Booze wouldn't cure thisthirst. He needed something cool and wet, not hot and dry.He stumbled on his pants legs. His pants were hanging off of him. He...ouldn't tell why and, just then, he hardly cared. He hiked them up,holding onto them as he stumbled blindly and unaware of much else but eachstaggered step and the thumping, throbbing of the bass."Hey, you ok?"He pushed aside the nosy guy trying to get in his way. Didn't they knowwho he was? George Worthington. His father owned this club, owned. I asked her for permission to swallow it and she allowed me to. She asked me if I liked it or not. I responded with the fact that it certainly was not the worst tasting stuff in the world. I followed that up with a few minutes of discussion regarding the texture and the feelings I had as it slid across my tongue and down my throat. I finished cleaning my hand and talked to her about other ways we could act upon this fetish. Upon hearing all this, it was her turn to orgasm and writhe in ecstasy.. More

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