Blowjob Races: Contestant 4: Joey Fisher (Joey Fisher)

[Ellessio]

Disclaimer: This did not happen. Fantasy is legal.

Codes: MF, Oral

Contestant 1: Ella Hunt
Contestant 2: Penny Lane
Contestant 3: Laura Hamilton

Blowjob Races: Contestant 4: Joey Fisher

Joey watched Laura's performance with narrowed eyes backstage, her fingers drumming against her thigh. The Welsh Glamour model had expected Laura to balk—maybe even vomit mid-blowjob—but the blonde bitch had swallowed that fat bastard whole. Literally. Now the clock mocked her: 4:45.

"Fuck, that's going to be tough to beat," Joey muttered under her breath, cracking her knuckles. "Why did I agree to this again?"

It had started out as a joke between friends on a boozy night out. Blowjob Races had been the talk of her group, first through WhatsApp and then in person later that week over copious glasses of wine and Margarita's. They'd all teased each other—who'd be brave enough to go on TV and suck a stranger off for charity? Jess and Scarlett had said "No way." but Joey had laughed harder than any of them and said, "I'd do it."

Her friends had laughed too, but when they had seen she was semi-serious, had asked her why.

"Because, I like winning," Joey had said with a sharp grin, rubbing her thumb over her wineglass rim. "And I bet I could suck cock better than any of these desperados they're casting."

"You'd never do it, Jo!" one of them had said, she wasn't sure who, it was all a haze now.

"Watch me," she'd replied, as she downed her wine.

"You're willing to go on National TV to give some stranger a BJ?" Scarlett, she was sure it was her, had asked.

"For charity? Yes." Joey had corrected her friends with a smirk, already imagining the headlines—"Welsh Model Breaks Records With Her Mouth." The £4 million was just glitter on the prize.

"But why?" another one of her friends had asked, frowning.

"Why indeed." she thought to herself, as she stood in her robe backstage, watching the screen as Laura Hamilton was beaming at the audience, Barry's cum still glistening on her chest. Joey adjusted her own robe, feeling the silk slide against her bare skin underneath. She wasn't wearing a bra, intending to follow Penny's lead and start the proceedings topless. Anything to give her an edge.

She turned to the producer and whispered, "At least tell me I'm not going to be stuck with some fat pervert like that wanker."

The producer smirked. "Oh Joey...you'll be happy enough with who you got."

When she had woken up the day after drinking, Joey had found herself staring at a very real contract from the producers of Blowjob Races. Her friends had laughed—until they realised she'd actually signed it.

"You can always back out?" Scarlett had suggested.

"You'd be crazy to go through with it!" Jess had insisted.

She hadn't backed out. A contract was a contract, and part of her, the competitive part, had already begun strategising. And now here she stood, stage left, listening to Bruce's introduction of the man she would be expected to suck off in under four minutes forty five seconds.

-----

"Welcome back, everyone!" Bruce Foreskin's voice boomed around the studio, as the audience cheered. "We've got one more contestant tonight—somebody who's no stranger to pushing boundaries! Before we introduce her to you, let's introduce you to the man that'll be testing her skills—please welcome, our next contestant, *Simon from Southampton*!"

The audience cheered as Simon strode onto the stage, his tall frame wrapped in a navy-blue silk robe. Unlike Barry's beer-gutted physique, Simon was lean, early thirties, with a confidence that made Joey raise an eyebrow from backstage. He adjusted his robe belt casually, the outline of his erection obvious but not obscene.

"Simon from Southampton! The Cruise Ship Capital of England. How are you feeling tonight?" Bruce smirked, waving at the damp patch tenting Simon's robe.

"Ready to set sail," Simon replied smoothly, flashing white teeth. The audience whooped and laughed.

"And what do you do for a living, Simon?" Bruce asked, nudging the microphone closer as Simon smirked.

"Professional diver," Simon said, rolling his shoulders. "Deep-sea salvage. Lots of underwater pressure." The crowd erupted in laughter as Joey rolled her eyes backstage. Of course he'd be one of those smug wankers with a double-entendre job. But at least he wasn't a slobbering, fat mess like Barry.

"Plenty of experience with seamen then." Bruce quipped, winking at Simon as the audience groaned.

"Always willing to coax a few out now and then," Simon shot back, adjusting the front of his robe with deliberate nonchalance.

"Well, that'll come in handy tonight, Simon!" Bruce boomed as he gestured at the curtain. "So are you all ready to meet the lovely lady who hopes to sink Simon's battleship faster than any torpedo?"

The audience roared a collective "Yes!"

"Well then, please give it up for Welsh Glamour Model, JOEY...FISHER!" Bruce announced.

The curtains parted, and Joey strode onto the stage with a grace that belied her nervousness, her robe barely cinched at the waist, the deep V revealing ample cleavage. Simon's smirk faltered momentarily as she stopped inches from him. The audience whopped and whistled as the mega-busty brunette beauty shook Simon's hand, her eyes travelling down to the bulge in his robe.

"Joey Fisher from Wales! How are you feeling tonight?" Bruce shoved the microphone under Joey’s chin.

"Thirsty," she shot back, running her tongue along her bottom lip. The audience exploded in laughter and wolf-whistles as Simon’s eyebrows shot up. His cock visibly twitched beneath his robe.

"So you are a Glamour Model. What's that like?" Bruce asked, grinning lecherously at Joey's cleavage.

"Standing in my underwear with my boobs out, while sweaty men tell me to smile? Pretty much exactly this," Joey deadpanned, tugging her robe open another inch.

The audience laughed louder. Simon coughed into his fist—half-chuckle, half-nervous cough—as Joey’s fingers toyed with her robe belt.

"So you've seen Laura's incredible performance tonight. Do you think you can beat her time?" Bruce leered, gesturing toward the digital clock still displaying 4:45.

Joey's fingers paused on her silk belt. The studio lights gleamed off Simon's freshly-shaved jawline as she eyed him up and down "Oh, I'll crush it."

"And any tips for women at home who wish to try this at home?" Bruce waggled his eyebrows, thrusting the mic back at Joey.

"Slow, deep, and sensual with plenty of tongue," Joey murmured, locking eyes with Simon, who visibly swallowed.

"Well, you heard her folks. Slow and sensual wins the race. Now, if you'll both take your positions, we'll start the countdown." Bruce gestured to Simon's silk-covered erection with a flourish. Joey exhaled, letting her robe slither to the floor in one fluid motion—her huge tits bouncing free, the audience erupting in cheers.

Simon's cock twitched violently under his robe. "Bloody hell," he muttered.

He was already half-hard when Joey knelt before him, the studio lights turning Simon’s robe translucent enough to outline the thick curve of his cock against his thigh. Bruce’s voice cut through the cheers.

"10 seconds, contestants!"

Simon untied his robe with shaking fingers, letting it pool at his feet. His cock was thick, veined, already leaking at the tip. The audience's countdown pulsed like a heartbeat. "5...4...3..."

Joey flicked her tongue out, not touching, just close enough for Simon to feel the heat. His thighs tensed. "2...1..."

The buzzer blared. Joey lunged with her mouth wide, no hesitation, no tease, and inhaled half of Simon's tool in one slick slide. The crowd gasped—Simon certainly did—as her lips stretched tight around his girth, her nose brushing his trimmed pubes before retreating with an obscene *pop*. "Christ alive," Simon wheezed, fingers scrambling against her shoulders.

She cupped his balls with one hand as she bobbed her head slowly and steadily, her tongue slashing all over his shaft with each stroke. Simon’s knees buckled. He had never had a blowjob like it, he realised—her movements were hypnotic, methodical, effortless. She sucked him deep, then slower, then deep again.

"Oh Fuckkkk...." he half-groaned, half-sighed as Joey's lips sealed around him again, her tongue pressing flat against the pulsing vein beneath his shaft. His eyes were closed, his whole world just focused on the wet warmth engulfing his cock.

The studio lights burned hotter, or maybe that was just the blood rushing away from Simon's brain. Joey's free hand now gripped his hip, anchoring him upright as she took him deeper, her throat muscles fluttering in practiced waves. The audience's cheers dissolved into white noise beneath the wet, rhythmic sounds of her mouth working him over. As she sucked, she squeezed his nuts gently, rolling them between her fingers like dice. Simon groaned, his knees locking.

He moved a hand towards her tits but hesitated, looking at her for permission. Joey smirked around his cock, grabbing his hand and placing it firmly onto her left breast—squeezing his fingers against the soft flesh herself. Simon groaned approval as his thumb found her nipple, pinching roughly in time with her bobs.

Joey continued with her excruciatingly slow rhythm, each deep suck followed by a tantalisingly slow withdrawal, her tongue swirling in lazy circles around Simon’s swollen head. She made sure to suck loudly, obscenely, the mics picking up every sound  Simon's cock throbbed against her palate, his precum flooding her mouth with a salty tang that made her nostrils flare a little. The audience’s murmurs crescendoed into scattered cheers as Simon’s fingers twisted her nipple harder, his breath becoming more laboured.

She pulled off just long enough to smirk up at him, her lips glistening with spit. "You gonna come for me, sailor?" she purred before diving back down, this time taking him all the way, her nose buried in his trimmed curls, her throat flexing around him as she swallowed reflexively. Simon's hips jerked forward with a strangled gasp, his fingers playing with her tits more urgently now. He was close; she could taste it in the way his cock twitched against her tongue, feel it in the tightening of his balls in her palm.

"I think our Sailor may be in a little trouble here! We may have a Diver Down soon!" Bruce Foreskin boomed, causing the audience to laugh and cheer.

Simon didn't want it to end, didn't want to surrender, but her mouth was like a vacuum, each calculated swirl of her tongue dragging him closer to the edge. She pulled back again, just enough for air, her lips dragging along his slick shaft with torturous slowness.

"Fuck...Joey..." Simon's voice cracked, his fingers digging into her shoulders. She could feel his pulse hammering against her tongue, his cock swelling impossibly thicker.

She could feel the first twitch in her mouth, so she pulled back aiming his cock at her chest. Looking up at him, she flicked her tongue out catching the tip of his cock and Simon lost it.

"FUCK!" Simon roared loudly as thick ropes of cum shot from his cock, arcing onto Joey's chest and dripping down her cleavage. She closed her eyes and cupped her breasts with one arm as he bucked forward uncontrollably, spurt after spurt of gooey jizz coating her soft mounds.

"THAT'S IT, SIMON!" Bruce screamed into the mic, his voice nearly cracking with excitement. The audience erupted into deafening cheers as Simon trembled above Joey, unable to stop himself from thrusting shallowly into the air as his orgasm ripped through him.

Joey kept her arm cupped under her tits, catching every last drop as Simon's cock twitched weakly against her breastbone. His cum pooled between her boobs, warm and thick, dripping onto her stomach as she tilted her chin up to meet his dazed gaze. The studio lights glistened off the mess between her breasts—streaks of white sliding down her skin in slow rivulets.

Behind them, the clock froze: 3 minutes, 52 seconds.

Bruce's jaw actually dropped. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new record!" The audience's roar was deafening, half the crowd already on their feet. Simon swayed, his softening cock glistening under the spotlights as Joey finally released her breasts—his cum now streaked across them like war paint. She smirked up at him, licking a stray drop off her thumb. "Told you I'd crush it."

Simon could only nod dumbly, his chest heaving as if he'd just surfaced from a dive. Still, he helped Joey to her feet as Bruce Foreskin bounded over with theatrical urgency, clutching the microphone close to his chest. "Joey, you've just obliterated Laura's time by nearly a full minute!"

The audience's stomping feet made the stage vibrate beneath Joey's bare soles, Simon's cum cooling between her breasts.

Joey smiled and waved to the audience "I told you I'd crush it. Sometimes, slow and steady does win the race."

Bruce thrust the mic under Simon's slack jaw. "Simon, thoughts? Be honest, was that the best blowjob of your life?"

Simon blinked, still dazed. "I think...I think I blacked out." The crowd lost it.

Bruce turned to Joey, grinning. "You literally sucked the sense out of him!"

The audience roared as Simon swayed, clutching Bruce's shoulder for balance while his spent cock glistened under the studio lights. A stagehand rushed forward with a towel, but Joey waved it off with a smirk, letting Simon’s cum gleam between her breasts like a trophy. Camera flashes lit up the streaks on her skin—tomorrow’s tabloid covers already writing themselves.

"Well, Ladies and gentlemen, what a wild episode of Blowjob Races! We've seen Laura and Joey pull out all the stops to one-up each other today, as they both drained their men dry faster than—" Bruce paused, his grin widening, "Well, faster than Simon could say 'anchors aweigh!'" The audience roared with laughter as Simon, still visibly dazed, gave a weak thumbs-up.

"Next week, we'll have two more eager mouths entering the Blowjob Races!" Bruce announced, draping an arm around Joey's shoulders while Simon wobbled beside them.

The studio lights dimmed as credits rolled, but the audience's murmurs lingered—speculating whether someone, anyone could top Joey’s record.