through her baggy polo shirt.  Cornbred white girl. 

So sweet.  So pure. 

"I've wanted you so good," Sandy says when Ginger removes her tongue. 

"Well, you can have me," Ginger replies before diving into another round of passionate kissing. 

If Sandy were to have the time, she would run through her list of sexual experiences for comparison.  Clumsy fondlings in high school.  Awkward dates in college.  Finally losing her virginity to the tea house guy, Jesse, at the tender age of 25.  Shameful flirtations with pitiful old men who are now trying in vain to score some extreme budget rate Ukrainian pussy in the dining room.  More awkward dates.  A handful of aborted relationships. 

Sandy's most recent relationship has been with Travis, some hippie-ish vagrant who sometimes bartends at Gatsby's bar.  He likes pooping in Walmart bags while ice fishing--at least that's what he told her on their first date.  Sandy always pitied him for possibly being slightly retarded, and thus stuck it out for over a month.  When she broke up with him, he tried to overdose on by swallowing her bottle of Midol.  His dad came and picked him up after that, but several months later, he was back in Mackinac City.  But as a couple, he and Sandy just weren't meant to be.

But here in Ginger's firm arms, Sandy knows that this is where she is meant to be. 

As more kissing follows, Ginger's fingers start to undo the buckle of Sandy's belt, then the button of her jeans.  It's a process Sandy knows somewhat well, but when those thin, ladylike fingers slip between her pink cotton panties and smooth skin, she becomes empowered by Ginger's feminity.  It is not with fear, but eagerness, that Sandy greets those fingers upon her labia majora, gasping and probing in ecstasy. 

Ginger plunges through the depths of Sandy's jungle like pubic hair, the vines entwining themselves between each digit.  Betwixt those fertile leaves, a luscious valley floods with joy.  Ginger rubs the clit the same way she would please herself, switching a few slight variations to adapt to this new subject.  Occasionally, she throws a spare finger into Sandy's baby cave, which sends Sandy's body undulating in waves of rapture.  Ginger only stops when the hole between Sandy's legs spasms uncontrollably before finally relenting the finger in an oily flood.

"Ginger, you're the best..." Sandy gasps.  Her cheeks are flushed red. 

"Was that your first orgasm?"  Ginger asks with a devilish grin. 

"Yes," Sandy admits sheepishly. 

Ginger chuckles slightly at this. 

"What?"  Sandy demands, upset.  "Don't laugh!  I've never felt this good!"

"I like hearing that," Ginger says, kissing Sandy lightly on the lips again.  "Now eat my pussy."

Sandy backs away.  "I...I...can't," she whispers. 

"Sure you can.  Just eat it up, like a nice big taco," Ginger smiles.  She drops her pants, then her black g-string.  Propping one leg up on the toilet, Ginger thrusts her hips forward.  This brings her vulva into full view.

Kneeling on the cold tile floor, Sandy moves closer to Ginger's crotch.  It's shaved, completely.  The folds of her lady lips stick out slightly, begging for a kiss.  Sandy closes her eyes and cups Ginger's toned buttocks with both hands.  They're so tight and warm.  Two freshly baked dinner rolls at a supper club.  Sandy inhales deeply, savouring the aroma of her partner.  Expensive perfumes and body lotions.  Tanning gel.  And shitloads of pheremones.  For a moment, Sandy hears the words of old Reverend Buttkis, and the condemnation of her collective family and church community.  This is a sin against god.

But no other sin ever tasted this good. 

Sandy skips the foreplay.  She's never done this before, but she wants to.  Her tongue parts Ginger's beef curtains and jabs at the clitoris.  The pussy tastes salty and sweet.  Ginger slightly sighs in approval. 

All of a sudden, the door of the bathroom swings open.  Both girls freeze. 

Heavy footsteps shuffle to the stall next to them.  Sandy sees that the large bodied person is wearing men's shoes.  When the occupant lets out a mighty groan, Ginger and Sandy know that it's not a woman.  It's a very intoxicated man who got lost on his way to the bathroom. 

Another groan follows, then the ferocious rush as he voids the viscous effluvium trapped in his bowels.  Solid waste slams into the toilet water, plopping boisterously.  The sound from the man could be mistaken for a semi truck engine braking. 

Rather than remain frozen, this inspires Sandy to become even more aggressive in her muffdiving endeavour.  She pulls Ginger's labia apart so as to better access the tender tissues underneath.  The rank stench of feces permeates the bathroom, but this pushes Sandy forward in her quest to conquer this fucking vagina.  Ginger pushes her crotch out further, aching for more, much more.  And Sandy licks and licks. 

"I CAN SMELL YOUR CUNT!" roars a voice.  Without flushing, the man rises from his stately porceline throne, and struts to the front of the door to Ginger and Sandy's pleasure lair.  Now the girls freeze.  Grins slip across their faces.

The man, a huge 300 plus pound juggernaut, kicks in the stall door, exposing the two girls in their sapphic tryst.  As esteemed Jose before him, his mind reels as he takes in the beauty he has uncovered.  But the girls know that despite this momentary pause, there shall be no escape from the voracious sexaul frenzy of the Juggernaut. 

"Come get your snack, hungry man," Ginger says with a wink.

"Hi, cutie pie," Sandy adds, her voice quavering ever so slightly.

Cock bursting from his pants, Juggernaut pushes Ginger over and enters her from behind.  He twists her hair around a huge mit, keeping her locked in position.  With his other, he tears off Sandy's pants and panties, and inserts two eclair sized fingers into her secret holes.  Sandy's anus lacks proper lubrication, so she lets out a whimper of pain and ecstasy as his finger lunges into her fartbox. 

Pumping with fist and loins, the juggernaut delivers two orgasms to Ginger and a debilitating one to Sandy.  Once he blows his load in a long, drawn out roar of victory, he smashes Ginger's face into the tiled wall.  Before Sandy can run, he piledrives her into the floor. 

"Last call for tacos," a voice calls out from the restaurant. 

Having satiated his lust for these tacos, the Juggernaut turns his full attention to the taco bar. 

"Goddamn, that was the best fuck I've ever had," Ginger whispers.