“If this ain’t Nowheresville you can sure see it from here,” growled Billy “The Kid” Kincaid as he pulled up to the only truckstop in Monkey Spank, New Mexico, his fire-engine red hotrod spewing steam from its radiator.

“Well, I need to powder my nose, Billy,” whined Enola Gay Makepiece as she cleaned under her fingernails with her switchblade. “You wouldn’t want me to powder my nose all over your fancy leather upholstery now would you?”

The time was 3.55 P.M. The date - Wednesday the 10th of June 1959. Unbeknownst to Billy and Enola, all hell was about to break loose.

Three years, six months and five days earlier, on the cave-riddled desert landscape three miles to the north a medium-sized nuclear device had been detonated for research purposes. Today Professor Roentgen had begun his research project to investigate the impact of radiation on the local animal and plant life. He was being assisted by two of his best pupils, Tommy Trumpet and his girlfriend Cherry Wilde.

“Just listen to that!” exclaimed Tommy as he ran the geiger counter over the surface of a boulder. It ticked like crazy. “We must be right at the epicentre of the explosion.”

“I’m scared, Tommy,” replied Cherry. “It might not be healthy to be this close to radiation.”

“Don’t be silly,” Tommy chided her. “The government did this. They wouldn’t do anything that might harm us.”

“If you say so,” she responded. “But I think we should go and see how the Professor is getting on in the cave.”

Just at that moment, Tommy looked over her shoulder towards the cave entrance.

“Jumpin’ Jimminy!” he cried.

Cherry knew it was serious as she had never heard Tommy use such strong language before. When she turned towards the cave entrance what she saw there made her eyes pop and almost caused her to soil her baby pink Cottontails. It was a prairie dog. But it was no ordinary prairie dog. It differed from ordinary prairie dogs in two key ways. 1. It was the size of a bus. 2. It had the mangled corpse of Dr. Roentgen dangling from between its teeth.

“Prairie dogs are usually not carnivorous,” panted Tommy as they ran for their lives across the desert. “Oh, sure they sometimes eat insects.”

“But not biology teachers?” asked Cherry.

“Never biology teachers,” replied Tommy. “Until now.”

“Why is it so big?” Cherry wanted to know.

“The radiation,” Tommy responded. “Clearly Dr. Roentgen was right. It has effected the local wildlife.”

“I thought you said it wouldn’t be harmful,” complained Cherry.

“Well, growing big isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Tommy pointed out. “The only problem would be finding enough food.”

“Which would explain why it is following us,” deducted Cherry.

“Precisely,” agreed Tommy. “Thank goodness its muscle development has not yet caught up with the demands of gravity on an animal of its size. It can only waddle, so we have a chance of outrunning it, as long as we can find somewhere to take shelter.”

Just at that point they crested a hill and caught site of the Monkey Spank Truck Stop and Burger Bar.

When they burst breathlessly through the door, Billy was hunched over the pinball machine, his fingers a blur over the buttons as he kept the siver ball bouncing around the table. Enola was leaning up against the wall watching him and sucking on a Coke.

“You look like the devil’s after you,” said old Frank Gaines, the proprietor as he flipped a burger.

“Not the devil,” panted Tommy. “A prairie dog!”

“I’ve heard of guy’s bein’ yella,” Enola sneered, “but you take the cake. A prairie dog!”

Tommy looked over at Enola, taking in her short black hair, her red leather jacket and her skin-tight black jeans.

“This isn’t a normal prairie dog,” Tommy pointed out. “It’s the size of a bus and it ate the professor.”

“I think this boy’s been hitting the peyote,” suggested Billy, leaving the pinball table and striding over to examine the two new comers. The bright desert sun shining through the truckstop window lit up his well oiled duck tail. He unzipped his black leather jacket and stuck his thumbs into the waistband of his blue Levis. “What’s your name, honey?” he asked Cherry. He was standing a little too close.

“Ch-ch-ch-cherry,” she responded.

“And very sweet you are too,” Billy told her.

Just at that moment, there was a massive crash which caused the whole building to shake. They looked around and there was a giant eye staring in the window.

“See, I told you,” pointed out Billy. “Big as a bus.”

“The End of Days!” cried Frank forlornly, half an hour later. “That’s what it is. All predicted in the Bible it was!”

“I remember locusts... I remember frogs...” huffed Enola. “I don’t remember anything about a plague of giant prairie dogs.”

“Nevertheless,” wailed Frank, pointing a prophetic finger. “We have brought it upon ourselves by our sinful ways. We have interfered with the natural order of things...”

“I’ll interfere with the natural order of your innards, if you don’t leave off,” warned Enola, pulling out her switchblade.

It was just at this moment that a loud “Zap!” sounded outside, coinciding with a flash like green lightning. The prairie dog was gone, in its place a smouldering skeleton.

Then the door opened and in walked two brains. They weren’t just brains. They did have small skinny bodies propelling them around the place. But they were mostly brains. Big, throbbing, green and yellow brains with a pair of bloodshot eyeballs staring out from underneath them.

“Your race is nearly run, earthlings!” one of them cried in a voice like an electric pencil sharpener.

“The end! The end!” cried Frank, banging his head against the lunch counter, perhaps feeling that mortification of the flesh was called for.

“Your technology has advanced more quickly than your capacity for making wise choices in how you use it,” explained the alien being. “So, for the greater good of the galaxy, we have come here to eliminate your species.”

"Can't you give us another chance?" pleaded Tommy. "It is true that some of the older generation try to settle their differences with nuclear weapons. But there is no need to eliminate all of us. Some of us are able to find peaceful ways of settling our disputes."

“And we can work together for the common good, too,” added Cherry, playing nervously with her blonde ponytail.

“Get rid of the old fogies,” suggested Billy looking pointedly at Frank. “But let the rest of us have a chance to prove ourselves.”

“We have noticed that you are skilled at that game in the corner there,” replied Brain No. 1.

“Enola and I are great at pinball,” agreed Billy. “What about you two?”

“Cherry is better than I am,” Tommy admitted. “But we can both play.”

“The test must be to reach a common goal,” the brain explained. “Let us say that you must score, between you, 200,000 points within two hours.”

“That’s a lot!” replied Billy. “But we’ll give it a go.”

“But you must also demonstrate your willingness for self sacrifice,” the brain added. “It has come to our notice in studying your species that it causes you much distress when your modesty insurance devices are publicly removed.”

“Our what?” asked Enola.

“Your clothes,” replied the brain. “And we have found that it causes even more distress when the modesty... the clothes of your prospective reproductive vehicle are removed in front of others who might find the prospect of reproducing with them not undesirable.”

“Am I your ‘prospective reproductive vehicle’?” asked Cherry of Tommy, looking confused.

“I would hope so,” he replied.

“Strip pinball?” enquired Enola. “I’m up for it.”

“I don’t know,” admitted Tommy nervously. “Cherry you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“The fate of the human race is at stake,” Cherry replied bravely. “This is no time to be worried about our own personal modesty.”

“I have a feeling you have nothing to be modest about,” leered Billy, before Enola elbowed him hard in the belly.

“The rules,” the brain explained, “are that anyone who fails to reach 2,000 points on their turn must remove an article of clothing of their choice.”

The four took a moment to exchange names and shake hands.

“Are you sure you have the balls for this?” asked Billy of Tommy.

“Are the balls not in the machine?” the brain queried, looking confused.

“I’ll do what’s necessary to save the world,” Tommy replied with a square jaw.

Enola was the first to play, striding confidently up to the machine, pulling out the plunger and letting it go. The ball shot into action and Enola began flipping. But her confidence was greater than her playing ability. She scored 1,800 and removed one of her boots.

Cherry was up next. Tommy was confident. He knew she was good. And, sure enough, she made 4,750. She span around in celebration, her dress rising so that her knees were revealed. “Go me!” she cried.

Now it was Tommy’s turn. It was a while since he’d played and he was a bit rusty. He only made 950. It was with a profound sense of shame that he removed one of his shoes.

Billy scored 3,960. “Not bad,” he said, “but I’ve got more than that in me. This is just the beginning.”

Billy and Cherry were the champions. Half an hour later, Billy had only lost his shoes and socks. Cherry had lost both shoes and one sock.

Tommy on the other hand, was not doing well. He was down to his boxer shorts.

Enola was down to her shirt, bra and panties and was enjoying the opportunity to show off her long luscious legs. Tommy was trying not to look.

“No need to be modest, Tommy Boy,” she teased. “I know you want to peek at a bad girl’s panties. You can bet that, when your next turn leaves you a nudist, I’m not going to be averting my eyes.”

“Don’t tease the poor guy,” laughed Billy. “We can all see that you’ve given little Tommy Trumpet the horn.”

“Don’t let them get to you,” Cherry said, putting her arm around his shoulders.

But, predictably, on his next turn Tommy lost his shorts. Enola grinned, Billy laughed, and Cherry blushed as he slowly slid them down and stood naked before the others. The combination of Enola’s teasing and the fact that Cherry was seeing him naked for the first time made it an erotic as well as humiliating experience, and so his cock was semi-erect.

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of there, Tommy Boy,” Enola reassured him, squatting down to get a close look.

“Don’t you go blowing that Trumpet!” Billy warned. “Your lips are mine.”

“My lips are free agents, Billy,” she teased. “Now you get back to the table. We’ve only got another hour and fifteen minutes to get 150,000 points.”

But Billy’s concentration was off now. He only made 1,750. He unzipped his jeans and dropped them to the floor.

Then Cherry failed to reach the target and removed her other sock.

When Enola also fell short, Billy sighed and said, “Oh, well, there goes your shirt.”

“Not necessarily,” replied Enola. “’An article of clothing of their choice.’ Remember? I think I’ll express my solidarity with Tommy No Trousers and take off my panties.”

“You don’t have to do that!” cried Billy.

“No. I don’t. But I want to,” she replied. “Maybe the sight of my bare bum and pretty pussy will inspired Tommy to pull really hard on his plunger.”

Her eyes smouldered as she met Tommy’s glance. Then she slowly slid her thumbs into the sides of her panties and pulled them down revealing a tangle of thick black pubic hair.

Tommy’s cock swelled and stiffened until it was curving up at an angle. Enola moved across the floor with cat-like grace and hung her panties over his erection. They were damp.

“I thought I was the one you want to have babies with,” whimpered Cherry, a tear rolling down from her eye.

“I do,” replied Tommy. “I love you. This is just a matter of biology. The male animal responds to all mating opportunities on a purely physical level. It means nothing about who we love.”

“He is right on this point,” agreed the brain. “We have observed these things.”

“I’ve observed rather too many of those things,” grumbled his companion, who up until this point had been silent.

Cherry tried to be reassured. But worry put her off on her next turn.

“I’ll follow Enola’s example and take off my panties,” she decided. My dress is a reasonable length, so I won’t be baring any more skin that way.” She did, however, have to expose a good deal of leg actually getting her panties down. Something that inspired a wolf whistle from Billy. Tommy noticed, as she lay her panties down on a chair, that they had a large damp patch on the gusset.

Tommy had nothing more to lose. That cleared his head. What gave him a problem is that he kept hitting the machine painfully with the head of his stiff cock. So he only made 800 points.

“We can’t afford any more poor performances like that,” Enola told Tommy while Billy was playing. “Much as I love looking at this thing,” she added, grabbing hold of Tommy’s cock. “You’re going to have to get off so we can get on with the game. There’s no need to be shy now. Just beat off. Or I’ll suck you off if you want. Billy will be livid, but saving the world is what counts.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” replied Cherry, pushing her away. “If anyone is going to put his penis in their mouth it’s going to be me!”

“But, Cherry,” responded Tommy, “you’re a virgin.”

“Only because of the old fogies,” she said.

“What?” asked Tommy.

“It’s like Billy said,” she explained. “We know how things should be, but the old fogies make the rules. Whether it is nuclear war or sex, it’s all the same. It’s their rules. Well, not anymore. You know what I do every night while I’m thinking about you Tommy? I do this.” She lifted up her dress, parted her legs and began fingering her wet, pink, golden-haired pussy.

“You do?” asked the astounded Tommy.

“Of course she does,” replied Enola. “And, right now, I think I’ll join her. We all need to get off if we are going to clear our heads and give this game our all.” With that she too spread her legs, stuck her fingers into her pussy to gather up some juices and then began moving them around wetly over her erect clit.

“I’ll lick your penis for you until it goes down,” Cherry suggested matter-of-factly. With that she sank to her knees and slid her soft wet lips and tongue down over his length.

“It’s your turn, Enola,” announced Billy, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he turned to take in the astounding activities that were going on behind him. “Oh, what the hell!” he cried and pulled down his boxers, too, freeing his own erection.

“Damn,” muttered Enola, “just when I was about to cum.”

“You play the machine,” ordered Billy. “And I’ll make sure you cum.”

Enola shook her bare ass at him as she walked up to the machine. As she pulled the plunger, Billy moved up behind her. She bent forward to begin play and he slid his stiff cock deep into her juicy cunt and began pounding her from behind while she played. She played like she’d never played before. Sexual energy flowing through her and sharpening her every reflex. She’d scored 6,570 by the time Billy arched his back and filled her with his hot seed.

“Damn, look at the time!” cried Billy. “Only ten more minutes to go and another 10,350 points to win.”

Cherry let Tommy’s cock plop out of her mouth. She stood up and ripped her dress from her body, followed by her bra. She was now stark naked.

“I can’t do this alone,” she cried, grabbing Tommy by the cock and pulling him towards the pinball machine.

Somehow, in this one remote truck stop in New Mexico, all of the sexual repression characteristic of the 1950s had ended for these four characters in an erotic explosion of thermonuclear dimensions. And they were determined to use this force that they had unwittingly unleashed for good and not for evil. To save the world from extermination by the aliens.

Cherry had a deliciously pale and juicy ass which jiggled in the cutest possible way as she moved into place in front of the pinball machine.

“Spank me while I play,” she breathed. “Spank me and then fuck me.”

“O.K.,” replied Tommy. “Whatever will help you.”

As she pulled out the plunger, Tommy brought his palm down hard on her right butt cheek with a loud crack. Simultaneously she loosed the plunger and the ball shot into play. Again and again Tommy slapped her bum, turning it a bright pink. And as he did she kept the ball in play, lights flashing, spinners spinning, bells going off... The score piled up - 2 thousand, 3 thousand, 4 thousand. On and on she went, her fingers moving with almost supernatural accuracy, as her bum grew warmer and a creamy juice began to dribble down the inside of her leg.

“Fuck me!” she cried. “Fuck me now!”

“The End Days! The End Days!” cried Frank, his hand moving up and down suspiciously inside his pants.

“Most remarkable!” declared Brain No. 1.

“Most repulsive!” remarked Brain No. 2.

Enola and Billy didn’t say anything. They were too busy wanking each other off as they watched.

Tommy spread his girlfriend’s legs, pressed his belly up against her sore bum and slid his cock, slippery with her saliva as well as his pre-cum, deep into her twitching pussy.

The score continued to rise as the ball shot around the table. And all the while Tommy continued to slap his belly against Cherry’s ass and piston his cock back and forth within her embracing wetness.

It was going to be close. They had another 2,000 points to get and there was only 30 seconds left. As the countdown continued Tommy began thrusting harder and harder, slamming Cherry’s belly up against the cold hard machine. Thrust! Thrust! Thump! Thump! They were almost there... and then...

“TILT!” screamed the light on the top of the machine. And it was all over. They had failed.

“Let’s go out and set the Obliterator Device,” said Brain 1.

“Not before time,” replied Brain 2.

They opened the door and walked out of the truck stop straight into the mouth of a giant prairie dog that had come to find out what happened to his mate.

“Well, it looks like the human race has a reprieve,” said Enola, giving Billy a cuddle.

“Yes,” replied Cherry. “But for how long?”

THE END (....OR IS IT?)

When I saw a diary laying in the lounge room with the title Wanda's Wet Dream Diary written in flowerly letters on the cover I knew I had to read it. I also knew that it was very wrong of me to do so. I weighed up the potential suffering involved in reading or not reading it. If I didn't read it, I would be tormented by the knowledge that it existed and most likely obsessed with speculation about what it might contain. If I did read it I would feel guilty and not be able to look my flatmate Wanda in the face.

I hate the thought of opportunities lost, and if I had to stare down Wanda's impressive cleavage instead of looking her in the eye as a result of taking advantage of that opportunity, it was a sacrifice I was prepared to make.

Wanda is a psychologist. She's 28, six years my junior, and makes up in the boobs and butt department what she lacks in height. She's a redhead with the face of a pixie and the body of a burlesque dancer. We had been sharing a flat for three months. I'd been jacking off to dreams of her every night. But she seemed to look at me as a lower life-form because I'm unemployed and like to watch wrestling all day long. She, on the other hand, could have been living in her own house by now except that she insisted on working at a struggling youth centre instead of in private practise.

I picked up her journal and began to read :

July 17 2011

Last night I had a very perverse dream. I was walking down Main Street and I had pants on. It was everyone else who didn't. Everyone was bottomless - women jogging in the park in just t-shirts, business men with brief cases but no trousers or underpants, policemen patrolling the streets with their guns hanging parallel to their flaccid cocks... I was wearing a Guess t-shirt and straight leg denim jeans.

I hopped on a bus and bought a ticket from the bare-assed bus driver. The seats were unusually wide, so I was able to sit between two guys wearing suit jackets, black socks and dress shoes, but nothing else. In the seat opposite us sat a pair of elderly women with perms. They looked after the hair on their heads, but I noticed that their pubes were rather unkept.

"Nice cocks, guys!" I said, grabbing one in either hand and giving them a friendly squeeze. "I'm Wanda the wanker."

"Wow!" cried one of the businessmen. "I've never met such an inhibitionist! Actually going out in public with pants on!"

"Mmmmmmm," I sighed, "aren't I naughty! I just love the feel of clothing rubbing against my cunt."

"I bet you love this," said the other businessman reaching over and pulling the zip of my tight jeans up and down.

"Oh, God, yes!" I squealed. "Some people complain about rudeness on public transport, but I always find that commuters are so friendly when you're tugging their tallywhackers."

By now both of the guys were really stiff and oodles of pre-cum was soaking the top of my hands.

"What do you think you're doing?!?" cried one of the elderly women. And the other looked equally shocked.. "Take your pants off this minute, and leave those poor gentlemen alone!"

Just at that moment the men cried out in unison and I aimed their big throbbing cocks so that spurt after spurt of hot creamy cum splattered all over the women's shocked faces.

"That was a cheap trick!" the second one exclaimed. "We're going to report you to the Dream Police!"

July 20 2011

Last night I dreamt that I was Jane Austen. I appeared to be in some alternative universe writer's colony with writers from various historical periods.

I was wearing a lovely frilly BBC period drama kind of dress which I had pulled up so that I could finger my juicy unclad pussy. Meanwhile I was writing with a quill pen : "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man with a nutsack full of jism, wants to get his knob gobbled..."

After I'd finished the sentence I looked around the room.

There was Percy Shelley exposing himself and declaring : "My name is Ozymandias, kings of kings : Look on my cock, ye Mighty, and despair!" And, sure enough, his erection was fully two feet in length and wearing a mini-Sombrero.

His wife - Mary Shelley - smiled proudly. "It sure is a monster!" she exclaimed.

"Merde, but I am a prophetic writer of science fantasy tales," put in Jules Verne, stroking his beard. "The world will fall at my feet when they read my latest masterpiece. I have entitled it A Journey to the Centre of Uranus."

"To pee, or not to pee, that is the question," mused William Shakespeare, normally a conservative individual in the bedroom, when all three Bronte sisters invited him to a golden shower orgy.

July 22 2011

When I dream about being someone other than who I am, I don't expect them to be a fully fleshed out character. After all dreams are fairly short. But in this one I was literally two-dimensional. I was a Playboycentrefold. I was laying on a bed and in the photo I was also laying back on a four poster bed feeling very skinny, partly because I was a Playboy model, and partly because I was less than a fifth of a millimetre deep. Hmmm, come to think of it, that's pretty normal for Playboy models too. But I was actually a photo of a Playboy model. I was also feeling a bit fuzzy, like I'd had too much to drink. Perhaps that was due to the airbrushing. I was naked and I had my legs spread.

There was a guy looking at me and masturbating. He was kind of fat and sweaty. I couldn't respond in any way. I just stared out of the photo at him as he stroked his stiff cock with one hand and rubbed one of his chubby hairy nipples with the other.

"Oh, baby!" he sighed. "You want it, don't you? You really want it. I can tell."

"I already got it," I thought to myself. "A cool $20,000 as Playmate of the Year."

"I'm licking my lips, baby," he groaned. "But I'd rather be licking yours."

Eventually he moaned and shot his spunk into a Kleenex.

Footsteps were coming down the hall and he quickly disposed of his tissue full of genetic material in the nearby waste paper basket.

"What are you up to, honey?" came the voice of his wife as she entered the bedroom. She was an attractive woman in her forties with red frizzy hair, an aquiline nose, droopy breasts and a little cellulite on her chunky thighs, which were revealed by the see-through yellow baby doll nightie she wore over pink cotton panties.

The man made an attempt to flip the page and make it look like he was reading an article, but he was too nervous and his fingers closed on air.

Suddenly I found I could move within the picture. I stood up off of the bed and pointed out of the picture at Mr. Monkey Spanker.

"He was wanking off over me!" I told her. "That's what he was doing. You'll find a spunk soaked tissue in the bin over there."

"There's something wrong with this magazine!" cried the man. "It's malfunctioning."

"How can a magazine malfunction?" she wanted to know.

"The girls aren't supposed to talk back," he insisted.

"Typical male attitude," was his wife's opinion.

"Interactivity," I explained. "The magazines have to compete with the internet now."

"So how does it work?" asked wifey. "You talk dirty to him and shake your tushie while he jacks off?"

"I could if I wanted to," I said. "I could even come right off the page and slide my juicy wet cunt all over his fat cock."

"She's a saucy bitch!" she declared.

"I only get it for the articles," he insisted.

"But I don't think he deserves to have nicely naughty things done to his wiener," I told her.

"See, I told you it was malfunctioning," he replied. "I think it must have spent too much time next to Ms. on the newsstand."

"But you, on the other hand, do deserve a lewd lesbian liaison... If you are into that kind of thing," I informed her, stepping out of the page and growing to full human size.

"Wow!" cried the bedroom's resident boner-botherer.

Then I put my thumb in my mouth and blew myself back to my normal shapely proportions.

"A bit fat," he said.

"Fuck you, pencil dick!" I cried, rolling him off the bed and climbing in to embrace his cute and cuddly spouse.

"I've never done it with a woman before," she confessed, "but my pussy is so wet just thinking about it."

"I better get your panties off and confirm that," I suggested.

"I'm ringing Hugh Heffner!" cried her husband. "He's going to be so pissed when he hears about this!"

July 25 2011

I never expected to have an erotic dream about my loser of a flatmate, Charles, but the subconscious is a strange territory. Well, actually, I have to admit that he is kind of hot. He's got a great body. But he's so stupid and uncouth that I sometimes wonder if he has a frontal lobe at all.

In the dream it was me who initiated the sex. I walked into his bedroom stark naked. He was asleep. I bent over the bed and rubbed my titties all in his face until he woke up. Then I pulled off his bedclothes to reveal his super stiff erection.

"I'm feeling peckish," I told him as I rubbed my pussy up and down his leg, leaving a wet trail. "There is nothing in the fridge, but a mouthful of your hot salty cum would go down a treat. Do you want to help me fill my grumbly little belly?"

"I may have no frontal lobe," he replied, "but I'm not brain dead. Suck me dry, my sweet little slut!"

Come to think of it, I might actually turn this dream into a reality some time. It would be so easy to turn Charles into my own personal sex slave. I bet he wanks off thinking about me every night. One day I'll walk into his bedroom and catch him at it.

Wow! I wasn't expecting that!

So that evening when I found myself with a stiff cock on my hands, I decided to make use of what I had found out from Wanda's diary. I got out of bed. I was wearing pyjamas. My hard prick was poking out of the fly and I followed its lead toward Wanda's bedroom.

I didn't bother to knock. I just walked in. Wanda was sitting at her computer with her back to me. She was naked.

"Hey Wanda," I said, "I've got a present for you."

She spun her chair around. When she saw my cock her eyes opened wide and a big grin spread across her face.

"The only way you could get a stiffy that hard is if you were thinking about sliding it into my sweet pink little cunt," she theorised. "I bet you've been a sticky beak and read the ridiculously nice things I said about you in my dream journal."

"I did take a peak," I admitted.

"You shouldn't invade another person's privacy," she informed me. "Journals are very private things. Looking at my diary is like looking at my pussy. Some things are not to be shared. Oh, I see that you are looking at my pussy. Well, come to think of it, I'm a generous girl who likes to share. Come and invade my privates with that beautiful prick of yours."

Soon we were on the bed and I was balls deep in her slippery wetness...

And that is when I woke up to find myself in my own bed with hot jism pumping over my belly...

Wanda couldn't believe what she was reading. Did Charles really mean to publish this story (about himself having a wet dream inspired by reading her dream journal and then fucking her) on the internet? This was a nightmare.

And indeed it was. She woke to find her face pressed against the latest issue of Psychology Today on her bedroom desk...

And what of you, dear reader, you think you are on the Subtack app reading Joe Blow’s latest story, but perhaps this too is but a dream and you will wake to find yourself in a bed made entirely of blancmange in the elephant enclosure of the London Zoo and wearing nothing but a vintage World War II gas mask...

The End

Maybe you’ve seen the movie The Fly, either the 1986 version with Jeff Goldblum or the 1958 version with Vincent Price. In either case you’ll know what a matter transporter is. In case you haven’t I’ll try to explain it to you. It’s a way of travelling instantaneously from one place to another without travelling through the space between. It involves having your body atomically disassembled and then assembled again in the new location. In the movies the experimenter makes the mistake of using the device when there is fly in it with him.

You might think this sounds unlikely, but now in the year 2035, these devices actually exist and are all the rage, particularly for sexual hook-ups. Get a response to a swipe right, get naked, get in your matter transporter (MT for short) and reappear in bed with your partner of choice. And for those who are cheating there is far less chance of getting caught.

Things can still go wrong.

I keep my MT next to my kitchen. The other day, after browsing for a while, I picked a chubby redhead who expressed an imaginative and fun-loving attitude to sex. She told me her pussy was dripping wet for me after all we had shared on-line.

One of the advantages of the new model MT is that you don’t need to have a machine at the other end. You type in criteria for where you want to go and as soon as AI can work out the relevant place in space it sends you there and you reassemble automatically. You just have to take a small hand unit with you with which to set the criteria for your return.

My cock was stiff as I threw off my clothes and jumped to the MT. I felt myself knock something off the kitchen counter and kick it into the MT. I was too horny to try to identify it at the time. I just hopped in and set the coordinates.

The object in the machine with me was a cucumber.

Imagine my horror when I jumped into Desireé’s bedroom only to find that there was a cucumber where my cock should be.

“What the fuck!” I cried. “I’ve got to go and find my cock!”

“Not yet,” insisted Desireé grabbing me by the vegetable. “That girth is going to feel perfect in my pussy!”

Distressed as I was, I had to give in.

Strangely enough the sensations from my cucumber were just as pleasurable as if it had still been a cock.

It wasn’t long before she rinsed off my cucumber with cunt juice.

I pulled out and shot a huge load of slimy cucumber seeds all over Desireé’s belly and tits.

“Having a cucumber for a cock is a curious kind of calamity!” I exclaimed. “I have to try to find my cock.”

I consulted my AI.

“Your cock must have taken the place of a cucumber, so we need to search locations where one or more naked penises are in proximity to one or more cucumbers,” it responded.

It picked the coordinates for me.

Suddenly I was in a kitchen confronted with an attractive young lady wearing nothing but an apron.

“This must be the kitchen of a nudist camp,” I surmised.

When she grabbed my cucumber in one hand and huge sharp knife in the other, I pressed the escape button. I nearly ended up in the salad.

The next place I materialised, I was standing in a line of men all the rest of whom were wearing trench coats.

“Do you recognise any of these men as the one who flashed you?” asked a policeman eating a cucumber sandwich.

“No,” said a middle-aged woman sitting before us. “It wasn’t any of them. But if I were you I’d arrest cucumber dick over there. That shit’s just wrong.”

I’m still on my pilgrimage to rediscover my penis. Wish me luck. And if you happen to be wandering through the vegetable section in your local supermarket and see a small willy lying amidst the cucumbers, let me know.

The End

"I don't think you realise how degrading these gigs are for a serious magician," Henrietta complained. "I could pull a rabbit out of my cunt and those chicks wouldn't be impressed. All they want is your cock."

"It pays the bills though, doesn't it?" I pointed out. "Everyone has to have a gimmick."

"But the magician's assistant is supposed to be the window dressing," she explained. "When the magician is the window-dressing to her hot assistant something is wrong."

"So you admit I'm hot?" I teased her.

"I admit nothing of the kind," she griped. "I'm speaking from the point of view of the audience."

Henrietta is a lesbian. I'm a male stripper. We do the hen party circuit as a novelty act. She comes out as the archetypal magician in top hat and tails. I come out in tight white flares and a bright purple jacket open to reveal my hairy chest and my six pack. I'm the magician's assistant, helping her to do the usual kind of tricks involving flowers and doves, then, gradually, in a series of puffs of smoke, she makes my clothes disappear until I'm down to a skin-tight pair of gold lame hot pants. Then she makes them disappear too and I spend the rest of the evening wandering amongst the horny guests, getting my cock wanked and sucked, and usually ending up fucking at least two of the bride-to-be's friends, or even the lady herself, while all the others watch and cheer.

"At least tonight there's a chance you might pick up," I pointed out. "The party consists of the staff from Rug-Munchers Are Us porn site."

“Don’t be naive,” she sneered. “They’re not real lesbians. It’s just a job.”

“Some of the photographers might be,” I suggested.

“Well, they didn’t hire a female stripper, now did they?” she asked, perspicaciously.

“This is true,” I admitted.

Anyway," she bemoaned, "it's hard for a dom like myself to find a girl who knows how to take orders."

"There are those who want a woman who takes the upper-hand in the bedroom," I smiled. "There are rather less who are looking for fucking Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS."

"Just 'cause you're such a wimp," she grumbled. "Letting women push you around."

"It's kind of part of the job," I replied.

We were going to start the show in about ten minutes. While Henrietta unpacked her gear in the dressing room I went to speak to the woman who had hired us. Sharon Sappho (clearly not the name she was born with) was a gorgeous, full-figured black woman in a pink mini-dress with a low-cut top which showed off a huge expanse of breast.

"I run the site and I'm the principle photographer," she explained. "Don't be fooled by my last name. I'm no lesbian, but I have an image to support. I like photographing women. I have an eye for a sexy shot of two girls enjoying each other, but when I'm at home I like a nice hairy man between my legs." She brushed her hand across my deliberately cultivated five o'clock shadow.

"So, who's the lucky lady?" I asked, looking around at the room full of gorgeous young women.

"Lucky?" she asked. "Oh, you mean the one who's getting hitched. That's Maureen. She's the skinny blonde in the pink dress."

"So is anyone here a lesbian?" I asked.

"Gertrude and Keiko are," she explained. "So don't expect them to go drooling on your cock. The rest of them are pretty much into anything. I'm the only one who doesn't eat out at the Y."

When I got back to the dressing room and began getting into my costume - I already had my gold shorts on under my jeans - Henrietta was still in a bad mood.

"For ten years I've been studying Houdini's escape routines," she told me, for the umpteenth time. "I know how to re-enact every one of them. But does anyone want me to do that? No. They just want me to make your clothes disappear."

"I'm sure we can find some way for you to do that kind of act," I tried to reassure her. "But not in front of a bunch of horny women."

She just grunted as she put on her hat.

"Wow! You really keep everything in here!" I exclaimed, looking through her massive bag of tricks, once I had my coat on. There was a big fake saw, a giant sized pack of cards, a straight-jacket...

"That's one of my Houdini props," she explained, her mood lifting with the opportunity to talk about her main obsession. "See. If you tie the knots this way, someone from the audience can pull on them and they seem tight, but they can easily be undone by rubbing against the back of the chair."

"Ingenious," I declared.

Soon we were on stage and going through the boring magic part of the show. For me the fun began as my clothes came off. Unfortunately I can't tell you how we do that part of the act. It's a trade secret.

Once I was down to my shorts, the audience were going wild. Sharon in particular was whooping and hollering.

"Let's see your dick, you dirty boy!" she shouted, pulling down the front of her little dress on one side and shaking one of her massive mammaries at me. Even at that distance I could see that the nipple was stiff.

Finally, my shorts were gone in a puff of smoke. I grabbed the base of my ten-inches and swung it around like a plane propellor as I strode out into the audience. I knew that Sharon was going to get the bulk of my attention, but I had to make sure all the girls, except Gertrude and Keiko, got their share, especially the blushing bride-to-be.

I walked up to Maureen, who was indeed blushing, and pushed my swollen but still floppy cock down the cleavage of her dress. She giggled, pushed her small boobs together and licked my belly-button.

Feeling the skin of my cock brush slowly between the softness of her breasts caused it to stiffen somewhat. She grabbed it in her sweaty hand and planted a chaste kiss on its head.

When I turned around and saw that two of the girls, a redhead and a brunette, both with lots of tattoos, were staring at my cock and had their hands down each others panties, I became rampantly erect. Seeing girls get really turned on, thats what does it for me. I walked up to them and let them suck long and hard on my dick. Once their lips were finished with me they couldn't wait to lick the taste of my cock off of each other's tongues.

And so I worked my way around the room, enjoying the feel of hands and tongues on my rampant member. I deliberately left Sharon until last as I was determined to fuck her in front of all of her staff. And I really hoped I'd be able to get her as naked as myself. She might not be as used to showing off her gorgeous body as the models were, but I could tell she wanted to.

"It took you long enough," complained Sharon, as I sidled up to her.

"Just saving the best until last," I smiled.

"You ain't kidding," she chuckled, and then stuck out her long pink tongue and ran it up the length of my prick. She fondled my balls and sucked on my shaft like she was Lawrence of Arabia sucking on an ice-cold popsicle. She also fondled my arse cheeks. I don't know if she did that like Lawrence of Arabia or not.

"Have your employees ever seen you naked?" I asked, pulling her to her feet.

"No," she replied.

"Well, they are just about to," I grinned, as I slid the straps of her dress over her shoulders and set her lovely big boobs free.

"I don't mind being nude," she laughed. "Just as long as you take full advantage of me."

"Oh, I intend to," I reassured her. "Don't you worry about that."

Off came her dress and down came her panties. They were soaking wet. Without them, her shaven pussy was dribbling its excitement down the inside of her spread thighs. I walked around behind her and spanked her big brown ass cheeks, first with my right hand and then with my stiff prick.

"Fuck her like she fucked us on the last employee contract negotiations," yelled out Gertrude.

"Hey," cried Sharon, as I bent her down and slid my cock deep into her dripping wet pussy, "there's plenty more cunt-licking sluts where you came from."

"Just kidding, boss," chuckled Gertrude. "I'm jealous. I dream of doing you with a strap-on."

I don't think she was the only one who fancied the boss. Several more girls had pulled off their panties and were wanking as they watched me pound her pussy.

I looked briefly over at the stage were Henrietta was looking at her watch.

Sharon cried out and started quivering all over in a body-shaking orgasm. One of the rules of these kinds of shows is that everyone has to get to see the cum shot, so I pulled out, lay her down across a table and began jacking off. She grinned and licked her lips as she saw me sliding my hand up and down my cock.

"Oh, yeah, baby!" I screamed as I shot spurt after spurt of creamy cum all over Sharon's belly and boobs. Some of it even reached her lips, which she licked clean hungrily. She looked so beautifully wanton laying back with her legs spread, her wet pussy on display and her brown-skinned body splashed with puddles of white cum.

I was determined that the party wasn't going to end there though.

"Guess what?" I addressed the crowd, standing there with a string of jism dangling from the tip of my now wilting cock. "Henrietta fancies herself as a female Houdini. Who wants to see her escape act?"

Everyone seemed a little bewildered, especially Henrietta, but I had them in the palm of my hand.

Soon Henrietta as tied up in her straight jacket, sitting on a chair in the middle of the stage. I was still naked, as was Sharon, who was licking my cum off of her boobs.

"Henrietta will escape from her bondage within five minutes," I announced. "If she fails to do this in the required time she will be eaten by sharks... Hmmmm. Damn. No sharks.... Well, she has to escape or else. We'll leave it at that."

She writhed around in the chair for a moment and then looked at me with some annoyance.

"You've tied the knots the wrong way," she complained.

"Uh, uh," I shook my head with an evil grin. "I've tied the knots the right way, instead of the wrong way you wanted me to."

"I can't get out of this," she told me.

"I know you can't," I informed her. Then I bent down and unzipped her pants and pulled them off.

"What are you doing?" she cried.

"Getting my revenge for all the whining I've had to put up with from you this evening," I replied, grabbing the sides of her white Cottontail panties and pulling them off to reveal her pert pink cunt and landing strip of dark pubes.

"Well, ladies," I addressed the room. "It looks like the lovely Henrietta, who is a very lascivious lesbian, is completely at your mercy. She has a truly lovely cunt, and she tells me there's a rabbit up there somewhere. Does anyone feel like helping to find it?"

Keiko was the first up on stage. She got down on her hands and knees and shoved her face between Henrietta's legs and lapped away at her pussy.

"I'll get you for this, you prick!" Henrietta spat at me.

I knew that she liked to see hot naked women, so I made my way around the room, teasing all the rest of the girls out of their clothes. Most were happy to part with their attire in return for the opportunity to lick their boss's cunt-juice off of my cock. Soon all that sucking and the opportunity to fondle all those nude girls meant that my cock was once more rock hard.

Ten girls took turns to lick Henrietta's clit and finger her horny hole. She was deeply humiliated by her predicament. All the more so because she'd already had five orgasms and made a big puddle on the floor.

Then someone came up with the bright idea of laying her out so that one girl could lick her out and finger her while another could ride her face. Gertrude, who, along with Keiko, had stripped naked without any help or encouragement from myself, sat her lovely pink bottom on Henrietta's face and rubbed her cunt all over the poor woman's prominent nose. The molested magician licked out the juicy box which was drenching her pretty face in hopes that such a strategy would more quickly relieve her of its presence. But her strategy proved a poor one as, no soon did Gertrude squeal and squirt, than her place was taken by Maureen.

By the end of the evening, every girl except for Sharon had ravished Henrietta with her horny cunt. She was laying back exhausted and drenched in girl cum.

I walked over to Sharon and asked her if she thought she'd got her money's worth.

"You can say that again!" she exclaimed. "This show made my porn site seem positively tame."

I fondled her nude bum and she stroked my stiff cock while we made plans to meet up back at her place after the girl's had had their night on the town. She wanted me in her bed that night, and I couldn't think of anywhere else I wanted to be.

"I suppose I better set Henrietta free now," I smiled and walked back up onto the stage.

Henrietta is a gorgeous woman. I'd always fancied her. But, given her aversion to the masculine member, I had never thought I'd get to see her pussy.

"You can't honestly tell me you didn't enjoy that," I grinned cheekily. "Watching it certainly turned me on."

"You're a fucking arsehole," she grumbled.

"God you look gorgeous all trussed up like that," I leered. "What a lovely cunt you have."

My cock jerked up and down in its stiffness as I gently caressed her leg.

"Don't you dare!" she cried. "I don't do dick!"

"You're telling me," I responded. "It's me who has to do all the work."

I turned her over and untied the knots that held the straight-jacket secured. Then I turned her onto her back and deliberately held my stiff cock just about two inches away from her disgusted face as I pulled off the sleeves.

"Get that revolting thing away from me," she insisted.

"So what's it like to have the shoe on the other foot for a change?" I asked.

"O.K. So I came a few times," she huffed. "But I don't need any new fetishes. I'm perverted enough as it is."

"I think we both did well out of tonight. I'm hooking up with Sharon the pornographer later this evening," I told her with a smug grin.

"I wonder if we could come up with a new magic routine in which I saw your cock off on stage," Henrietta replied.

The End

I have to warn you, dear reader, that the tale I am about to relate is a gruesome one. It may make you feel sick to your stomach, as it deals with one of humanity's great taboos - the act of cunnilingus - the eating out of the human pussy. Of course we know that primitive tribes of lesbians used to engage in cunnilingism. Cunnilinguals sometimes even believed that they could take upon themselves the strengths and abilities of those whose cunts they ate.

But in this modern world of strap-ons, vibrators, nipple clamps and butt plugs, such barbaric and disgusting behaviour can be avoided. Most of the time.

This is the true story of the Dakota Dykes roller derby team whose plane crashed in the Andes, jamming shut the luggage compartment door and depriving them of access to their sex toys for one whole week. What happened to these girls - the depths to which they had to sink for their own survival - is a queasy tale, but keep in mind that it is also a tale of heroism, of the indomitability of the human spirit in adverse conditions. They may have resorted to truly nauseating behaviour in order to survive, but the fact is that they came out of those mountains alive!

"Oh, my God, we're going down!" cried Wrecking Yard Rita, as the engine on the left wing burst into flames and the plane's nose dipped toward the craggy mountain peak below.

"Please remain calm and assume the crash position!" screamed the stewardess hysterically.

The pilot set the autopilot to crash mode, ran out of the cockpit, opened the fuselage door and jumped out, pulling the chord on his parachute just in time to prevent himself from being impaled on a rocky outcrop. The wind carried him aloft and then he began his slow descent. Fourteen hours later he would land in the centre of Santiago.

The body of the plane collided with the snowy mountain in a prolonged scream of tortured metal. The girls were tossed around the cabin like snow in a Christmas paper weight, but it was no worse than what happened to them most nights on the roller derby rink. Luckily none of them were seriously injured.

Sally, the stewardess, had landed on top of Tanya Hide, the captain of the team.

"Ouch, I think I broke my bottom," she complained.

"You'll live," grumbled Hide, "just go sit in the snow to numb the pain."

"Everyone O.K.?" asked Grotty Gertie, surveying her tumbulated team mates.

"I could use a drink," piped up Bulldozer Betty, whose head was jammed between two seats and whose feet were tangled in the oxygen masks above.

It didn't take them long to extricate themselves from their seats and exit the plane. It was then that they discovered the bad news. The plane was on an angle with the baggage compartment door on the underside.

"It'll take about a week for a rescue party to get up here into the mountains," said Dora the Destroyer grimly. "In the meantime, we need to survive."

"There are plenty of chocolate bars and stale sandwiches in the pantry," pointed out Sally.

"Yes," said Dora, "food won't be a problem. But keeping warm will be. We need to have sex and lots of it."

"But our strap-ons are in the luggage compartment," pointed out Gertie, "and we can't get to them."

"We're going to have to improvise," said Tanya bravely. "What is there in the cabin that we could use to get off?" she asked Sally.

"Well, there are eating utensils," Sally suggested.

"What kind of eating utensils?" asked Dora.

"100 individually wrapped plastic sporks," she replied.

"What's a spork?" asked Betty.

"You've seen them," Sally explained, "half spoon half fork. They combine the scooping ability of a fork with the skewering ability of a spoon."

"Shouldn't that be the other way around?" asked Betty.

"You've obviously never tried to use one," replied Sally.

"O.K. everybody, nude up!" ordered Tanya, once they were back in the plane and had unwrapped the sporks. "And that includes you, honey," she added, squeezing Sally's ass.

"I've never done lesbian stuff before," explained Sally. "But I don't want to freeze, so I suppose I'll give it a go."

Soon they were all nude.

"What the fuck can we do with one of these?" asked Tanya, examining one of the sporks. "I think we need a couple to experiment. Any volunteers?"

Betty and Dora stuck their hands up.

Spork me, baby!" cried Dora as she lay back on the floor of the cabin and spread her legs.

"Perhaps a little titillation first," suggested Betty dragging the tines tenderly over Dora's stiff nipples.

"I'm not getting much here," Dora complained. "Get rough. Spank my ass!" And she rolled over and stuck her firm butt in the air.

Betty held the handle of her spork between the finger and thumb of her left hand and then bent back the broad curved head of the utensil with the convex surface facing Dora's trembling behind. She let go and the spork tapped Betty lightly on her hungering flesh.

"Go ahead and do it," moaned Dora. "Don't hold back."

"I just did it," pointed out Betty.

"I didn't feel anything," Dora complained.

"Perhaps if I spank your clit with it," suggested Betty. They tried that. It was marginally better, but it wasn't going to get anybody off.

"This isn't going to work," Dora told them grimly. "There's only one thing left. None of us want this, I know. But our survival is at stake."

"You're not suggesting...?" began Betty.

"There's no alternative," she replied. "You'll have to draw straws. And the loser eats out my cunt."

Sally and Gertie began dry wretching, but the others put on a brave face.

Tanya drew the short straw.

"It's probably appropriate that I, being your Captain, should lead you into this dark territory," she told them.

And so it was that she crouched down between Dora's thighs, took a deep breath and filled her mouth with another woman's pussy meat. A shiver of revulsion travelled through her frame as she sucked labia and clit between her lips and stuck her tongue deep into the hole. It was so wrong. It was so forbidden. But once she'd gone there, something changed, some primordial dark force awakened within her and suddenly she wanted to suck cunt. She longed to slurp and taste meaty minges, to suck the very cum juice out of them. She had become a beast, a sub-human thing. But she didn't care.

“Abandon yourselves!” she cried. “There will be time enough for humanity once we make it through this week. Do it for the Dykes! Eat each other’s cunts!”

And then it was a free-for-all. Legs quivered as tongues found just the right spot. And all of the girls secretly took the same journey from revulsion to obsession that their leader had taken before them. They wouldn’t dare admit it. They continued to pretend revulsion, but a door had been opened that could never truly be closed again.

When rescuers found them they were barely able to talk after the exertion their tongues had undergone during all that time.

They were welcomed back to the roller derby world as heroines. But dark rumours continue to persist that, once a year, on the anniversary of their rescue they gather in secret and eat the forbidden fruit between each others legs.

The End

Introduction

Travelling doesn't come cheap these days. You want to get more bang for your buck. You want to see the sights. But you want more. You want the experience of a life-time. You want an adventure. You want some photo opportunities that aren't safe for work.

With the help of this travel guide you will be able be the dirty foreigner in someone else's country for a change. Where is the nearest place to buy condoms if you get horny looking at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? Is wife-swapping still obligatory among the Inuit? Which district in Tokyo has the cheapest used panty dispensers? Which clubs in Afghanistan hold Wet Burkha Nights? You won't find any of this in Fodor's or Frommer's. Our writers do dirty things in glamorous places so that you can too!

France

by Reg Northrop

Virtually all French people know how to speak English. But they won’t speak English to you. They’ll pretend they don’t understand. I have my own patented way of dealing with this. I go up to the nearest Frenchman and ask, “Do you share your mother’s prodigious talent for sucking cock?” If he kicks me in the balls then I know that he understand’s English, so, once I regain my ability to speak, I ask him for directions to the tomb of Victor Hugo. If, on the other hand, he winks at me and replies, “Mais oui, mon cheri!”, I make a run for it.

* * *

You can have a lot of fun in the Louvre. Malcolm the photographer joined Tracy and I for a bit of arty sight seeing. It was my job to create diversions to distract the guards. Meanwhile Malcolm snapped photos of Tracy licking the cocks of famous statues like Balthazar Keller's Adonis, Francois Joseph Bosio's Aristée, etc. Then it was Tracy's turn to distract the guards while I went around some of the female statues sucking nipples and licking pussies and butt cracks.

* * *

It was Tracy who insisted we fuck on the top of the Eiffel Tower. Whenever she sees something standing up straight and tall it gets her thinking.

It’s actually easier than you might think. The view is so spectacular, who’s going to be looking at anything else? I eased Tracy’s skirt up and her panties down, unzipped my jeans, opened the fly of my y-fronts and slid in my rock hard six inches. (Well, hey, I’m a travel writer, not a porn star you know!) She leaned up against the metal railing as we looked down at the ant-like humans scurrying about below. All around us fellow tourists jostled us and snapped off their photos, but no-one noticed what we were doing. Tracy’s juicy wet pussy massaged my hot stiffness. We had to be a bit careful not to move too wildly, but the excitement of the situation was enough to bring us to the boil pretty quickly. I owe my climax to a fat American woman who jostled me from behind at just the crucial moment, causing me to slam hard into Tracy’s cunt and fill it full of jism. I staggered back in the throws of ecstasy, accidentally leaving Tracy bent over the railing with her bare arse in the air and cum dribbling down her legs.

“Now I know why they call it the Eyeful Tower!” exclaimed the husband of the fat woman.

The USA

by Bazza Kenneally

They call the United States “the Land of the Free”, but in most cases, you’ll find you do have to pay for things.

* * *

The first sight I checked out was the Statue of Liberty. I thought it would be appropriate to take a few liberties with a trio of Swedish backpacker chicks. They weren’t too sure of what the inscription said. Their English wasn’t good. I explained that it said, “This area is clothing optional.” I introduced myself as the head of the Girls Gone Crazy empire and offered them $5,000 to streak around Liberty Island. Got some great footage of bouncing boobs and wobbling bums. I bet they are still checking the letterbox daily for that cheque.

* * *

“Just because we’re at Mt. Rushmore doesn’t mean it has to be a quickie,” I quipped to Pam, the hot brunette cougar in whose RUV I’d hitched a ride.

“I don’t do quickies,” she informed me with an evil smile as she locked the door and pushed me down onto the bed. “You really should be careful when you hitch a ride. I’m a serial killer. The badlands of America are strewn with the unmarked graves of men I’ve fucked to death.”

I’m not sure she was kidding. She was the most uninhibited woman I’d ever met. When she picked me up she was driving naked with a vibrator buzzing away in her pussy.

“Mind changing the batteries for me?” she asked. “By the way, the name’s Pam.”

Several times she got stopped by the police for driving erratically while orgasming. She never got a ticket. But those cops sure got their cocks sucked.

She had more energy than I did, so I lay back on the bed and let her ride me cowgirl fashion. She had nice big tits, a bit droopy, but that just made it all the more exciting to watch them swaying back and forth as she fucked me. Her hairy pussy slammed down over my cock again and again until finally I spurted deep inside her. Then she sucked me back to erection again and fucked me all over. When I couldn’t get it up a third time she cuddle up to me and talked dirty in my ear while she masturbated herself to orgasm another five times. That’s when I fell asleep. When I woke up she was just coming in the door. She explained that, after I’d fallen asleep, she dressed and headed to the local country and western bar where she hooked up with the band and went back to their place for a gang bang.

Thailand

by George Armstrong

The Thais are very open-minded about sex. In fact it is enshrined in their Constitution. Article 53, paragraph 65, says "It doesn't matter what you do sexually, as long as you don't do it in the street and frighten the elephants."

This doesn’t mean you are not allowed to have sex in the streets. When this article was tested in court it was found that two things were needed for such an act to be illegal - 1. That it take place in the street - and - 2. That it frighten at least one elephant. Don’t frighten any elephants and you can do what you like in the street. Thai elephants are themselves pretty broadminded and not easily frightened by human sexual activity, however, if you are planning to try anything outlandishly kinky, it might be best to slip any nearby elephants a couple of valium just to be on the safe side.

When attempting to pick up in Thai nightclubs the issue of gender identity can crop up. It is important to remember that not everyone in a Thai nightclub who has a penis will necessarily be a ladyboy.

Clarice was an American tourist I met at the hotel. She'd come to Thailand to learn the art of Thai massage. I met her on my last evening.

I was sitting in my room working on my notes for this chapter while sipping at a scotch on the rocks when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," I called, expecting it to be a member of the hotel staff come to remind me about when I had to check out the next morning.

In walked Clarice, a fresh-faced blonde with rosy cheeks and pig-tails, wearing a tie-dye t-shirt and harem pants.

"I'm just going around the hotel getting to know my fellow guests," she explained. "You don't meet anyone new if you don't make an effort to mix."

"I'm very glad to meet you," I replied. "Are you enjoying your holiday?"

"Very much so," she explained. "I came here to learn massage and I've learned a lot. Would you like to be one of my test subjects?"

And that is how I ended up laying back on the bed stark naked with an equally naked Clarice pummelling and pressing my every muscle.

"Can I confess something?" she asked, blushing.

"Sure," I said.

"I love masturbating guys," she giggled.

"You're not just saying that because my cock is in such obvious need of relief?" I queried.

"No," she told me as she wrapped her fist around it and began pumping it up and down. "I checked with the staff about which single guys are leaving tomorrow and I'm going around making sure that their holidays have a happy ending!"

The End

Jerry knew what kind of shop it was. He’d only been living in the upstairs flat for three days, but he’d seen the neon sign over the car park on the building’s other side. “Cut Price Carnality” it announced on a large sign.

They didn’t have anything like that in the town of Cow Pat Falls where Jerry had grown up. But he had heard tell of such places. Jerry knew that in the big city every sinful thing you could possibly imagine was not only being done, but being photographed and filmed being done. And people were doing to electrical devices things that it wasn’t even proper to do to other human beings. And sex shops were the centre of it all.

Jerry had come to the big city because he was sick of being Amish. He wanted to watch television and maybe even drive a motor car.

But he wasn’t so sure about sex. In Cow Pat Falls sex had been about the only thing to do once the farming day was finished. At least that’s what his friends had told him. But Jerry was painfully shy. He’d kissed a girl once, but she was unconscious at the time, having been kicked in the head by a mule, so he wasn’t sure that that really counted.

The shop was run by Mrs. Lawrence, Jerry’s landlady, a widow aged about 47. She was an attractive redhead, a little on the plump side, he thought, who always seemed as if she was laughing at him on the inside. It was nothing obvious but she seemed to have that almost imperceptible curl of the lip or lift of the eyebrow that made him feel she took him for a fool.

By some coincidence it was the evening of Jerry’s eighteenth birthday when he came home and found the padlock to the inside door to Mrs. Lawrence’s shop unlatched. He’d been looking for a job, and once more he’d failed to find anything.

Being, by nature, an honest lad, Jerry thought about simply shutting the padlock. But maybe Mrs. Lawrence was in the shop doing some late night stock-taking he thought.

So he took off the padlock and pulled open the latch. It came back with a loud squeak. The door also squeaked as he pulled it open. All was dark within.

Jerry looked along the corridor to Mrs. Lawrence’s room and saw a light coming from under the door. That must be where she is, he thought. And then the light went off. She must have retired for the night.

He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he just couldn’t help himself. He walked through the door into the shop, closed it behind him and turned on the lights.

Walking around the premises, Jerry took it all in wide-eyed. He imagined what all of those skimpy pieces of lingerie would look like on the bodies of women. There were crotchless panties here and nipple-revealing bras there. And a big rack full of plastic cocks and vaguely cock-shaped multi-coloured gadgets. And then there were all the magazines and DVDs - all of them wrapped in plastic - their covers depicting women with massive breasts and guys with huge stiff cocks engaged in every kind of sexual activity.

At first Jerry’s mind was fully occupied in taking in all of this sexual excess. But then he found himself thinking about Mrs. Lawrence. She spent every day in this shop. It was her establishment. She had handled all of those plastic cocks. She’d seen all of these really filthy pictures. And she thought it was all O.K. The more he thought about this, the more he felt his cock swell and stiffen in his pants. He’d never thought about her in a sexual way before. When she had seen him about the flat she had been wearing loose-fitting jean shorts and a t-shirt advertising Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Cats. He liked her. She was friendly and not dour like so many of the older people from his home town. But she was five years older than his mother.

Now she was clearly asleep for the night, and Jerry could do whatever he wanted. It was a very hot night, and his cock was feeling cramped in his jeans, so he decided to take off all of his clothes.

Soon he was wandering around the shop completely naked with his stiff cock wagging back and forth in front of him.

He’d never seen a girl naked before, so the first thing he did was to pick up a copy of Hustler and carefully undo the sticky tape so that he could slip it out of its plastic bag. He sat himself down in the seat behind the cash desk, thinking about the fact that his arse and balls were resting right where Mrs. Lawrence sat her bottom all day, and began flipping through the pages, drinking in all the details of each luscious nude female body and he stroked his hard cock and felt the slick river of pre-cum run down over his fingers.

Towards the back of the magazine he saw an ad for an inflatable sex doll.

“I wonder if Mrs. Lawrence has one of those?” he asked himself, and set off to look.

It wasn’t long before he found a pile of boxes over to the side of the shop which had pictures of just such dolls on them. So he tore open one of the boxes and found that it contained, not just a deflated doll, but also a foot pump to blow it up with.

The foot pump squeaked quite loudly, but Jerry was beyond caring. He was sure that Mrs. Lawrence was sound asleep.

Once the doll had taken on its proper shape, Jerry lay it down on the floor, spread its balloon legs and slid his throbbing pre-cum-lubricated cock deep into its pseudo-vagina.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Such was the sound caused by Blow-Up Barbie’s butt rubbing against the carpet as the caress of her rubber vagina sent paroxysms of pleasure through Jerry’s happy knob.

“Well, well, well,” came a familiar voice from the doorway. “For a moment there I thought I had mice.”

“It’s not what it looks like!” cried Jerry, rolling over and clutching Barbie’s buttocks so hard that they burst. And so he found that he was trying to cover himself with a pile of deflated plastic.

“How could it be anything but what it looks like?” asked Mrs. Lawrence. “It can’t be an act of performance art, because there is no audience, or wasn’t until I got here. Do you know how much those dolls cost?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lawrence,” Jerry whimpered.

“Call me Tamsin,” she replied, smiling indulgently. Jerry noticed that she was wearing a towelling bathrobe that came down to her dimpled knees.

“I’ll pay you back, Mrs... Tamsin,” he pleaded.

“You do realise that I could just ring the police?” she asked, but he could tell from the way she was on the verge of giggling at his predicament that she wouldn’t. “I’ve never had a handsome, horny nude young man completely at my mercy before.”

“At your mercy?” Jerry queried.

“If the police arrested you you would probably end up getting community service,” she explained. “So let’s just cut out the middle man. I’m part of the community. You can serve me. Now stand up and drop the merchandise.”

Jerry stood with his hands cupped over his still rampantly rigid cock.

“I bet you think I’m a dirty old lady,” she told him as she ran her hand appreciatively over the taught bulging muscles of his shoulders, back and buttocks.

“Well,” replied Jerry, “you are a lot older than me. And you do have a lot of dirty things around here...”

“Do you like dirty old ladies?” she asked, pushing his hands away from his cock. “Oh, I see that you do.” She smeared pre-cum all over her hand and then slid it up and down his prick appreciatively.

“I like that,” he told her.

“Good,” she smiled. “You know I wouldn’t really blackmail you into fucking me. But catching you being naughty was such a delightful surprise.”

“I don’t have to fuck you?” he asked, puzzled.

“I’m sure that’s a relief for you,” she responded, continuing to wank his hard cock and fondle his buttocks. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Jerry pulled away from her and stood looking at her for a moment. Then he reached out and undid the belt around her robe and pulled it open. Underneath she wore a black silk nightie which reached a few inches above her knees. Jerry reached out and began fondling her full, soft and somewhat droopy breasts through the thin material.

“That’s what I want to do,” he confessed. “I’ve never felt a girl’s breasts before.”

“I’m hardly a girl any more, but feel away,” she responded, her eyes wide with delight. “What else have you never done with a lady?”

“I’ve never seen one naked before,” he admitted, his heart beating wildly.

“Strip me naked, Jerry,” she sighed, offering herself with arms spread wide.

He squatted down and grabbed the hem of her nightie and then stood up, lifting it up and over her head. She was wearing nothing underneath.

By now he had lost all of his inhibitions and stood openly masturbating as he gazed at her pale nudity. Her breasts hung low but their skin was silky smooth and her nipples were a deep raspberry colour, standing stiff as if yearning to be sucked. She had a slightly pot belly punctuated by the deep indentation of her navel, and below was a tangle of gingery hair with just a touch of grey. Her legs were shapely with just enough meatiness in the thighs to balance the swell of her belly.

“I never thought I’d have a young spunk wanking off to the sight of my nude body,” she told him. “You really are a tonic to a dirty old lady. But I think we’d better fuck before you explode all over my freshly cleaned carpet. Let’s go find a suitable novelty condom.”

And with that she headed off across the shop with Jerry, still cock in hand, in hot pursuit. He loved the sight of her bare bum as she pranced happily about the shop because it was so round and soft and wobbly. From the back she looked like a walking bowl of pink jello, but he’d never wanted to stick his cock into a bowl of jello before.

“Extra thin and passionfruit flavoured,” she cried. “Just perfect. Now bring that mouth-watering cock of yours over here.”

She rolled the condom down his length and then licked and sucked it, much to his delight, until she had fully appreciated the condom’s flavour.

“I’ve never had such an amazing birthday present,” Jerry declared.

“It’s your birthday?” Tamsin asked. “Well, quite right and proper that you should celebrate it in your birthday suit then. Now lay down on your back. I like to be on top.”

Jerry lay down and Tamsin squatted over him slowly impaling her sopping wet pussy on his rigid cock. Then she began gyrating around and pumping herself up and down his length as she he grabbed her ass with both hands. The softness of her flesh rolled over his fingers.

“I love your bum,” he sighed. “It’s so soft and wobbly.”

“A quality that no gym ever promises that it can deliver,” she pointed out, shaking her head at this strange creature.

Tamsin began rubbing her stiff clit as she rode Jerry’s cock and after a while she quivered, causing her boobs and belly to shake enticingly, and squirted warm liquid down over his balls. Then he thrust a couple more times and felt his cum spurt hotly into the condom.

“It’s been almost five years since I last had a man,” Tamsin admitted as they sat back gazing at each other’s post-orgasmic glow. “Ironic to work in a sex shop but be getting no sex, hey?”

“Well, it’s been a very happy end to a very sad day for me,” Jerry explained. “There is nothing worse than spending your birthday alone searching for a job and not finding one.”

“I think I have a job for you,” Tamsin suggested. “I need someone to help me here in the store. Business is really taking off. And the women customers will love having a handsome hunk to help them with their choices. In fact, I think we might even institute Ladies Only Night on Wednesdays. And on that night you’ll have a special uniform.”

“What uniform?” he wanted to know.

“The one you are wearing now,” Tamsin informed him with a suggestive wink. “Hard-on is optional... but definitely preferred. And all instances of sexual harassment by customers will be treated as tips.”

She took him on a detailed tour of the store, during which he wouldn’t stop fondling her bum.

“Wow! You have a lot of lube!” he pointed out. “What’s that for?”

“Well,” she explained, “apart from anything else, it lets a guy like you stick his cock in places it wouldn’t easily go otherwise.”

“Like where?” he wanted to know.

“Like here,” she giggled, bending over and pulling her butt cheeks wide apart so that her pink butt hole winked at him.

“Can I try?” he asked enthusiastically.

“Are you kidding?” she grinned. “You can bugger me with your beefy boner any time.”

He squirted cool gel all over his cock, which was now fully erect once more, and spread it with his hand. Then he squirted more in his hand and rubbed it all around Tamsin’s rectum, sliding a slippery finger in and out to prepare the way. Then he grabbed her around the waist and slowly slid his prick all the way into her asshole until it clung lovingly around every inch and his balls slapped against her pussy.

“Oh!” cried Jerry. “What about a condom?”

“Don’t worry,” she replied. “I only used one before for novelty value. I’m too old to get pregnant and haven’t had sex for five years. And you haven’t had sex at all. I think we are safe for the moment.”

The best part about fucking Tamsin in the ass was watching how it moved while he did. It was like the blob doing the watusi.

Jerry wasn’t sure if she came from having his cock ramming into her ass or from rubbing her clit while he did it. But she moaned to a happy climax around the same time he launched a multitude of confused sperm cells up shit creek without a paddle.

“How do women fit such huge dildos and vibrators into themselves?” Jerry asked as Tamsin returned with a couple of beers from the fridge in the store kitchen. “Take that one. It’s enormous.”

“That’s my thermos,” Tamsin pointed out. “Though I probably could fit it in my cunt. A couple of kids have come out of there remember.”

Which all led to a competition to see how many dildos and vibrators she could fit in her at once. The maximum was five small vibrators at once in her pussy. This was fine, but when Jerry suggested that she try again with the vibrators switched on, all hell broke lose. She lashed around like the giant squid from Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea and a flying vibrator nearly took Jerry’s eye out.

“I won the bet,” she pointed out, once they had managed to retrieve all the errant vibrators. “Now you have to pay the forfeit.”

“Forfeit?” he enquired.

“I want to watch you wank off until you shoot cum all over yourself,” she told him. “Well, dribble cum on yourself anyway. After fucking me twice, I doubt if you have much left in you.”

“Is that all?” he wanted to know. At the beginning of the evening it would have been a terribly embarrassing thing to do, but now he had no inhibitions left.

“I’ve never seen a guy do that in real life,” she explained. “My husband was quite conservative. Every day I sell sexy magazines and DVDs to guys and I know that when they get them home they are going to whip out their cocks and beat off to them. But I never get to see it. Sometimes I’ve even wondered if I should put in a wacky booth just so I could drill a hole and peek at hot guys when they are pulling on their pricks.”

And so it was that Jerry ended up squatting over Tamsin as she lay back on the floor. His hand was pulling the loose skin on his stiff prick up and down as he enjoyed the exquisite sensation of his sensitive balls caressing the velvet softness of Tamsin’s belly flesh.

“Now, no squirting off over my face,” she warned him as he held his cock up close for her to take in every detail of his wanton wanking.

“I’m a self-frosting birthday boy!” Jerry exclaimed as he leant back and shot several streams of hot cum up his belly. That he had so much left in him was a testament to just how arousing the evening had been for an innocent virgin boy from the country.

“Did someone say frosting?” cried Tamsin, pushing him onto the ground and leaping on him to lick and suck the fresh jism from his belly and now flaccid cock.

The next morning Jerry awoke to find himself in Tamsin’s bed. The lady herself was happily sucking on his morning erection. This was far too arousing a discovery for Jerry not to immediately fill her mouth with cum.

“Cock Gobbler’s Morning Wood Protein Shake,” she said after swallowing the lot. “Breakfast of Champions.”

“You really are a dirty old lady,” declared Jerry, shaking his head.

“You’re not kidding,” she replied. “I’m such an old slut that I’ve decided not to put on any clothes at all when I go to work in the shop today. And I’m going to offer to suck off every good looking guy who comes in. For free.”

“If you do that you’ll get arrested,” he pointed out.

“You’re going to have to help me,” she pleaded. “The only thing that will save me from getting arrested is if you spank all the naughtiness out of me.”

She rolled over in his lap and bared her wobbly pink bottom.

He began slapping her bum forcefully. Watching all the ripples and counter ripples run back and forth was so delicious that it made his cock begin to throb once more.

“And if you think that I look like I’m tempted to do something deliciously criminal during the day,” she suggested, “tell me that if I don’t behave myself you won’t fuck me hard with your big cunt-pleasing cock at the end of the day.”

Jerry had known before he came to the city that it was filled with wicked women, but it had never occurred to him that keeping a lid on the wickedness of one of them would become his personal responsibility.

He spanked and spanked and spanked away at his landlady’s fabulously flabby bottom.

And she didn’t let out a single squeak. She let out several grunts, a bunch of snorts and repeatedly squealed like a porker meeting its maker. But she didn’t squeak.

The End

Once upon a time in Furryland Forest there lived a skunk who everyone knew as Little Bed Riding Good. Little because she was short. Bed because it was her favourite place,,, and not for sleeping. Riding because she liked to be on top. And Good referring to talent not virtue.

On this particular day she was walking through the woods taking a basket of vibrators to her grandmother’s house.

Her grandmother was a cat. And she was very horny. She lived on her own in a cottage in the forest and she went through a lot of vibrators. Originally she used to order her vibrators from Amazon, but the company threatened to sue her for compensation for the way their delivery men returned - emaciated and jittery and with a big smile on their face.

Bed pulled her phone out of the pocket of her furry suit and rechecked the route to Granny’s house. Not that she really needed to. She could have walked it blindfolded, but she wanted to laugh at the warning Google Maps had added next to her destination : “Here Be A Nymphomaniac”. “Serves her right the dirty bitch,” she thought, but really she hoped she ended up just as much of a crazy old cum slut as her grandmother when she was the same age.

Just as she was dreaming about this she heard a whistle come from behind a tree. It was a wolf whistle. And out from behind a tree pounced a handsome wolf.

Furry suits have a slit between the legs so that it is possilble to fuck without shedding one’s animal identity. The wolf’s cock and balls were hanging out through the gap.

“Who are you?” Bed wanted to know.

“I’m the Big Bad Wolf,” he explained. “Big for obvious reasons [pointing at his eight inch cock] and Bad referring to vice and not to performance.”

“You are a very handsome wolf,” she admitted. “And that lovely cock of yours makes my mouth water. But I’m on my way to deliver emergency aid to my sick grandmother. She’s sick of masturbating with her fingers and her last vibrator wore out.”

The wolf walked over to Red gazing hypnotically into her eyes. He fondled her soft round bottom over the fur. And sliding his hand through her slit he stroked the silky cheeks of her skin bottom, even tickling her warm tight little butthole. A damp patch was forming in the fur over her pussy.

Looking down she saw that the wolf’s cock was so stiff that it bent in an upward arc.

One more second and it would lead to a fuckfest that would leave Granny frustrated for another hour.

Red ran as fast as she could through the trees and away from temptation. She wished she could have at least left her phone number, but that couldn’t be helped.

When she was halfway to Granny’s place she did take a moment to look up The Big Bad Wolf’s Wikipedia page. She discovered that he wasn’t the same Big Bad Wolf who terrorised The Three Little Pigs. That wolf was a real estate developer. Wikipedia said that the Big Bad Wolf with the eight inch cock was a music producer.

“Well, we could make some sweet music together,” Bed smiled. “That’s for sure.”

* * *

The Big Bad Wolf had decided to play a joke on Bed.

He typed “Where is Little Bed Riding Good’s Grandmother’s House?” into Grok and discovered a shortcut that even Bed didn’t know about.

“Is that Bed with my vibrators?” Granny asked, when she heard the knock on the door.

“Even better,” replied the wolf, jerking off to get himself into full stiffness.

When the door opened on a beautiful slinky cat who oozed mature sexuality, he realised his preparation was unnecessary.

“Let me guess… you’re not from the Mormon’s,” she smiled, sinking to her knees and covering his cock with a rein of kisses.

“I’m a friend of your granddaughter Red and I heard you were in need,” he explained.

“She’s supposed to be bringing me a basket of vibrators,” she replied, “but I think she’s taken a break to try them out herself the little slut.”

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” he put in nervously.

“When I get my vibrators I’ll put on a real show for you. Two in the pussy, one in the ass and I squirt like a fire hose.”

The Wolf pushed Granny down onto her bed and slid his cock easily into her slippery cunt.

The wolf howled and the cat purred.

The wolf came in jets of hot spunk within the pussy’s pussy.

The wolf was spent and lay back resting, while Granny rubbed the warm cum around in her still horny pussy.

“I want to pay a joke on Bed when she gets here,” the Wolf explained. “I want to pretend to be you.”

“That’s not going to be very convincing,” she said, “We don’t look anything alike.”

“I want to wear your skin,” he revealed.

“You want to skin me naked?” she moaned, masturbating more furiously. “That’s so fucking humiliating. It’s my ultimate fantasy.”

It was hard for the Wolf to get Granny’s fingers out of her pussy long enough to get her cat suit off.

“Now you just have to hide in the cupboard,” he instructed.

Granny was quivering in ecstasy.

“You’ll have to tie me up,” she insisted.

“Another one of your fantasies?” sighted the Wolf.

He found a length of rope and tied her securely with knots he hadn’t used since he was in the Boy Scouts. And he took a napkin from the dining table and shoved it in her mouth and tied that around with more rope. Then he pushed her into the cupboard.

Not surprisingly the cat suit was not his size, but he was able to put on the mask. He’d just have to hide in the bed and keep the sheets up.

No sooner was he in place than there was a knock at the door.

“Come in, dear!” he called out in a feminine voice.

“I’ve brought your vibrators,” Bed announced as she walked through the door and dropped the basket on the floor.

“Come over here and sit beside me, dear,” the Wolf suggested, his tongue hanging out and drooling lustfully onto the bedsheets.

“My what a big tongue you have!” exclaimed Bed.

“All the better to lick… the stamps I put on my letters to you,” he told her.

“And what big hands you have!”

“All the better to spank you with… if you misbehave.”

Then he threw down the sheet and exposed his rock hard eight inches.

“And what a big stiff dick you have Granny!”

“All the better to fuck a smelly little skunk with!”

“I’m not smelly. And I knew it was you all along. I’m certainly glad you aran’t really Granny because it’s illegal to suck your own grandmother’s cock.” And she then proceeded to do that very thing.

The Wolf took off Granny’s mask and put his own back on.

“I bet your pussy is even wetter than your mouth is,” he told her as he rolled her into bed and slid his cock into the place where it was most wanted.

Bed didn’t even think to ask where her grandmother was until after she’d screamed out her orgasm and had her cunt filled to capacity with creamy cum.

“She’s tied up in the cupboard,” he explained when she asked.

“And skinless!?” she cried, seeing her grandmother’s cat suit on the floor.

It was at that moment that Yoni Bear, the woodsman, chopped down the front door with his big axe.

“I saw the whole thing with my binoculars and I’ve come to rescue the old lady!” he yelled.

He raised his axe over the cupboard door.

“No! No!”seid the wolf. “I’ll let her out!”

He opened the door and Granny rolled out..

The bear removed the gag from her mouth.

“Fuck me, you big beautiful bear!” gasped Granny. “No! No! Don’t untie me! Fuck me while I’m tied up. And slap me around a little bit.”

The bear’s cock was even bigger than the wolf’s and he knew how to please.

The Big Bad Wolf went back to Little Bed Riding Good’s place for that delayed fuckfest. He even made a guest appearance on her Only Fans page. But he never did get to see Granny’s notorious vibrator show.

The End

Ophelia Cox was a girl with a hobby. She collected selfies showing her smiling next to the aroused genitals of celebrities, male or female. She started off as a groupie for the gereatric ex-lead singer of a classic hard rock band, but it wasn’t long before she decided to branch out from her Plant-based diet.

Half the fun was finding a way to get access to them so she could exercise her considerable charms. She was a busty brunette with long shapely legs and an infectiously cheeky personality. But she had to do her research and use a bit of imagination.

Her current target was the talk show host Aaron Filings. She was hoping she would be able to attract him with her magnetic personality.

The first thing she did was to type a question into Grok : “What is Aaron Filings most profound sexual fetish?” She found that he had a weakness for licking passionfruit topping from ladies’ feet.

She breathed a sigh of relief that it was nothing smelly or requiring the receiving or infliction of pain.

“I think this is doable,” she told herself.

Now, how to get onto his show. Her hobby made her special but it wasn’t for public consumption, particularly on free-to-air TV.

After some deliberation she created a fictional character for herself. She would be Britain’s most fanatical cat-lady - Anita Fleacollar.

She went back to Grok and created photographs of herself in a large house filled wall-to-wall with felines three layers deep. She hoped they looked happy enough that she wouldn’t be reported to the RSPCA for overcrowding. The beauty of AI created cats is they don’t have to have access to a litter tray.

What she was most proud of was her stockings. She had them custom made in a rich dark yellow colour with black spots that looked like passionfruit seeds.

She sent Aaron the pictures as well as a self-portrait showing lots of cleavage. It was a slow week in the celebrity world so she made it on the show.

Two weeks later she was sitting in front of a studio audience with the handsome Mr. Filings sitting next to her.

“How much do you spend a week on cat food?” he asked.

“Cost is no matter for my little darlings,” she replied. “How do you feel about cats? I’ve heard you like pussies.”

The audience laughed.

“Well, you could say I’m an animal lover,” he responded, emphasising the last word.

“My pussies are very affectionate,” she explained, pulling her feet out of her shoes and wriggling her bestockinged feet. “They love to lick my toes.”

Aaron was going a bit red in the face, and when she looked down at his lap she saw he had a massive erection tenting his trousers.

“What a dino dick!” she thought to herself, She didn’t hear his next question as she imagined what the hot hardness of it would feel like against her soft cheek as she captured the event in pixels. How much of it would she be able to fit inside her mouth or pussy?

“Is there a man in your life?” was the question he had asked.

“No, they’ve all been desexed,” she replied, hoping he had asked something about kittens.

The audience laughed again. She’d been a hit in spite of herself.

Not surprisingly he had asked her out to dinner after the show.

By this stage Ophelia didn’t have to do any work. Aaron was clearly determined to get her back to his place.

No sooner had they entered his apartment, then she told him she had a confession to make.

“Im really Ophelia Cox.”

“I’ve heard about you! You’re the dick snapper. They say you’re really filthy.”

“I’m as filthy as I need to be to get what I want.”

His cock was getting stiff again.

“It seems a bit risky for a celebrity to let someone take nude photos of them,” he worried.

“You know my reputation. 100% discretion. The only reason you’ve heard of me is because people are so keen to brag about how much I wanted them,” she assured him. “And I can see that part of you is happy I’m here. Come on and get your clothes off. I can’t wait to see him. You’re lucky when you popped a boner during our interview that I didn’t dive across and unzip you and pull it out in front of the audience.”

“You are a wild one!” he exclaimed, beginning to remove his clothes.

“And these stockings aren’t a coincidence,” she explained, as she took them off. “I know your sweet little secret and it turns me on so much that my panties are going to need wringing out.”

They decided to have a shower together first.

“No fuckiing me with that beauty,” Ophelia warned, patting his hard prick on its head. “And no jerking off and squirting me with hot jets of cum, no matter how tempting it obviously is given the sublime sexiness of my soft warm naked body. You’re not allowed to cum until you’ve been captured for posterity.”

Somehow he managed to control himself and they were soon lying together on his bed and she had fetched her phone from her handbag.

“Let’s get some full body shots so I have some variety in what I can rub my pussy to later.”

He gave her a goofy grin as she snapped away. His cock, which was about 8 inches long, was still standing up proudly.

“Oh, God,” he groaned when she pushed her soft face up next to his cock and started snapping selfies.

“Don’t worry! Help is on the way,,” she promised, tossing her phone to one side. “I’m going to slide my wet cunt down over that proud pulsating prick of yours. But first I want you to see how wet you’ve made me up close.”

With this she swung a leg over him and brought her pussy down over this face, moving around over it until it was all slippery with cunt juice.

Then she turned around and slid her pussy down over his big cock, glorying at how tightly it filled her.

He slapped her left ass cheek with his right hand as they fucked.

It wasn’t long before he filled her juicy sex with spurt after spurt of hot spunk.

“Time for dessert!” Ophelia cried. “Bring on the passionfruit topping!”

She wriggled her pink little toes as he poured the golden black-speckled liquid over them. It tickled as it dribbled down between them and across her soles. She giggled.

She actually found she loved having her toes sucked and licked by a sexy man. It felt so decadent.

She was getting turned on again.

While he was busy on her toes she picked up the topping container and squirted a trail up the inside of her right leg before sticking the nozzle between her labia and filling her cunt with the sweet syrup.

The End

"I'm going to gut her grandparents!" growled Greta looking straight into the eye of the television camera. "When I've finished with her, Brandy will not only wish she'd never been born, she'll wish she'd never been conceived."

"So this time it's personal?" queried the commentator with great seriousness.

"It's been personal since our first fight," Greta replied. "There's a certain level of respect that's expected towards one's opponent in this sport, and making rabbit ears behind my head while the press are snapping photos is simply against the code."

"Some are saying that your transition from Flyweight to Light Bantamweight has left you feeling cocky," the commentator informed her.

"I'm heavier than I was," she replied. "It's all muscle. That means I can do more damage. And, believe me, I intend to."

The interview was over. Greta acknowledge the applause and met me back stage.

"Gut her grandparents?" I queried.

"A little too Tysonesque, you think," she smiled cheekily.

Greta's been boxing professionally for four years. I've been a trainer for fifteen. I used to train male boxers, but Greta's been getting my full attention since she hit the big time last year.

I can't say my motives for working exclusively with Greta are professional. She's no "million dollar baby". But money isn't everything.

My life changed on May 17 last year. I was all padded up and Greta was slamming her gloved fists into my chest and belly. The slap of leather on leather echoed around the empty gym. It was past midnight.

Perhaps I should explain that I've always had a thing for athletic women. Something about firm muscles and sweat. I'd fancied Greta since I first met her, but so far our relationship had been professional.

Then she landed that killer right hook to my head. I had the helmet on, but it still knocked me off my feet. I fell hard onto the canvass. It had been a long night, and I didn't feel like getting up right away. I looked up through bleary eyes to see Greta counting me out.

"And Greta wins the Flyweight Championship of the World!" she cried gleefully.

"That's enough for tonight," I panted.

"I'm too much for you, aren't I?" she crowed.

"Right now you are," I agreed.

"All the time I am," she teased, pulling off her gloves. And then, to my surprise, she turned around, pulled down her shorts and panties and waved her bare bum at me. The glaring lights of the gym reflected off of the rivulets of sweat that ran down over her pale but muscular buttocks.

"What do you think you're doing!?!" I cried.

"Don't worry," she replied. "Tomorrow I'll be back to being the good little fighter, but right now I'm sick of all that discipline and taking orders. And now that you are down on the canvas, like one of my loser bitch opponents, you can kiss my ass, coach!"

With that she squatted down and rubbed her sweaty butt-cheeks against my face. They were clammy with the cooling perspiration.

She didn't know what she did to me. This wasn't an attempt at seduction, but playful humiliation, but it was too much for me. I grabbed her hips and pulled her down over my face, thrusting my tongue deep into her hairy warm snatch.

"Fuck! You dirty dog!" she exclaimed, surprised but not displeased by this turn of events. "Suck my sweaty cunt! I deserve it after such a hard workout. And it looks like that isn't the only thing that's hard!"

Soon my shorts were down and my raging hard-on was sliding in and out of Greta's warm wet mouth.

It was a frenzied exchange between two individuals whose inhibitions had disappeared with the late hour, leaking away in the sweat of strenuous exercise.

"Ahhhhhhhhh," I moaned as my cum coated Greta's attentive tongue. And then her thighs twitched in a shivering orgasm of her own. After that we lay on the canvas for about an hour, talking tenderly, sometimes laughing, sometimes gently teasing each others satiated erogenous zones. Then we showered and went to our separate homes.

From that time onwards our training sessions took on a sexual tone. Greta would do her exercises - jumping rope, stretching, etc. - naked, while I watched and jacked off. This always made her laugh. And Greta could always earn sexual forfeits from me by performing well against me in the ring.

"I want you to throw the match," I told Greta on the evening before she was to take on her arch enemy Brandy.

"No way!" she insisted. "How can you even suggest such a thing!"

"You don't want to stay in this business too long," I explained to her. "You don't want to end up with brain damage and cauliflower ears."

"But what about my integrity?" she insisted. "What about my loyalty to my fans?"

"Your fans!?!" I exclaimed. "Why should you feel any loyalty to them? To them you're just a piece of meat. They don't care if you bleed. Boxing's a mug's game, unless you pull a scam and get out early. And losing this match could make you a lot of money. The odds are heavily in your favour."

"How can I let Brandy win?" she wanted to know.

"You'll be the winner. You'll have the cash," I pointed out.

She wasn't easy to convince. I had to organise a movie marathon at her place - The Harder They Come with Humphrey Bogart, Raging Bull, Tyson and, finally, Million Dollar Baby. That was the deciding factor.

"I don't want to die for my sport," she mused, "even if it does lead to an Oscar-winning movie."

* * *

“In the red corner, weighing in at 114.3 pounds, we have Brandy Alexander! And in the blue corner, weighing in at 115.1 pounds we have Greta Good, the reigning champion!” the announcer yelled into his microphone.

“I want a good clean fight. No punching below the belt. No taking a dive for the quick cash before you end up a punch drunk has-been living on the streets,” insisted the referee.

When the bell went off, Greta and Brandy leapt out and then began to dance forward and back looking to get in an opening blow. I’d told Greta to put up a good fight until the third round and then go down.

Brandy dove in close, her arm swinging out, her fist smacking hard into Greta’s temple. Greta staggered back. The bell for the round went. She returned to her corner and I handed her her water bottle.

“Get in some blows,” I told her, “but make sure they aren’t too hard.”

Greta really made her presence felt in the second round, but I could tell she was holding herself back. She could have beaten Brandy by now.

I sponged the sweat off of her face and sent her in for the decisive round.

And then it happened. Greta swung at Brandy and Brandy went down hard.

“I never even hit her!” Greta cried to me.

“Shut up!” I yelled. “Everyone can hear you.”

“Did I do good?” Brandy was asking her couch, as the referee continued to count her out.

“Shut up!” yelled Brandy’s coach. “Everyone can hear you.”

“And the winner is Greta Good!” announced the referee.

“The mob’s not going to take kindly to this,” I explained to Greta, when we got back to her changing room.

“There was nothing I could do,” she insisted.

“I know. I know,” I assured her. “But we are going to have to find some place to hide out.”

“For the time being you can hide out at our gym,” suggested Brandy, whom we turned to discover listening in the doorway. “They’ll never look for you there.”

“Why should you help us, you cunt?” asked Greta.

“I’m gonna need to hide, too,” she pointed out, “once I get my money.”

“My money you mean!” yelled Greta.

“We can sort that out later,” Brandy insisted. “But at the moment it is obvious to everybody that the fight was fixed and we were all involved. So, if we hang around here, we won’t be alive to spend the money.”

* * *

“My coach did a runner with the money,” explained Brandy when we arrived at the gym where she trained.

“I’m going to kick you in the cunt, you fuckin’ bitch!” screamed Greta, making a dive for her.

“Now! Now! No fighting,” I insisted, throwing myself between them.

“Get out of the way!” shrieked Greta. “I’m going to gargle with her gizzards! And I’m going to do it right now!”

I was facing Brandy, holding my arms out to protect her from the banshee that was Greta.

The next thing I knew my pants and underpants where around my ankles and Brandy was laughing at my exposed cock and balls.

“Fuck it!” I declared. “You two deserve each other.” And so I stepped aside, taking care not to over-balance with my pants around my ankles.

They may have been pretending in the ring, but they weren’t now. They went at each other like mad dogs, fangs bared, tearing at each other’s clothing until they stood scratched and bleeding and stark naked. And then things changed.

It happened in an instant. Their mouths came together in a passionate kiss. Their hands began forcefully fondling each other’s naked buttocks and each began rubbing her pussy against the other’s thigh.

“That’s better,” I told them, slipping out of my own clothes. “You two make up and be friends.” I came up close and began running my hands over their sweaty bodies as my cock stiffened and insinuated itself between their bellies.

“Who said you could join in?” asked Greta, pulling her lips away from Brandy’s. Then she turned to her and added, “He’s such a perv. He even jacks off while I do my workouts.”

“What a dirty old man,” Brandy replied, running her fingers up and down my stiff cock.

“I’m not that old,” I pointed out.

“Certainly not old enough to know better,” huffed Greta.

“O.K.,” I said, putting on my referee’s voice, “I want a good dirty lezzyfest. I want plenty of licking below the belt. A plethora of pussy gouging. And may the biggest slut win.”

I wanked off as I watched them writhing away on the mat on the floor for a full hour, licking and fingering each other’s pussies, and having multiple orgasms, before, finally, Brandy lost consciousness.

“And the winner is Greta!” I cried, holding her arm aloft with one hand and using the other to point my cock and cover her with a celebratory coating of jism.

The End

Illustrations by Grok

Lara Lindstrom's world was torn apart when she came home and found her husband Larry masturbating to a DVD of Deep Throat.

This might not seem such a cataclysmic event until you learn that Lara and Larry were stalwarts in the Flee from Filth crusade. When not praying for the souls of perennial perverts and maniacal masturbators they door-knocked to raise awareness of the threat of pornography.

Lara was very good at door-knocking. She was so sweet and charming. Women would listen patiently to what she had to say, whether they agreed with it or not, because they didn't want to be rude to someone so good-natured. And those men who didn't agree with what she had to say would still listen to her because she had rosy cheeks, a freckled nose, full pink lips, blonde pigtails and a shapely figure only partly hidden by her modest summer dress. They would nod in agreement as she told them that porn was the biggest problem in the world at the moment and they would shake their heads and tut as she explained that men who looked at porn sometimes demanded sex from their wives more than once a week, and all the time they were storing her up in their spank banks.

And Lara adored her husband Larry. Larry always wore suits and carried himself with great authority. It was he who had convinced her of the dangers of pornography and fired her up for the task of carrying this message to the world. She would often count her blessings that he had been there to save her from her base nature. For what else could explain the fact that she couldn't actually see anything wrong with sex? It had to be explained to her that God thought it was dirty, and God knew best.

But then she came home to their apartment in New York City to find Larry with his pants around his ankles and his hand wrapped around his stiff cock. On their big screen television Linda Lovelace was doing an impersonation of Godzilla swallowing a submarine. Her lips were sliding down over a huge fat penis until they rested on it's owner's pubic hair. Larry was groaning as he stroked his prick.

"I don't understand," said Lara. "Won't God be upset? Isn't that dirty?"

"Oh, Jesus!" exclaimed Larry, desperately trying to shove his hard-on back into his underpants and find the television remote.

"I must be a really bad person," Lara confessed. "Because that looks like fun to me. Both what she is doing and what you were doing."

"It is fun," Larry moaned. "That's what makes it all so hard."

"Yes," agreed Lara. "I saw that it was hard."

"I don't mean that," Larry tried to explain. "I had a lapse. One of the men on whose door I knocked repented of his sinful ways and insisted on handing over his pornography collection for me to destroy. But I couldn't resist looking at it. And the devil possessed my penis."

"Would it make you happy if I sucked on your penis like that lady was doing?" Lara wanted to know.

"Don't even speak of such a thing," Larry begged. "It would make me the happiest man in the world, for now, but I would burn in Hell later."

"I wouldn't want that," Lara whimpered. "I want everyone to be happy. Why does God have to be such a bastard telling us we can't enjoy sex as much as we want, like in those movies."

"Blasphemer!" cried Larry. "I will never win this battle with the sins of the flesh if I have to live with a wife who would be willing to suck my penis."

And so Lara, her mind a maelstrom of conflicting desires, ran off into the night. She walked and walked, all night long, and as the dawn rose the next day she realised that there was no alternative but to return to her home town of Pleasant Valley and the reassuring arms of her parents.

At first Clive and Karen Browne were happy to have their daughter back with them, even though they were unhappy to hear that her marriage was not going well. But, fairly soon after arriving back in Pleasant Valley, Lara began to exhibit some very strange and troubling behaviour.

One morning Gary Stewart, the owner of a the local bookstore, was distracted from his breakfast of bacon and eggs by a knock on the front door. When he opened it he found Lara standing there in jeans and a t-shirt and with a big smile on her face.

"Hey, Lara," he said. "I didn't know you were back in town. What can I do for you?"

"Gary," Lara began, her face turning suddenly serious. "There is a serious problem in this world of ours. Do you know what it is?"

"No," replied the mystified Gary. "What is it?"

"Not enough guys are getting their cocks sucked," Lara declared.

"I beg your pardon!?!" cried Gary, looking over his shoulder and hoping that his wife was not in earshot.

"Not having your cock sucked regularly can lead to nervous tension," Lara told him. "But don't worry, I'm here to suck your cock for you."

"You can't do that!" he exclaimed, now sure that his wife would appear any minute.

"What's the matter?" asked Lara, suddenly turning hostile. "Am I not good enough for you?" And then she slapped his face hard and kneed him in the nuts.

* * *

“This is just a phase she is going though,” explained Doctor Zeitgeist, the expensive psychiatrist hired by Mr. and Mrs. Browne. “Catching her husband masturbating after having been indoctrinated by him into a sex-negative ideology put Lara in what we call a double bind. She didn’t feel she could abandon what her husband had taught her to believe, and yet she couldn’t continue to promote it if she doubted his sincerity. Their crusade gave her a meaning in her life, but her sexuality also demands to be expressed. So now she has found a delusional escape route by turning sex into a crusade.”

“How can we get her to stop?” asked Mr. Browne.

“Oh, we mustn’t do that,” Doctor Zeitgeist warned him. “If we were to try to fight against her delusion she might become embattled and thus stuck in this phase of her recovery. For that is what it is, a process of working through her feelings as she moves towards a state of wholeness.”

“But she’s knocking on the doors of all of the men in town offering to s... er, orally service them,” pointed out a distraught Mrs. Browne.

“How have the men responded to this?” asked the doctor.

“So far, thankfully, they’ve politely declined her services,” Mr. Browne replied. “But she gets quite violent when they do.”

“This won’t do,” declared the doctor, shaking his head. “Only if she is allowed to carry out what she sees as her mission will she be able to move to the next phase of her healing.”

“Are you saying we should let our daughter suck the cocks of all the men in town!?!” cried Mrs. Browne, and then blushed a deep crimson when she realised what she had said.

“It’s not so much a case of you letting her do it,” Zeitgeist responded, “as of the men of the town being persuaded to let her do it to them. This is a caring town. I’m sure that when it is explained to these men that it is for the girl’s own good they will be willing to surrender their penises into her mouth.”

"Hush now, citizens of Pleasant Valley!" yelled Mayor Bradley, as the public assembly burst into noisy uproar. "I know that this is a most unusual request. At first it may conflict with what you feel to be good and right. But a young woman's mental health is at stake. You all know Lara, and I'm sure you care about her welfare as much as I. In the big cities people have become callous and cynical, but in small towns like Pleasant Valley the true spirit of community is still alive. And that is why I ask the men of this town, when offered an act of oral sex upon their persons from the charming Miss Lindstrom, to just say 'Yes.' And I would ask the wives and girlfriends of these men to remember that your men are not allowing Miss Lindstrom to gobble their seed because of any dissatisfaction with your own lovely selves but because they are true men of compassion who will not turn away from one in need, but rather open their pants, pull out their Johnsons and make a generous donation into her mouth."

There was much heated discussion, but over the course of the hour-long meeting everyone came to accept that what the Mayor said made sense. They could see that, if they humoured Lara, eventually she would come back to the real world and either repair her relationship with her husband or find someone new with whom she could develop a healthy bond.

Three days later there was a knock on the door at the Stewart house.

Mrs. Stewart opened the door to find Lara smiling sweetly at her.

“Have you come to suck my husband’s cock?” she asked.

“Yes, Mrs. Stewart, I have,” nodded Lara. “I’m so glad that everyone seems to have grown to understand how important this crusade is.”

“I do suck my husband’s cock myself, you know,” Mrs. Stewart replied.

“And I’m sure you do a wonderful job,” Lara enthused brightly. “But I’m equally sure Gary - I may call him that, may I not? - can never have too much of a good thing.”

“Well, please do come in and make yourself at home,” responded Mrs. Stewart, as her husband came up the hall.

“Who is it dear?” he asked.

“It’s Lara Lindstrom, honey,” she told him, “she’s here to suck your cock.”

“I don’t know about this,” he whispered to her nervously. “Are you sure?”

“Now, don’t you be a stick in the mud, sweetie,” she scolded him gently. “You wouldn’t want to be rude, would you? So drop your pants and let the nice girl get to work.”

Nervously, Gary unzipped his trousers and let them fall to the floor. His cock was so stiff it was poking out over the top of his underpants.

“My, he is glad to see you,” his wife commented, smiling at Lara but then turning to Gary with a surreptitious look of reproach.

Gary made a “what’s a guy supposed to do when a hot chick demands to suck his cock” gesture to his wife as Lara pulled down his underpants and set his excited prick free.

“Gary’s not used to having someone so young and attractive pleasuring his penis,” his wife explained to Lara.

“Now, honey, you know I...oh, God...find you...oh, sweet Jesus...sexy,” he panted, as Lara licked the pre-cum off of the head of his cock.

“He really likes having his balls licked,” his wife told Lara.

“Oh, thank you,” Lara smiled, dropping down towards Gary’s scrotum. “I always love it when a man’s wife and I can work as a team.”

“And he likes it when I talk dirty to him,” Mrs. Stewart added.

Lara stopped sucking on Gary’s balls long enough to speak.

“I want you to screw my pretty little face with your man meat, you whore-fucking cunt,” she said politely.

“She’s good at this,” Gary’s wife commented.

“You join in too,” suggested Lara as she once more took Gary’s testicles into her mouth.

“Suck on my husband’s hairy ball-bag you dirty, filthy, crazy-as-fuck little psycho whore!” she screamed.

“Don’t overdo it,” her husband warned her.

“Just a bit of role-play,” she replied nervously, straightening her dress.

Lara slid her wet lips slowly down the length of Gary’s throbbing boner, quivering with the ecstasy of being the deliverer of a divine message.

“I’ll go and make us all a cup of coffee,” suggested Mrs. Stewart. “Do you have cream, Lara?”

“I do now,” Lara chuckled, allowing some of Gary’s cum to dribble from between her lips.

“You did that very well,” declared Gary, standing with a dopey smile on his face as his now flaccid cock dribbled semen onto the living room carpet.

“You were my number fifteen,” Lara explained proudly. “Next I’m off to visit Mr. Kramer down the end of the street.”

The three of them drank their cups of coffee and made polite chitchat. Lara waved goodbye to them cheerfully as they ushered her out the front door.

She knocked on the front door of No. 37, but it wasn’t Mr. or Mrs. Kramer who answered. It was their nineteen-year-old son Jamie who was visiting them for the college break.

“I’ve come to suck your dad’s cock,” Lara told him.

“He’d probably like that,” Jamie replied. “But he’s out of town on business for a couple of days. You might have to come back another time.”

“Oh,” Lara responded. “I don’t suppose you’d like to have your cock sucked?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Jamie hesitated. But then he remembered what his friends had told him about the extraordinary public meeting and the Mayor’s advice to the town. “Come on in. We can give it a go.”

“Shall we go to your bedroom?” Lara suggested. “You can lay down on the bed and be comfortable while I lick a really nice big jizz-spurt out of your prick. Sound good?”

“It sounds good,” he said, doubtfully.

“Oh, you’re a David Fincher fan!” cried Lara when she saw the big poster of a shirtless Brad Pitt in Fight Club that decorated Jamie’s clothes cupboard door. “I used to love all those films - Fight Club, Seven, Alien 3 - back before I got married. But my husband didn’t approve of anything but inspirational movies.”

Jamie lay back on his bed while Lara unzipped his jeans and pulled them, as well as his underpants, down his muscular legs. His cock was large, but it was completely flaccid.

“Not happy to see me?” teased Lara, flopping it back and forth.

“I do like you,” Jamie insisted. “Maybe it will come to life when you start sucking it.”

Lara took the fat sausage into her mouth and tugged on it gently with her lips. She rolled it around her mouth with her tongue. She tried licking his balls, and then she tried holding it in her hand and flicking her tongue quickly back and forth over the head. No reaction.

“Perhaps you should try thinking of someone else while I do it,” she suggested. “Or some fantasy, like being dragged into the girl’s locker room at college for a soapy orgy with ten cheerleaders. Something like that.”

“I’ll try,” he said, looking up at the Brad Pitt poster.

“Wow! That’s more like it,” Lara declared as his cock grew right under her nose. She happily wrapped her lips around it and began giving it a tongue bath.

“Mmmmmm, that’s nice,” sighed Jamie, patting her on the head. Now his eyes were closed and he was somewhere else.

Lara felt a great sense of satisfaction when she felt a shower of hot spunk bathe the back of her throat.

After that she and Jamie lay around talking and laughing

* * *

“A new phase?” Gary Stewart asked of his wife.

“Yes,” she replied. “I kind of thought she would go from the cock sucking phase straight to normality, but apparently not. Mrs. Turner rang me a couple of days ago and said that Lara turned up on their doorstep in the middle of the night and said, ‘I want to sleep in your bed tonight’. Of course they let her. Doctor Zeitgeist said we should go along with her regardless. She wouldn’t tell me what happened. And then Sally rang yesterday with much the same story.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll all just have to weather it,” Gary replied.

That night it was their turn.

“Is there room enough for three in your bed?” Lara asked as she stood on the doorstep in robe and slippers. “I feel kind of lonely.”

“Sure, honey,” replied Mrs. Stewart. “By the way, my name is Edith.”

“Gary and Edith,” sighed Lara. “My bestest friends in all the world.”

“It’s going to be a tight squeeze,” Edith warned as they entered the bedroom. “We only have a regular double, not a queen or king-size.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage, though,” Gary added.

“Let’s all sleep nude!” cried Lara. “It’s much more fun that way.”

“If you insist,” responded Edith, taking off her baggy pyjamas.

Lara slipped off her robe and lifted her nightie over her head, revealing her soft pale breasts with rosy pink nipples. Then down came her knickers to reveal a mass of blonde pubes between her chubby thighs.

Gary unbuttoned his pyjama top and shrugged it off, then pulled down his bottoms.

“Oh, surprise surprise,” his wife said sarcastically. “It’s Benny the Boner.”

“It’s biology,” Gary replied defensively.

They all climbed into the bed and pulled the sheet over themselves. Flesh was pressed closely against flesh. Edith was by the wall, Lara was in the middle and Gary was pressed up against her with his stiff prick wedged into the soft warmth of her arse-crack.

“I’ve just discovered something I really love!” Lara enthused. “Sucking boobies!” She launched herself on Edith and began sucking enthusiastically on one of her nipples and then the other.

“Errrr, I’ve never had a girl do that to me before,” Edith told her nervously. “I’m more into guys. Well, into my husband, that is.”

“Doesn’t it feel good?” Lara asked.

“Well, now that you mention it, it isn’t exactly painful,” she admitted.

“If you like that,” Lara enthused. “You’ll love this!” And she reached down and started twiddling with Edith’s clit. Then she slid a couple of fingers into the older woman’s pussy. “Liar! Liar! Pants on fire!” Lara cried. “If you didn’t like me sucking your boobs, you wouldn’t be so wet down there.”

“You dirty little bitch,” smiled a randy Gary. “I never thought you’d go for a bit of the old girl-on-girl action.”

“Don’t get so cocky,” threatened his wife, “or I might turn you in for a saucy little slut.”

“Fuck me, Gary!” insisted Lara. “Fill my horny little cunt with your hot spunk. Then we’ll see if your wife wants to lick my pussy juice off of your cock.”

* * *

It was only a week later that Lara turned up once more on Mr. Stewart’s doorstep. She was carrying some items in a plastic carry bag.

“Hi, Mr. Stewart,” she smiled. “I’m in a new phase now. I want you to drop your pants and bend over. Then I’m going to fuck you up the arse with this ten-inch strap-on while your wife takes a dump on the kitchen table.”

“I’m getting sick of these phases,” Mr. Stewart replied tiredly.

“Just kidding,” Lara replied, giggling. “I’m all better now. I’m getting a divorce from my husband. And I’ve found a new guy.”

“Really,” replied Gary with obvious relief. “Do I know him?”

“Jamie Kramer,” she sighed, romantically. “We really are a match made in heaven you know. We love so many of the same things...action movies...working out at the gym...Lisa Minnelli...cock-sucking...

The End

Illustrations by Grok

“I hope that Matron doesn’t notice that I’m late again,” fretted Nicki as she hurried down the hospital corridor, the rubber soles of her shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum.

“Nicki! In my office, this minute!” barked the voice she was dreading to hear.

“What time of the day do you call this, Missy?” asked Matron Sloan, with a glare that pinned Nicki to the spot much like a lepidopterist crucifying a butterfly.

“The morning?” Nicki tried, a little optimistically.

“It is exactly 9.05 A.M.,” the Matron informed her. “In the five minutes for which you are being paid, but have been absent, three patients have filled their bedpans, one has vomited, and two have died.”

“Two of my patients have died?” Nicki asked, grief-stricken.

“Well, no. They weren’t your patients. They were Sally’s patients. But that is only a matter of luck. If any of your patients had been dying, you wouldn’t have been here to stop it happening,” the Matron pointed out.

“Yes, Matron,” Nicki replied, looking contrite.

“Now get about your work, girl. And don’t let it happen again.”

As she made her way to her ward, Nicki passed Sally in the hall. She was talking to that handsome Doctor Kilmore.

“How was I to know that that was a saline drip and not an insulin drip?” she was saying. “They all look the same to me.”

Although not popular with the Matron, Nicki was very popular with the patients, especially the male ones. With her sweet, rosy-cheeked smile and her full bosom, which constantly threatened to burst the buttons of her starched white uniform, she won their hearts and raised more than their temperatures. Yes, that’s right, she raised their spirits, as well. Hospitals can be depressing places, but Nicki helped many a seriously ill patient to keep his pecker up.

Whether she was emptying bedpans, lancing boils or inserting rectal thermometers, Nicki went about her duties with a cheery smile, and a kind word for all.

“How are you feeling today, Mr. Whipsnade?” she asked, taking an elderly man’s wrist between her fingers and consulting the watch that was pinned to her uniform over her right breast.

“I can’t complain,” the old man replied, with a twinkle in his eye, “but I don’t feel as nice as you do, that’s for sure.”

Nicki felt the old man’s hand run up the back of her leg beneath her skirt.

“Now, now. Be a good boy,” she scolded him, dropping his wrist and slapping his hand away from her leg. Normally she would have let him have a quick feel of her panties, but this morning she had been in such a hurry that she hadn’t had time to put any on. She didn’t want to over excite the old man. After all he had a heart condition.

The highlight of Nicki’s morning was when Dr. Kilmore did his rounds. With his pale blue eyes, his reddish brown hair swept over his brow at a dashing angle, his rugged chin and golden tan, he looked like he might have just stepped out of a TV soap opera. In fact he had. After a malpractice suit had temporarily forced him out of medical practise, he had tried his hand at acting.

It was a disaster. Not because he lacked acting talent. In a day-time soap none was required of him. It was his consistent complaints about medical inaccuracies in the scripts that had finally led the producers to arrange for his character to contract beriberi from one of his patients and die a hideous death. By this time, however, he had earned enough money to hire a good lawyer and challenge the malpractice charge in a higher court. Now he was back in action and leaving in his wake a swathe of broken hearts and festering sutures.

Nicki’s eyes lit up with adoration as she watched him examining patients, and all the while explaining their conditions to a crowd of medical students, who hung on his every word. She didn’t know if it was his boyish charm, the compassion that he showed towards his patients, or the way his butt looked when he bent over in those tight white trousers, but whenever he was around her heart skipped a beat. Of course, it could have been a simple case of associative cardiovascular arrhythmia, but since she was at heart a romantic, she didn’t look for scientific explanations.

The joy of Dr. Kilmore’s rounds was not unmixed with sadness however, for she could not help but notice that his attentions were always directed at Tanya, her fellow ward nurse and never towards herself. Oh, sure, he smiled at Nicki, and greeted her warmly each morning. But it was Tanya, with her long slim legs, jet black hair and taut buttocks with whom he flirted, whispering things in her ear that would make her call him a “naughty boy” but with a look on her face that just encouraged him. Tanya made Nicki feel dumpy and plain. How would she ever win the love of a dashing romantic hero like Dr. Kilmore.

After a hard day at work, Nicki liked to relax in a nice warm shower. It was here that she allowed herself to indulge her fantasies about Dr. Kilmore. That evening, as she removed her white towelling robe and stepped into the shower, relishing the feel of the warm jets of water on her skin, she found herself more preoccupied than ever with thoughts of the good doctor.

“I wonder what he looks like naked,” she thought, absent-mindedly running her right hand up and down the long hard cylinder of her shampoo container. “I bet he has an all over tan.”

She imagined him nude, sunbathing in his backyard. His cock was stiff, as it always was in her fantasies, and fully eight inches long, making him look for all the world like a fleshy sundial.

She wriggled with sensuous delight as she ran her soapy hands over her nude body. It was only a matter of time before the finger tips of her left hand began to gently tease and stroke her large pink nipples one after the other, and her right hand slid over her belly and through her pubes to find the slippery warmth of her pussy.

Nicki loved to masturbate. She had had her share of lovers and liked the feeling of a stiff cock inside her, but no man that she had ever been with could give her the same pleasure that she was able to give herself.

“Tanya’s just an anorexic, uptight, self-opinionated bitch,” Dr. Kilmore told her in her fantasy. “You’re the one I really love, with your big soft boobs and your generous womanly bottom. I must see you naked. Strip for me.”

Slowly and seductively she stripped out of her nurse’s uniform, dancing in the permanent sunshine of Dr. Kilmore’s backyard. All the while his eyes roamed over her emerging nakedness as he slowly stroked his stiff cock.

By the time the fantasy Nicki was giving Dr. Kilmore an open-mouthed kiss and rubbing her stiff-nippled boobs against his chest as she impaled her sopping wet pussy on his rock hard sex, the real Nicki was crouched on the floor of the shower with her shampoo container jammed half-way up her vagina.

Later that night she cried herself to sleep cuddling her teddy bear to which she had sown a stethoscope and an eight inch dildo in a vain attempt to convince herself that she was sharing her bed with her true love.

Nicki had always dreamt of being a theatre nurse. Emptying bedpans was all well and good. Someone had to do it. But Nicki dreamt of the glamour of the operating theatre. In her dreams she and Dr. Kilmore where a team working together like clockwork to save the lives of their patients.

The following day a freak accident brought Nicki’s dream to life. Sort of.

Uri Geller, the famous psychic, was making a TV appearance. While transmitting his psychokinetic energies to a million viewers all over the United States, who were hoping that their clocks would start working or that their unwanted keys would bend, he suffered an unexpected attack of appendicitis. Suddenly the hospitals of America were flooded with people whose appendixes had burst in sympathy with his own.

This was Nicki’s chance at the big time. All nurses were called into theatre duty, and Nicki was to work with Dr. Kilmore. Her heart pounded in her well-padded chest as she washed her hands and donned her surgical gloves.

“Retractor,” said Dr. Kilmore, and Nicki handed it to him.

“Clamp,” he said, and it was in his hand.

“Sponge.” She wiped the sweat from his forehead.

It was just like in her dreams. She looked at him, his whole being concentrated on the task in hand. He had never looked so handsome, so debonair. She marvelled once more at the crystal blue of his eyes, the reddish tint in his hair as it glinted under the glaring theatre lights. She knew that she loved him, and she knew that, come what may, she would one day make him hers.

“Scalpel,” he said.

She handed him the scalpel.

“Oh, fuck, Nicki!” he screamed. “You’re supposed to hand them to me handle first.”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, and wished that she could just sink into the floor and disappear.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” cried Dr. Kilmore, shaking his sliced finger and splattering blood all over the patient.

The other nurses took him over to sit on a chair in the corner of the theatre, stripped the rubber glove from his right hand and began bandaging his finger.

The anaesthetist looked up from his machine to see what was happening and accidentally let the dial drop back to zero.

Nicki was wiping the tears from her eyes and blowing her nose, when the patient sat up and asked her if he was going to be all right. He then looked down at the open hole in his lower belly and fainted.

All in all, it had been a disaster and it seemed that her dreams of winning the handsome doctor’s heart had been dashed forever.

If the day had ended there, Nicki might never have been able to drag herself in to work the next day. But that afternoon, something happened that brought a song back into her heart. Her favourite racing driver, Todd Thunder, crashed his formula one vehicle and broke both his arms.

When he was brought into the ward, Nicki couldn’t believe her eyes. She recognised that unshaven face and those deep brown eyes from a hundred television broadcasts. He even gave her a weary smile as he was lifted into his bed by two orderlies, who then attached the casts on each of his arms to overhead pulleys.

Nicki felt dizzy with excitement when she realised that she would be looking after the most intimate needs of one of the sexiest men alive.

At five o’clock that afternoon it was time for Todd’s sponge bath. Nicki pulled down his sheets. He wasn’t wearing a pyjama top or surgical gown because, with his arms trussed up, it would be too difficult to put on and take off. The sight of his broad chest with its covering of wiry black hair, caused a warm wetness to form in Nicki’s panties. This was much better than emptying bedpans.

“There is no need to be embarrassed,” Nicki assured him, as she pulled down his pyjama bottoms and tried not to lick her lips at the sight of his cock, which lay like a fat sausage on a bed of jet-black pubes. “I’m a nurse, I’ve seen plenty of these things.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you have lovely eyes?” he asked, in a soft but manly voice.

“Not when they had their pants down they didn’t,” she smiled. “Now don’t let Matron hear you talking like that. Flattering the nursing staff is a punishable offence.”

“I would suffer any punishment for you, my princess,” he vowed as she wiped his face and began to sponge down his chest.

“You’re incorrigible,” she laughed, accidentally spilling some water from the basin down the front of her uniform. “Now look what you made me do.”

“You’d better take it off,” he suggested. “Anyway I can’t see why I should have to be nude when you’re not.”

“That’s because I’m the nurse and your the patient. Nude nurses giving sponge baths to patients!,” she exclaimed. “The very idea! Just think of what that would lead to!”

“I am. I am,” he assured her, and when she looked down at his cock she could see that it was true. It was standing up as stiff as a flagpole.

“Oh, my God!” she cried, covering her mouth to hide her smile, and turning a lovely shade of red.

“I thought you said you’d seen hundreds of them,” he laughed, not at all troubled by this state of affairs.

“Not like that, I haven’t,” she said.

“He’s waiting for you to wash him,” Todd explained. “I can’t very well do it for myself.”

“Well, you have a point there,” she admitted, taking a long hard look at his stiffy. “Quite a point in fact.” She broke down giggling, and then covered her mouth when she realised that this might arouse suspicion about just what was going on behind those screens.

Gingerly she wrapped the soapy cloth around his stiff cock and ran her hand up its length from base to tip. Then she carefully washed his balls.

“Oh, God. That’s wonderful,” sighed Todd. “You don’t think you could finish me off, if you know what I mean. I know it’s a lot to ask, but with my arms up like this, it’s going to be a very frustrating time for me.”

“Oh, all right,” she agreed. “But just remember, if anyone ever found out about this I’d probably lose my job.”

Dropping the cloth into the basin she grasped his stiff cock with her bare hand and began to wank him off.

“Feel nice?” she asked, as her cool wet hand tugged the loose skin of his cock over the rock hard stiffness beneath.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

“You don’t want to marry a tubby, plain little nurse like me,” she objected. “You’re only saying that because you were so desperate for a wank. Normally you wouldn’t look at me twice.”

“Oh, no. You’re wrong,” he insisted. “You have the sweetest smile of any girl I have ever seen, and the way that sexy body of yours fills your uniform to bursting just makes me want to tear all of your clothes off and have my wicked way with you.”

“Oh, dear,” Nicki replied. “You’ll have to wait until your arms are better to do that.”

“Couldn’t you just give me a little sneak preview?” he pleaded.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Couldn’t you let me have a little look at your boobs?” he explained. “No-one will see with the screen around us.”

Nicki knew that it was a tremendous risk, but nobody had ever expressed such admiration for her body before and she couldn’t resist the opportunity to bask in Todd’s lustful adoration.

“All right,” she agreed. She let go of his dick and unbuttoned the front of her uniform. Pulling it open she lifted her bra to let her soft full breasts spill out from underneath. Smiling at him, she ran a finger softly around her large pink nipples. Todd groaned and she bent forward and rubbed her soft boobs against his stiff cock.

“What about your bottom? Can I see your bottom, too?” he asked, overcome with lust.

Nicki couldn’t believe that any guy could find her big, fat bum sexy, but she was delighted to show it to him. She turned her back and pulled down her panties. She then grabbed the hem of her uniform and lifted it up, wagging her fleshy bottom at him so that it wiggled deliciously.

“Now I’d better finish wanking you off, before we get caught,” she whispered, sitting back down and grasping his stiffy once more.

“How long does it take to give a patient a sponge bath?” a harsh voice complained from behind her as the screen was pulled back. And that was how Matron Sloan discovered her. With her panties around her ankles, her tits hanging out and Todd’s stiff cock shooting wads of hot cum all over her hyperactively jerking fist.

“I really did enjoy being a nurse,” Nicki told Todd, as she felt his strong hands rubbing sunscreen into the nude bottom that was the centre of his erotic universe. They were sunning themselves on their own private beach. “If old Mr. Whipsnade hadn’t died and left me all that money in his will, I really would have tried to get another job, although it would have been difficult without any references.”

“You wouldn’t have been content for me to support you?” he asked, giving her bum a playful slap to indicate that it was now fully protected against UV radiation.

“The only way I want you to support me is on that big stiff cock of yours,” she laughed, rolling him over and jumping on top of him. “Come on, let’s fuck!”

The End

Illustrations by Grok

Robin Crusoe was bored. She was also horny. The steady rise and fall of the sailing vessel as it made its way over the mighty waves of the Pacific Ocean reminded her of sex. But then everything had a way of reminding Robin of sex.

So far, on the voyage, she had contented herself with masturbating in her cabin, but tonight she was feeling more adventurous. She knew that the hunkiest of the sailors was taking the night watch on deck, so she slipped out of her bloomers and went aloft. The sea breeze whipped up the hem of her long dress and she felt the ocean spray upon the tender flesh of her bosom which was lifted and displayed to best advantage by her bodice.

There was Matthew, the spunky sailor, standing on the deck.

"Hello, there," she greeted him. "I couldn't sleep."

"Greetings, ma'am," he replied. His shirt was open to the navel, displaying his hairy muscular chest.

"Where's the Southern Cross?" Robin wanted to know.

"That's it up there," Matthew pointed. As he did, Robin moved up close and began to rub the front of his breaches.

"Did I ever tell you that I'm very fond of seamen?" she purred.

"If you keep that up you might get more than you bargained for, you saucy wench," threatened the sailor.

"The question is whether you can keep it up," chuckled Robin, unbuttoning the man's fly and freeing his now rock hard cock.

"Thank goodness the captain has been hitting the bottle hard this evening," Matthew pointed out. "Normally he puts in a regular appearance. But I think, tonight, I might be able to give you what you want without danger of being interrupted."

"I think it's what you want too," Robin said, stroking his hot hard prick. "And I've taken my bloomers off for easy access." She lifted her dress to give a quick flash of her hairy pussy.

The next thing she knew she was bent over the ship's railing with the sea spray drenching her face and boobs, as Matthew lifted her dress, gave her bare bottom a slap and then slid his hard cock deep into her juicy wet cunt.

"Oh, God!" she moaned. "That's exactly what I need."

"Your cunt's so wet!" exclaimed Matthew. "How slutty can a lady be?"

"A lady is someone who appreciates the fine things of life," she sighed. "And that sure is a fine thing you're thrusting into my tender cunt."

With his big calloused hands he grabbed at her soft bum cheeks as he pumped away.

As pleasure coursed through her body her legs began to wobble. And then she felt her juices flowing out over his cock and down her legs.

"Ahhhhhh," he groaned as he shot his load in her steaming depths.

"Anything to report?" asked a deep voice from down the other end of the deck.

"Shit!" Matthew exclaimed softly. Then he grabbed Robin's legs and quickly flipped her over the side of the ship. She fell into the water with a splash which was drowned out by the sound of the waves hitting the bow of the vessel.

"Help! Help!" yelled Robin.

"What was that?" asked the captain.

"Just the porpoises," replied Matthew.

Within half an hour, the ship had disappeared over the horizon and Robin was bobbing like a cork in the massive waves.

The first thing she did was to struggle out of her dress. She was a good enough swimmer, but she had to be free to move and not weighed down by wet clothing.

She could swim, but where? She had no way of finding the nearest land.
Just as she was considering this question her eye was caught by movement off to her left. In the light of the near full moon she could see a large fin coming straight towards her. It was a shark, probably a White Pointer, and it was moving ever faster as it approached. Within seconds it was upon her.

"Fuck off!" cried Robin, punching the shark hard in the nose. It fell back, circled, and then went off in search of fast food that didn't fight back.

Robin trod water until dawn. Then she saw another fin close by. She tensed up her fist, but then she saw the blow-hole and a shot of spray into the morning sunlight. It was a dolphin.

Swimming over to the friendly creature, Robin grabbed it by the tail and let it drag her along. Dolphins like to spend some of their time close to shore, so if she hung on long enough she might end up near land.

Sure enough, on the morning of the next day, Robin found herself within swimming distance of a tropical island. She bid her ocean-going friend a fond farewell and swam toward the island, finally relaxing and just letting the tide wash her ashore.

The first thing she did was to pick up a coconut, break it against a rock and eat hungrily of the white meat. And she discovered a spring where water boiled up through the ground. It looked as if she would be able to survive here.

After she had taken care of her basic needs, she found a sharp rock and used it to carve a crude calendar into the side of a fallen tree. She was a good religious girl and was determined never to lose track of which day was Sunday.

She built herself a crude hut and she explored the island. The days passed and turned into weeks, the weeks turned into months, and the months into years. Most of her time she spent sunbathing and masturbating. There wasn't much else to do on the island. It wasn't long before she was nut brown. Her diet consisted mainly of coconuts and fish.

There was a banana tree on the island, but she never ended up eating any of the bananas. The reason was a lack of patience. In order to eat the bananas she would have to wait for them to get ripe. But, looking up at those green bananas growing big and long and fat, made her think of something else which was big and long and fat. She was aching for cock. So she would always end up picking each banana before it got ripe so that she could shove it deep into her hungry twat. Fucking bananas wasn't the same as fucking cocks. They weren't warm and throbbing and they didn't squirt hot cum all over the inside of her cunt, but they were the best replacement she had, and she could only use them a few times before they got all shrivelled up by the sun.

There was another island nearby. Robin could tell because she could sometimes hear the faint sound of tribal drums drifting across the sea. One day she decided to build a canoe and see if she could paddle to the other island.

It was the middle of a Friday afternoon when Robin paddled around the coast of the other, larger, island. She took refuge behind a large rocky outcrop and peeked around it toward the shore where a group of dark-skinned natives were gathered. What she saw made her vomit up her coconuts.

Some of the natives were tearing flesh from large bones with their teeth. And, in the middle of the beach lay what was left of a human corpse. The natives were cannibals!

Once her stomach had settled, Robin looked once more at the cannibal group. Like herself, they were all naked. And the men were very well-endowed. Their cocks hung halfway to their knees. It was almost enough to weaken Robin's resolve to maintain her distance from these dangerous individuals. She didn't want to get eaten, but she would have dearly liked to be gang-banged by those cannibals. As she watched, some of the cannibal women began playing with the men's cocks, licking their balls and stroking their swiftly stiffening shafts. And then they were sliding those big stiff cocks deep down their throats. It seemed to Robin that the men were taking a chance given that the women, like themselves, had a taste for human flesh. But maybe they didn't eat members of their own tribe.

Robin returned safely to her island and resolved not to visit the cannibal island again. She didn't want to draw attention to her presence.

But, one Wednesday about four months later, the cannibals visited Robin's island.

She hid behind a tree and watched as they dumped an old man on the shore and then paddled away.

Robin had heard about some native peoples, most notably the Inuit, who would take their elderly out to some remote location and leave them to die. She suspected that this was what was being done in this instance.

Once the canoe had disappeared over the horizon, Robin came out and had a look at the old man. He looked at her with big sad eyes as he sat despondently on the sand.

Robin held out her hand in greeting. The man grabbed it and shoved it in his mouth. Then he savagely licked and sucked on it. He had no teeth.

"A cannibal with no teeth?" said Robin. "I can see where that could be a problem."

She sat down in the sand and let the old man, whom she had decided to name Wednesday, since that was the day of the week on which she had met him, suck on her fingers. Then she had an idea.

"My fingers aren't the tastiest bit of me," she told him, as she lay back and pressed his lips to her right nipple. He sucked on it enthusiastically and it stiffened in his mouth.

Half an hour later, Robin was quivering and crying out in orgasm, as Wednesday licked and sucked on her horny cunt.

Now Robin had less need for the green bananas, which was a good thing, because soft bananas was the perfect food to feed to Wednesday. Before the bananas had started to ripen, she had had to spit chewed up coconut into his mouth like a mother bird feeding her chicks. She thought this was kind of disgusting, but he didn't seem to mind. Then she remembered what he used to eat and she could understand why he might not be so fussy.

She found that it was nice to have someone to look after. And the sexual favours didn't just go one way. Since he was so good at orally pleasuring her, it only seemed fair that she wank Wednesday. He might be old and feeble, but he had a huge cock, which didn't require much encouragement to swell and stiffen. Robin slid her hand up and down its length and whispered endearments he couldn't understand, until spurt after spurt of creamy white jism splattered all over his leathery brown hide. She would lick it all up and swallow it down as she didn't want to waste any precious protein.

Robin and Wednesday lived together like this for about a year. But then she made the mistake of fucking him. She knew he was physically very weak, but he had such a huge capable cock. So one day she rolled him over on his back mid-wank and mounted him. She rode up and down on his impressive stiffness and she grabbed his bony hands and placed them on her bountiful bouncing boobs. She came quickly and hard, squirting her juices over his big droopy balls, and he also orgasmed.

But it was too much for his weak heart. He died with a smile on his face.

After she had buried Wednesday, Robin became very lonely.

One day, as she looked down at her right breast, she noticed that the nipple looked a bit like a little brown nose in the middle of a chubby brown face. She picked up a piece of charcoal from her fire and drew little black eyes and a little black curve of a mouth on her breast. She drew the eyes on the bottom and the mouth upside down on the top, so that, from her perspective, as she looked down at it, it looked like a face. She called it Wilson. She wasn't sure why. It just looked like a Wilson.

Over time she spent more and more of her time talking to Wilson. She told him her life story. She told him jokes. She complained to him when it rained and when she accidentally burned her fish. Wilson was always sympathetic.

One day a bottle washed ashore. Robin picked it up and found that it contained a hand-written message on a piece of parchment. I read, "Please rescue me. My name is Alexander Selkirk and I'm a castaway on Juan Fernandez archipelago off the coast of Chile."

"Sorry, Alex baby," Robin said, as she picked up a seagull quill, dipped it in squid ink, and scratched out the man's name and his current location. She changed it to her name and put the location as Fuckdifino Island. Then she threw it back out to sea. "It's a dog eat dog world for us castaways."

Robin had been on the island for seven long years when finally a ship's sails appeared on the horizon. The ship was the HMAS Bounty. She jumped up and down and waved to the boatload of mutineers as they rowed ashore.

The first to step onto the sand was Fletcher Christian ("Big Ears" to his friends). He was accompanied by four of his fellow crew members.

"Am I glad to see you guys!" exclaimed our heroine, feeling the wetness dribble down the inside of her thighs at the prospect of a decent fuck.

"So you are not a native?" asked the incredulous Christian. "You speak perfect English."

"I'm Lady Robin Crusoe," she declared proudly. "I have been on this island for seven long years."

Then she strode boldly up to Christian and began unbuttoning his breaches.

"Ma'am, perhaps your long ordeal has caused you to lose your wits," he suggested, looking embarrassed.

"The only thing that's making me crazy is that I haven't seen a cock for five years," she insisted, pulling out his rock hard penis. "And it looks like you quite like the idea of fucking an insane island girl."

"We will if he doesn't!" cried one of the other men, yanking down his trousers and waving his hard cock in her general direction.

"I want you all," she informed him. "But you'll just need a bit of patience."

But patience isn't a mutineers strong suit, so no sooner did she have Fletcher Christian nude on the sand, with her juicy cunt impaled over his meaty member, than one of the other men was bending her forward, smearing his pre-cum all over his cock and shoving it up her bum-hole.

"Oh, dear," she cried. "I've never had one there before, but I think I like it!"

Then another sailor was slapping his stiff dick against her face. She opened her lips and sucked it in, teasing it with her wicked tongue.

Each of the other men grabbed one of her hands and pushed it onto his erection. She wrapped her fingers around their excited poles and began wanking them off.

Ain't that always the way, she thought to herself as she was rapturously gang banged, no cock for five years and then five come along all at once.

The End

Image by Grok.

So I’m a compulsive hoarder. Sue me! It’s my unit and if I want to step over piles of junk rather than feel the pain of separation involved in disposing of it that’s my business.

Annette no doubt meant well when she asked why I didn’t weed my possessions a little, but still it annoyed me.

Annette is my new neighbour. We live in a block of ten units in a quiet seaside suburb. A week after she moved in she knocked on my door and introduced herself. I’d seen her moving in and a couple of times since then. She was a brunette with an English rose complexion and a warm infectious smile. She also had massive breasts. Nothing grotesque mind you, but cantaloupe-size. Russ Meyer would have considered her to be talented. She liked to wear plaid shirts that were a little too small so that the buttons seemed in danger of popping off at any moment and she always kept the top buttons undone to show some creamy pale cleavage.

She wasn’t one of those top-heavy girls either, her boobs were balanced with a big bum which filled out her tight jeans like an over-stuffed sofa. Whether she was walking towards me or walking away she was swinging something that made my cock swell warmly.

“Ooooh, brandy. I wouldn’t say no,” she said as she entered my cluttered lounge room and saw a bottle on the coffee table.

“Of course,” I replied. “I’ll get some glasses.” And so I wove my way between stacks of comics, piles of VHS tapes and old pizza boxes as I headed for the kitchen.

“What a lot of junk!” exclaimed Annette as I handed her a glass. She was holding one of my comics, and surveying the piles on all sides.

“I collect things,” I replied. “It’s a hobby.”

“It’s a fire hazard is what it is,” she told me. “Do you actually read these comics?”

“When I buy them I do,” I responded, not sure why I should feel so defensive.

“And then you just leave them piled around gathering dust?” she asked. “They won’t keep well if you don’t put them in acid-proof bags.”

“You sound like you collect comics yourself,” I commented.

“No, but I sell them sometimes,” she explained. “I make my money selling stuff on e-bay. I buy up odds and sods from deceased estates and auction them off on the net.”

“You can live on that?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah,” she replied. “It’s time-consuming but there’s good money in it. And its exciting because you never know when you are going to hit the jackpot with a rare collector’s item.”

“Well,” I said, “I don’t think I could part with any of my stuff. Everything has memories.”

“Including the pizza boxes?” she asked. “Sorry, don’t mind me. I can be a bit rude at times. Really, it’s your life. You do what you want.”

Annette was something of a gardener and I would see her pruning the roses or picking weeds out of the strip of lawn between the two rows of units. Other times we would meet up at the letter box after the postie had been. Her face always lit up when she saw me. She smiled warmly, and her eyes twinkled as she exchanged small talk in an almost conspiratorially embracing manner. And she always seemed to stand just a little bit closer than I was entirely comfortable with. She had such an effusively affectionate manner that I felt as if, had she been a small dog, she would have been humping my leg.

Don’t get me wrong. This made me uncomfortable only because I was unused to getting this kind of response from a woman. If I’d been a small dog I would have wanted to hump her leg too. But I’m not the kind of guy women generally pay much attention to. Short and chubby, with too little hair on my head and too much everywhere else, I’m often compared to the actor Paul Giamatti. My ex-girlfriend said I was cute and cuddly, but you won’t find guys like me as centrefolds in Playgirl.

The other thing that impressed me about Annette was her perfume. I don’t know what brand it was, but it was genuinely intoxicating, a mix of musk and cinnamon and wildflowers.

With her smile and her smell and her boobs and her bum and her standing so close, I felt such an impulse just to grab her by the letterbox. But I was so unsure of myself after several years on my own. What if her warm, intimate manner with me was the way she was with everyone? I didn’t want to embarrass myself by doing anything rash.

But then, one morning, I stumbled into the lounge room while eating from a bowl of cereal and noticed that something was different. Something was missing.

It took a while for me to realise what it was. It was my copy of the issue of The Puzzler in which he took on his arch enemy Sodoku Man. It had been on the top of the biggest pile of comics. It’s absence was made all the more obvious because the issue underneath it was not coated in dust as the comics which topped the other piles were.

As I looked around I found that that was not all that was missing. A total of 23 comics, 5 vintage issues of Playboy, a collector’s guide to Matchbox Cars and an autographed picture of David Hasselhoff were gone.

The crime rate in the district in which I live is not high, and our units are close together with front doors facing the central strip of lawn, so that any thief would run the risk of being observed. So many of us are in the habit of leaving our doors unlocked when we are asleep. Someone must have snuck in and stolen my stuff. But who?

Then I noticed it. The smell. The smell of Annette’s perfume. Of course she should have been the first suspect, since she had knowledge and motive. But until I noticed the perfume I didn’t think of her. I didn’t want to think that she might steal from me. Maybe that was why she had been so friendly. Maybe she was just buttering me up to get access to my saleable items.

What was I going to do? Confront her? Yes. But I couldn’t get her boobs and butt out of my mind. I wanted revenge for this invasion and theft, but I also wanted Annette.

Then it struck me like lightning. What’s good for the gander is good for the goose. Tit for tat. If she could sneak into my unit and take something of mine, then that gave me permission to sneak into hers and steal something. But what? A pair of panties maybe. But that wasn’t really what I wanted. I wanted her.

Maybe I should just go over there and walk in unannounced. If I was lucky, I might find her in a skimpy nightie or maybe I could walk into the bathroom while she was in the shower. I wasn’t likely to be that lucky, but either way, I had an advantage over a sexy woman. She owed me. That couldn’t be be a bad thing.

I had right on my side. I was not going to be deterred from righting the wrong that had been done against me.

I walked up to her door, turned the knob and walked straight in.

“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to... I apologise... I’ll go right now,” I stammered when I saw that Annette was sitting stark naked on a recliner in her living room with her legs spread and pleasuring her dripping wet pussy with a Hitachi Magic Wand vibrator.

“Don’t do that,” she insisted. “Be sociable and stay. Make yourself comfortable. Take your clothes off.”

“I beg your pardon?” I asked.

“No need to do that, you didn’t do anything wrong,” she told me. “You’re always welcome to visit me. You’re my favourite neighbour. Now get your gear off. You must feel over-dressed. You’ll find that my central heating is very efficient. You won’t be cold.”

“O.K., if you insist,” I mumbled, beginning to unbutton my shirt. As I undressed she continued to moan happily as she buzzed herself.

“If I were having a cup of tea, I’d do the neighbourly think and offer you a cup,” she told me. “But I’m not, I’m having a wank. Can I offer you one?”

“A wank?” I asked.

“Yes, how do you like your wanks? A straight hand job, or do you like some tit with it?” she wanted to know.

“Oh, I like mine with plenty of tit,” I replied. “Especially the thick creamy kind. None of that slimmer rubbish.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” she enthused. “I have lashings of creamy tit for your wank.”

By now I was naked. My cock was as hard as a rock and dribbling precum on the carpet.

“Dear, dear, you are a messy boy,” she chuckled. “Now bring that thing here.”

I came up close to her and she put down her wand and grasped my cock in her soft warm hand, slowly beginning to stroke it up and down.

“Is there anything else you like with your wank?” she enquired.

“Well, I am quite partial to sweet sticky buns,” I told her.

“I’ve got plenty of honey in the kitchen,” she informed me, “so that shouldn’t be a problem. But you will have to have your sweet sticky buns after your wank, because I’m not a contortionist.”

Then she let go of my cock and grasped one of my butt cheeks in each hand and pulled me to her chest so that my cock was between her big soft pale boobs. When I was in place she let go of me and pushed her boobs together around my cock. It felt heavenly. Her soft breasts were so silky against the hot hardness of my prick. As I stood there, leaning in to her, she drew her boobs up and down my cock. I thrust my pelvis to compliment the boob wank she was giving me. And as she moved her boobs up and down she kissed my chubby hairy belly and stuck her tongue in my navel.

All of the erotic energy that had been building in me since I met Annette was coming to a dizzying peak as I stood in her lounge room fucking her boobs. It wasn’t long before I climaxed and my balls shot spurt after spurt of hot cum all over the upper slopes of her magnificent mammaries.

“You’re not the only one who likes loads of cream with a wank,” she grinned, bending forward to slurp and lick up all of the cum that was dribbling from my wilting cock. She then smeared the cum on her boobs down over her stiff pink nipples and sucked it off, first from one and then the other.

“Wasn’t that better than a cup of tea?” she asked. “I’ll go prepare your sweet sticky buns now.” And she ran off to the kitchen.

When she returned she told me to sit down in the chair and then turned to face away from me. Her big pale wobbly arse was all coated in honey.

“No need to say grace,” she insisted. “Just dig in.”

I bent forward and began licking up all of the honey off of the big soft cheeks of her bottom.

“Mind if I stroke while you eat?” she asked politely.

“Not at all,” I assured her.

And so, as I buried my face in the sweet goo all over her bottom, licking and dribbling and feeling the tickling sensation of honey dripping from the end of my nose, she began alternately playing with her stiff clit and sliding her fingers into her already half-wanked cunt.

By the time I was pulling apart her big cheeks and digging my tongue deep into her bum-hole to suck out the last vestiges of sweet honey, she was squealing her way through a body shaking orgasm.

Once our lust was sated we had a shower together to wash off all the sweat and cum. I don’t think there was any honey left. I was pretty thorough licking that heavenly bottom of hers. The same bottom that rubbed all over my semi-erect prick when she had to bend down to pick up the soap.

Afterwards we sat around nude in the living room and chatted about all kinds of things.

“Yes, I did steal some of your tat and sell it on ebay,” she confessed. “I didn’t think you would notice. I was going to tell you later in hopes that it would teach you a lesson.”

“I knew it was you because I could smell your perfume,” I explained.

“Vanity. It’ll get you every time,” she sighed.

“I love your perfume though,” I insisted. “Of all the people I know in the world, you’re the one that looks best and the one that smells the best. And now I know you also feel the best.”

“That’s so sweet,” she smiled. “I think we can be good neighbours. Feel free to drop in and hang out anytime. You’re always welcome. Don’t bother to knock. The only thing I insist on is total nudity. That’s the way I like to be, and it just doesn’t seem right if someone’s present who is still wearing sneakers, or a tie or one sock.”

“I like to be nude with you,” I told her, “because then you can see the physical evidence of how much you excite me.”

“Yes, I can see that I have a little fan as well as a bigger one,” she laughed.

“Hey, not so much of the little!” I exclaimed.

“He’ll do,” she giggled. “You know what they say, anything more than a mouthful is a waste.”

“And just let me know if there is anything I can do to help you out in other ways,” I said. “I really appreciate how you do the gardening. I have some skills as a handyman.”

“Really? Like what?” she wanted to know.

“I’m quite good with electrical things,” I told her.

“My electric blanket has stopped working,” she informed me.

“Well, it’s usually not a good idea to try to fix them,” I warned her. “It’s better to replace it.”

“Could you replace it?” she asked.

“You mean buy you a new one?” I queried.

“No. I mean take its place,” she insisted. “I’m really cold in bed at night, but with another body in there with me, I think I could be toasty warm. And you’re friendlier than an old electric blanket.”

“We could give it a go,” I agreed.

“I know I’m asking a lot,” she said. “I like to sleep a good eight hours each night. So I’d be asking you to take quite a bit of time out of your evening just to help me keep warm.”

“Oh, that’s O.K.,” I insisted. “I wasn’t doing anything else.”

“And there are a couple of things I should warn you about,” she added. “I have a tendency to talk in my sleep. My ex-boyfriend said I said some quite improper things while I was sleeping. Let’s put it this way - I’m not exactly safe for work.”

“That’s not a problem,” I told her. “I rarely do any work while in bed.”

“And my other problem is insomnia,” she confessed.

“That’s no good,” I sympathised.

“But there is a solution,” she reassured me. “I always sleep soundly after strenuous exercise.”

“That makes sense,” I replied.

“Its just that there is only one kind of strenuous activity I’ve found that I can do in bed,” she warned me. “I mean its not that I don’t know how to play chess, or charades, or tiddly winks. But they just aren’t strenuous enough to really wear me out. Running would do it, but I can’t do that in bed. So it always has to be the same thing. I suppose you can guess what that is.”

“I’ve got a good idea,” I admitted.

“You wouldn’t mind helping me in that way?” she asked.

“It’s only the neighbourly thing to do,” I told her.

“You are so understanding,” she replied, kissing the tip of my nose. “And I’m sure there will be things I can do for you. If you can think of anything, just let me know.”

“Oh, I will,” I assured her. “I will. I think we are going to be the best of neighbours.”

The End

Illustration by Grok

Remember the days before DVDs, even before videotapes, when the only way to see a dirty movie was in a cinema? In the Seventies, films like Deep Throat and The Opening of Misty Beethoven were seen by couples, not to mention celebrities, in mainstream cinemas. They called it Porno Chic.

But one thing Ruby Tuesday, the dirtiest girl in the world, never was was “chic”. What was the point of watching a filthy movie in a posh cinema where you were too afraid to masturbate for fear of staining the plush seats? Ruby was a fan of the sleazy little grindhouses with the big tacky signs advertising three XXX features for a bargain price.

In 1973, when she was thirty-one, she was living in a cheap apartment in New York City. She’d never seen a hardcore porn film. As she walked along 42nd Street she looked at all the posters. She’d heard that some of these films showed the real thing - huge stiff cocks sliding into mouths and pussies and even asses. She’d seen a few softcore sex films. She liked to see all the naked women and the occasional naked man, but they didn’t compare to what she saw and did in her own life.

She paused outside the Beavertown Bijou and looked at the titles - “Deep Rectum” starring Percy Prober, “Big Buns! Big Hotdog!” starring Betty Bumpers and “Mutiny in Her Booty” starring Felcher Christian. “All Anal Action!” screamed the marquee.

“A bit of poo-poking entertainment?” Ruby asked herself, as the wind whipped up her flimsy flowered mini-dress. “Why not?”

The big-breasted girl in the ticket booth gave her a strange look when she bought her ticket.

“Are the movies any good?” she asked.

“Haven’t seem them myself,” replied the ticket seller. “But we’ve had a fair bit of return trade, so the guys seem to like them.”

Ruby smiled and walked into the foyer. There was a candy bar over to the back and the entrance on her left. She pulled aside the curtain and walked into the cinema.

“Wow! It really is the real thing!” she cried out loud as she saw the massive close-up of a stiff cock filling the screen. In the darkness she could see that a few of the scattered male customers turned to look at her as she walked down the aisle. “Howdy guys!” she addressed them. “Good movie?” No-one replied.

The cinema was mostly empty, but she went down near the front and sat in a seat next to a nervous-looking but handsome man in a business suit.

“Isn’t it strange,” she commented, “how people usually sit as far away from strangers as they can. I’d always rather make new friends, I mean it’s so much cosier to sit next to someone.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” he muttered.

“Have you got a boner yet?” she wanted to know. “I mean that’s some pretty hot action going on up there on the screen. That chick’s a stunner and she’s really going to town on that guy’s cock like its an icypop and she’s been in the desert for weeks.” She reached down and put her hand on the front of the man’s trousers. “Oh, you do have a boner! Why don’t you get that bad boy out and have a stroke. The guy up the end of the row’s really spanking the monkey like it’s going out of style! Whoa! What a sperm spurter!”

“I’m just on my lunch break from work,” he replied. “I’ve got to go back in half an hour.”

“You don’t want to make a mess of your suit?” Ruby asked. “I know. Here jack off into these.” She pulled up her dress, hooked her fingers into the sides of her pale pink cotton panties and pulled them down her legs and off over her bare feet. “I don’t need them back. I plan on doing some serious pussy-pleasuring and they would only get in the way.”

“Thanks, my name’s Terence,” the man replied, taking her panties. “They’re damp,” he added, feeling them.

“They’re always damp,” Ruby giggled. “A dirty mind and a juicy pussy.” She grabbed his hand and pushed it between her legs. A couple of his fingers slid right up her cunt.

“You’re not kidding!” he exclaimed.

“But I can take care of myself,” she told him, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Let’s get your boner out so you can beat off properly.” She unzipped his pants and pulled down the elastic of his boxers. Out popped his cock.

Terence grasped his prick in his right hand and began stroking it up and down. Meanwhile, Ruby started to happily finger herself, dividing her attention between the bum-battering action going on on the screen and the sight of Terence tugging on his tallywhacker.

“Do you like to bugger a girl’s bum with your boner, like that hairy dude’s doing now?” she asked. “Oh, by the way, my names Ruby. Ruby Tuesday.”

“Glad to meet you, Ruby,” he sighed as he filled the gusset of her panties with a wad of hot cum.

“So what were you imagining as you blew?” she wanted to know.

“That that was me and you up there,” he admitted, blushing. “I’ve never done that.”

“Maybe later,” she chuckled, jumping up and spreading her bum cheeks in front of him. “But right now I want to make some more friends.”

She walked around the first row of seats and up the other aisle until she reached the old man who had cum so prodigiously.

“Enjoying the movies?” she asked, lifting her dress over her head and throwing it onto a near by seat. Then she knelt down and sucked all of the cum off of his flaccid cock, which wasn’t so flaccid after she’d done that. “If I sit in your lap for a while, will you play with my titties while I play with myself?” she asked.

“An old man like me can’t afford to turn down an opportunity for a little titty-fondling,” he replied, rather sensibly.

“You know what they say,” she told him, “you’re only as old as the titties you feel.”

He squeezed her soft pale breasts and pinched her stiff nipples while she fingered herself, all the while taking in the action on the screen and feeling his cock stiffening once more against the underside of her thigh. Eventually she cried out and he felt her creamy pussy juice dripping down over his balls.

“I might be back later,” she said, standing up and messing up his thinning hair playfully. Then she padded up the aisle naked as the day she was born.

When she got to the top of the aisle she turned around to see what was happening on the screen. But she slipped in a puddle of fresh cum and sat down hard in the lap of a skinny bespectacled man in the back row. Serendipitously Ruby’s slippery sex slid right down over the gentleman’s perpendicularly protruding prick and her fat little bottom slapped down onto the front of his cum-soaked trousers.

“You could have broken my dick!” cried the panicked patron.

“I sure could have,” admitted Ruby. “Or I could have broken my bottom. Let’s celebrate our good fortune.”

“How should we do that?” he wanted to know.

“You just sit back and enjoy the movie while I bounce my cunt on your cock,” Ruby suggested.

“Are you the usherette?” he asked.

“No,” she replied. “I don’t show guys to their seats. But after watching this movies I may be tempted to show guy’s to my seat. Those chicks really seem to be getting off on the Hershey Highway hijinks.”

“Oh, yeah!” the man yelled as he bathed her cervix with baby batter.

“I always get the munchies after sex,” Ruby informed him. “I might see you later.” Then she skipped out into the foyer, still totally unclad.

“My, you’ve really made yourself at home,” smiled the young man behind the concessions counter as she walked up with boobs bouncing and cunt still twitching and dribbling jism down her inner thighs.

“Popcorn, please,” she told him, with a smile and cheeky wink.

He filled a big bucket from the machine.

“I’ve given you a stiffy, haven’t I?” she asked, looking at the front of his blue cotton uniform trousers.

“That’s not a Cornetto,” he informed her.

“You know what I like even more than butter on my popcorn?” she asked. “Cum!”

And that is how the concession stand guy ended up whipping out his cock and jacking off all over the top of Ruby’s popcorn while she looked on and applauded.

Then she headed back to her original seat next to Terence.

“I love popcorn!” he enthused, taking a big handful and shoving it in his mouth.

Ruby laughed. She thought about telling him what he’d just eaten, but decided that he would be happier not knowing. People’s happiness, that was always Ruby’s main concern.

The End

Image by Grok

"'Therefore, send not to know / For whom the bell tolls, / It tolls for thee' as John Donne once said," declared Teresa soberly.

"I remember him," said Cara. "He was the bartender down at the Tropicana Lounge."

"He was a poet," explained Teresa, shaking her head.

"I never knew that," Cara replied. "But he made a mean Cowboy Cocksucker."

"John Donne was a British poet from about four hundred years ago," pointed out an exasperated Teresa.

"But he was talking about death," added Fiona, "not wedding bells."

"Same difference," put in Brenda, lighting a cigar.

"I never thought that Alice would find a man," said Teresa. "Many men, yes, one in particular, never in a million years."

"Not just any man could make an honest woman of Alice," Fiona added. "It had to be a man with lots of money."

"A dishonest woman, you mean," Brenda corrected her. "Pretending that she only has eyes for her husband and doesn't actually want to be gang-banged by every hot guy in sight ; wearing designer dresses when she'd rather be rocking a boob tube and some super-tight Daisy Dukes ; staying home every night watching TV and bringing her hubby beers from the fridge instead of being out on the town with the Slut Pack fucking random guys in club toilets and waking up the next morning in the gutter covered in her own puke. That doesn't sound like honesty to me."

"That's the problem with the idea of marrying a rich guy like Manfred," explained Teresa. "It would give you the money you need to do anything you want, only you wouldn't be allowed to. It's a veritable Catch-22, as Joseph Heller would have said."

"I know," exclaimed Cara, "he was a famous baseball player, right?"

"American novelist," sighed Teresa. "One of the best."

Alice was off at a fitting for her wedding dress, and the rest of the famous Slut Pack were taking advantage of her absence to discuss how they really felt about her upcoming nuptials.

"You know the definition of a man?" asked Brenda, knocking the ash off of her cigar and taking a swig from her bottle of Jim Beam.

"I don't know," Fiona played along. "What is the definition of a man?"

"A life-support system for a cock," Brenda guffawed. She lifted the hem of her mini-dress to reveal she was wearing no panties. Then she scratched her labia as she took another swig of bourbon.

"A bit of cheese on the old taco?" queried Cara.

"No way," declared Brenda. "My cunt is in perfect health, but it is just itching to get fucked."

They all laughed.

And they laughed even harder when Fiona let out a loud fart. It was hard to believe such a loud sound could come out of someone so small. Fiona was only 3 1/2 feet tall. Her friends knew her affectionately as Mini-Fi. And she was given to flatulence.

"Are we going to allow Alice to split up the Slut Pack?" asked Brenda, tapping more cigar ash into the ashtray that she had now positioned between her massive breasts.

"What can we do about it?" asked Cara, whose blonde hair, according to scientists, had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that she was as thick as two short planks.

“Manfred’s parents place a lot of importance on appearances,” pointed out Fiona. “As Alice’s bridesmaids, we are central to the decorum, or lack thereof, at the wedding.”

“Are you suggesting sabotage?” asked Brenda, eagerly.

“We have to stop this marriage ‘by any means necessary‘ - as Malcolm X put it,” enthused Teresa.

“I remember Malcolm’s ex,” piped up Cara. “She was a super-bitch from Hell. I’m not surprised he dumped her.”

* * *

“They weren’t kidding about you being the best man!” exclaimed Fiona, as she unzipped the fly of Manfred’s best friend Brad’s formal trousers, only to be slapped in the face by his massive erection. She tenderly stroked his balls as she licked up and down the underside of his shaft.

“I’ve never been sucked off by a midget before,” Brad told her.

“Little person,” she corrected him.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, tenderly stroking her hair as she slid her lips over the bell end of his cock.

“For a little person, you sure have a deep throat,” he groaned.

Little did he know that as this was taking place, Brenda was behind him casually slipping her hand into his pants’ pocket and stealing the wedding ring.

Fiona removed her mouth from Brad’s cock.

“You probably want to shoot your load all over my pretty face,” she explained, “but the wedding starts in just a few minutes so I can’t have you messing up my make-up. I’ll just have to keep you safe inside my mouth where I can suck out all your yummy jism and swallow it all down so that no-one will be any the wiser.”

She smeared her ruby red lipstick all down the length of his already saliva-coated cock and tickled his balls with her gloved hands until he exploded a thick hot river of cum down her throat.

“Never has doing one’s duty by a friend been so much fun,” giggled Fiona, reapplying her lipstick as she approached Brenda. “Did you get the ring?”

“I sure did,” smiled Brenda. “And I’ve found the perfect place to hide it.”

“Where’s that?” Fiona wanted to know.

“In my ring,” laughed Brenda, lifting her dress and bending over. She was wearing no panties, and, as she pulled apart the cheeks of her sizeable arse, the diamond could be seen winking ostentatiously from her sphincter.

“Perfect,” smiled Fiona. “Well, can’t hang about here gabbing. There’s another cock to be sucked.”

* * *

“I had my doubts about this girl,” Manfred’s father Mr. Mann said to his wife as they sat in the front pew of the ornately decorated Catholic church, “but I am now beginning to understand that she was just a diamond in the rough. She can be our kind of people.”

“Of course she can,” replied his wife Eugenia. “All we have to make sure of is that nobody finds out about her past.”

“Well, we all have one of those, don’t we?” he reassured her. “Money can cover up a multitude of sins.”

“Ah, here comes Father Dominic,” Eugenia pointed out. “I’ve always thought he looked too sexy to be a priest. It seems such a waste. Is it naughty to think like that?”

“Where’s the other bridesmaid?” asked Mr. Mann.

“You mean the Munchkin?” Eugenia wanted to know. “She’s probably just standing behind someone. It’s so easy to lose sight of her.”

At that moment, their driver ran down the side aisle of the church with something hidden beneath his coat.

“I found this out on the lawn,” he explained in an anxious tone, discreetly showing them Fiona’s bridesmaid’s dress. “Her panties and brassiere as well.”

“My god!” exclaimed Eugenia. “There’s a nude midget on the loose! I hope she’s not in the church.”

Mr. Mann did the best he could to hide the evidence beneath their pew.

Father Dominic was now standing behind the altar. He was preparing himself to begin the ceremony, when he felt a breeze up the back of his cassock. He was no longer alone under there. Someone small and nude was pulling down his y-fronts.

“Manfred, do you take Alice to be your wife?” he asked, a little nervously. “Do you promise to be true to her...oh, that feels so good... in good times and in bad... bad girl... in sickness and in health, to love her... oh, Jeez, suck my balls!... and honour her... gobble my knob, you slut... all the days of your life? Oh, fuck that’s good!”

“I know Alice has always been keen to help out the disabled,” said a family friend of the Mann’s, “but hiring a priest with Tourette Syndrome is going a bit far.”

“What the hell’s going on!” Mr. Mann wanted to know.

Once she had succeeded in depriving the spunky young priest of his virginity, Fiona let him finish the vows in peace.

“Now for the exchanging of rings,” he said.

“Whoops!” cried Maid of Honour Teresa. “It’s stuck on my finger!” She wiggled the middle finger of her right hand, which was, indeed, decorated with a man’s gold wedding band. “It’s stuck on my wanking finger! Does anyone have any lube?”

“Fuck!” cried Brad. “I can’t find the ring! It was in my pocket!”

“Has anyone seen the bride’s ring?” asked Father Dominic.

“Practically very guy on the East coast!” cried Cara.

“I see something down there!” exclaimed Brenda, bending down to look at something imaginary on the floor and simultaneously lifting her gown to bare her buttocks to the assembly.

“Oh, my God!” cried a male voice from the crowd. “The ring’s in her ass!”

Federico, the videographer, zoomed in for a close-up.

“Has anyone seen my gown?” cried Fiona, running out from behind the altar, naked as the day she was born. “Oh, there it is.”

She ran over to a bright red Mr. Mann and pulled her dress out from under his pew.

“Why are you hiding my clothes, you naughty man?” she scolded him, leaping up into his lap and kissing him on the lips. “If you wanted to fuck me, all you had to do was ask!”

Federico was getting it all on camera.

“Turn that camera off!” cried Eugenia. “The wedding’s off and you’re fired!”

“None of this is my doing,” he pointed out in his own defence. “You hired me to record the event and that’s what I’m doing.”

“If you think you are going to get paid for putting this schmozzle on film you’ve got another thing coming,” she told him.

“YouTube, here I come,” he smiled.

“O.K., O.K.,” she relented. “We’ll pay.”

“Come on, let’s get to the reception before Mr. and Mrs. Mann get there to lock the gate!” cried Brenda, grabbing the arm of the bewildered Alice.

“You’ve completely fucked up my wedding!” she cried, as Brenda dragged her out of the church.

“You would have been miserable with those snobs,” Brenda pointed out.

“Manfred’s not like his parents,” Alice told her.

“But you would have had to live by their rules to get their money,” said Brenda. “And, while Manfred is super-cute and can fuck me any day of the week, do you really think you would have been satisfied with only one guy?”

“Mmmmmm, maybe not,” she conceded. “But you still deserve to have your bottoms spanked, the lot of you.”

“I tell you what,” Brenda told her. “As soon as all this is over, you and Manfred can take turns spanking my bottom until it is red as a beetroot. And then Manfred can fuck it with his big stiff knob.”

“How do you know he has a big knob?” Alice wanted to know.

“You think we don’t take a peak at your emails?” Brenda asked.

“Quick, give me a piggy-back!” cried Fiona, leaping onto Brenda’s back. She had her dress back on, but the buttons weren’t done up. “They’re after us!”

Teresa, who was a fan of the movie The Graduate, had stolen the crucifix off of the wall and she used it to bar the doors to the church, allowing the re-unified Slut Pack to get a head start on the rest of the congregation. They all hopped into one of the limousines, and Alice drove them to the Mann’s mansion where a lavish reception had been laid on.

"It's cake farting time!" cried Brenda, lifting her dress and sitting her nude arse down into the sumptuous wedding cake. She ground it all around, and then stood up, bent down, spread her cheeks and broke wind. Cream, frosting, and a diamond wedding ring, sprayed from her butthole.

Alice, giving way to the euphoria which follows release from an anxiety-provoking situation, was next. She pulled off her lacy knickers, planted her delectable bare ass deep into the cake, and blew a rip-snorting rectal raspberry.

“You chicks are real pigs!” cried Brad, who, along with Manfred, had almost beaten them back to the party.

“I’m so sorry about all of this,” Alice told Manfred. “I do love you. But the girl’s are right. I could never live the kind of lifestyle your parent’s would expect of me.”

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I love you for who you are. And if who you are is a girl who likes farting in wedding cakes, so be it. After today my parents will probably disown me. But if I can’t make my own way in the world then I’m not a real Mann, am I?”

“So what are you guys going to do to the cake?” asked Cara.

“I’m going to fuck it!” cried Brad, dropping his pants to reveal his prodigious nine inches in a state of rock hard erectness. He ran at the cake and shoved his stiff prick deep into the frosting.

“What made you stiff?” asked a cheeky Alice.

“Thinking about your cake-filled cunt,” he confessed, as he slid his cock in and out of the confectionary.

“That’s my would-be bride’s cunt you are talking about!” cried Manfred in mock disapproval.

“You were that close to getting exclusive right’s to my cunt,” Alice pointed out, holding her finger’s close together. “But you missed out. So if Brad wants to eat wedding cake out of it, he is welcome to.”

It was too good an invitation for Brad to turn down.

When Manfred’s parents arrived they found : Brad licking frosting clumps out of Alice’s vagina ; Manfred fucking Brenda in the ass ; Teresa and Fiona both stark naked and engaged in an act of lesbian lust involving Fiona sucking on Teresa’s clit while Teresa used the groom from the top of the wedding cake as a dildo in Fiona’s pussy ; and Cara had her dress up and was squatting down on the table pissing into the punch bowl.

“We’ll have to lock them up in the cellar and take away their mobiles,” Teresa pointed out. “We don’t want them cancelling the honeymoon before we even arrive.”

“The honeymoon?” asked Alice.

“Well, there’s a hotel room with a super large bed booked for the next week,” Teresa explained. “We might as well use it. You go in as normal and then the rest of us will sneak our way in.”

“Does that include me?” asked Brad.

“Of course it does,” Teresa replied. “We all want to make things up to Manfred by being very nice to his cock. But one cock isn’t enough for five women. Well, four and a half anyway.”

“You watch it!” cried Fiona, biting her on the bum.

* * *

“Rudeness, crudeness, and, above all, nudeness, shall be the order of the day,” declared Alice, once they had all snuck into the bridal suite.

“Strip for us!” cried Manfred and Brad in unison.

The girls all did slow elaborate strip routines out of their now rather soiled dresses. The guy’s remained dressed, but unzipped their pants and pulled out their stiff cocks. The girl’s kissed their cocks and gave them lap dances as they slowly lost their lingerie. Finally, the guys were so turned on that they wanked off and spurted cum all over their formal attire and had to remove it. Now everyone was naked and feeling very frisky.

It would take a while for the guys to get stiff again, so the girl’s had to resort to pleasuring each other while the guys watched.

Since Alice was the girl of the moment, they lay her down on the bed and licked her all over. Cara and Teresa sucked on a stiff nipple each, Fiona was between her legs licking out her pussy, and Brenda was on the floor sucking on her toes. When she really started to moan and writhe around, they flipped her over. Fiona was still underneath her sucking on her clit, and now Brenda crawled up behind her, spread her bum cheeks and started licking her butthole. It wasn’t long before she squirted all over Fiona’s face.

All the girl’s had a turn having their pussy licked, and the boys helped out too. They’re tongues were up to the task of pussy-pleasing, even if their cocks were still at half-mast.

“Dwarf-tossing competition!” cried Brenda, when it was time for Fiona to get her pussy licked.

“Do I have a beard?” asked an exasperated Fiona. “Do I work in a diamond mine? Do I sing ‘Hi Ho Hi Ho Hi Ho’?”

But Brenda just picked her up and threw her across to Manfred who began fucking her pussy with his tongue.

“Oooooo! Me! Me!” cried Cara. “Throw her to me!”

Manfred threw her in Cara’s direction, but unfortunately he didn’t know his own strength and she sailed straight out through the open window. A moment later there was the sound of a loud splash from far below.

“Whoops!” cried Manfred.

The phone rang and Brad answered it.

“There’s a nude midget in the swimming pool,” the desk clerk informed him. “Does she belong to your party?”

Half an hour later, Alice and Manfred were fucking on the bed as the others all watched and provided commentary. Fiona was sulking in the corner. She’d towelled off, but her hair was still damp.

“Nice cock, you dirty bastard,” cried Brenda. “Now tease her stiff clitty with the pre-cum-slippery head of that beautiful boner.”

“Cute butt!” exclaimed Cara, slapping Manfred’s arse playfully.

“Fuck her! I did!” cried Brad, who had been hitting the room’s mini-bar a little too heavily.

“And so the wedding that never was has been consummated!” yelled Teresa.

“That stuff looks a bit too thick to be consumé,” quipped Brenda, grabbing a miniature bottle of vodka in one hand and Brad’s stiff cock in the other.

“Let’s have a masturbation contest,” suggested Teresa.

“How does that work?” asked Brad.

“We all wank off and whoever can have the most orgasms wins,” she explained.

“We guys will be at a bit of a disadvantage,” put in Manfred. “Especially me.”

“It’s a contest for we girls,” said Cara. “But if you guys feel like wanking your wieners while you watch, that is not against the rules.”

“Close that window first,” said Fiona, climbing up onto the bed and spreading her legs. She was the champion when it came to wanking contests, so she was beginning to forgive her friends for their previous behaviour towards her.

The girls all lay in a row along the bed, each with her legs thrown over the legs of the girls on either side. And then they all started fingering themselves. Some also played with their nipples. After about fifteen minutes Fiona began screaming with her first orgasm. The others followed. Soon the room was ringing to a veritable cacophony of cums. Wet cunts were puddling the bedspread, and the two guys were rock hard and stroking themselves in appreciation of what they were witnessing.

As expected Fiona was the winner, although Teresa got a special mention for squirting so hard at one stage that she showered cunt juice all over the guy’s cocks fully a metre away.

“I’m hungry,” declared Brenda. “Let’s call for room service.”

They ordered enough food to feed an army. And a short time later there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” cried Alice.

Nobody bothered to cover up as the waiter wheeled in the trolley full of food.

“He’s cute,” Fiona pointed out, pulling down his trousers. “Let’s keep him.”

* * *

“It was a case of mass demonic possession,” Father Dominic told the Bishop. “I think we need to cleanse the church.”

His explanation was accepted that time. But a year later, when the Bishop discovered that he had drilled a glory hole in his confessional and was asking for a very unusual form of penance from some of his lady parishioners, he was forced to retire and take up a position in the porn industry.

The End

Illustration by Grok

Lisbeth Salamander never paid porn site subscriptions. That was one of the fringe benefits of being a professional computer hacker. She hacked into the billing company's computers and signed herself up using the names and identities of government ministers or members of the clergy.

Lisbeth had a boyfriend, a young investigative journalist named Michael Plumfist, but she was one horny goth. Being fucked twice a night just whetted her appetite, and if she couldn't sleep she would log onto the net and look for something to wank to.

She loved wanking, and she loved porn. She also liked to be comfortable. Sweden can be pretty cold, but Lisbeth had central heating so she was able to sit cross-legged on her computer chair wearing nothing but her spiky dog collar as she played with herself while gazing at sexy women and men doing all the naughtiest things. She had all sorts of toys, but she liked to use her fingers best. She knew just how to give herself pleasure - gently pulling on her nipple piercings, rubbing around and around on her clit and sometimes sticking a lubed finger up her butthole. She always laughed at Michael insisting on using his own keyboard when accessing information stored on her computer. He was such a tease. Hadn't he stuck his tongue up her butthole plenty of times?

Michael had been working hard on a big case involving government corruption and was sound asleep in their bed, which was up against the far wall. He might be asleep, but Lisbeth suspected he was dreaming of her. How else could she explain the fact that his cock had turned the bed sheet into a tent worthy of Barnum and Bailey? She was tempted to go have a peek, but she knew that, if she did, she wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to touch it, maybe kiss or lick it, perhaps wank it up and down with her fist, or even bounce her cunt on it. If she did that he would surely wake up, and she knew he couldn't get by without his rest. Much better to content herself with a bit of visually assisted wanking.

"Watch real people doing rude things while they look at porn! They don't know anyone is peeking!" screamed an ad for a website.

Lisbeth chuckled to herself. People were so gullible. They wanted to think they were seeing something illicit and the web masters would always promise it, but, of course, it was all fake. They would have a bunch of models sitting in front of webcams masturbating, but not acknowledging the screen, so that it looked like they were being spied on without their knowledge. The oldest trick in the book. But, what the hell, some of them might be cute, and she wasn't going to pay for it anyway.

Getting herself a membership was the work of but two minutes, her fingers dancing across the keyboard with lightning speed. One strange coincidence did impress itself upon the lust-filled landscape of her mind. The real name of the company behind the site was Phoenix, the same name as the manufacturer of her computer. Still, it was a common enough name in the world of business.

The blurb on the opening page claimed that the individuals depicted inside did not even know that their web cams were on. They were truly being filmed without their knowledge. "Ever wondered what girls really do when looking at porn or reading emails from their boyfriends?" it asked. Apparently there were guys on the site, too, but Lisbeth realised that no-one wondered what they did when looking at porn. Everyone knew.

There was a ranking for most popular cams. So Lisbeth went straight to the top of the list, already starting to rub pussy juice around her stiff clit as she double clicked on the link, anticipating some hot action.

What she saw was her own face leering back at her.

* * *

Barton Banger was the head of Phoenix Global, the world’s fourth largest computer manufacturer. He prided himself that, while his company was only the fourth largest, it was the most unscrupulous. His latest dastardly scheme had been to install web cams in his computers which, when the user was connected to the internet, could be controlled from his central offices in Zurich. Most of the time, nothing of interest was revealed, but sometimes he was able to obtain pictures with which he could blackmail the computer users, and at other times he lucked onto hot individuals of either sex who spent a lot of time wanking to internet porn. These connections provided the basis for his Peek at the Peekers porn site.

The most popular girl on the whole site for the last month had been some super hot Goth chick named Salamander. Hell, Barton had rubbed a few out to her himself. She had enthusiasm. She wanked like a wild thing. And memberships were going up and up through word-of-mouth (or rather word-of-email) because of her.

“She’s putting in quite a performance today,” he commented to Miss Bergman, his officious secretary.

“Yes she is,” she replied matter-of-factly, watching Lisbeth finger herself.

“Do you ever do that?” he asked her, trying to peek down the minimal cleavage revealed by her sensible business shirt.

“When you first asked me that question, Mr. Banger, my answer was that it was not an appropriate question for the head of a major computing firm to ask his secretary,” she explained patiently. “The fact that you have persisted in asking me the same question another sixty seven times in no way alters my initial judgement.”

“Prude...” he muttered under his breath.

* * *

Never had Lisbeth been so glad that she was an expert at one-handed typing. She wanted to find out how this scam operated, but she didn’t want to attract attention, so she kept on wanking as she hacked. She didn’t have to pretend. She’d never been so turned on in her life. The thought that thousands of guys and probably women too, all over the world were watching her finger herself was driving her crazy with lust. She was the most popular! Perhaps she had been stiffening cocks and clits for months without realising it. She wondered how many litres of hot cum had spurted out of guy’s cocks while they watched her writhing around with her finger up her arse. But she mustn’t let her excitement interfere with her hacking. She had to find out who was behind this.

“Hmmm... Barton Banger, hey?” she said to herself as she licked the juice of another cum off of her finger tips.

“Is she still masturbating?” asked Barton when he returned from his extended lunch.

Miss Bergman looked up at the screen.

“No, not at the moment,” she replied. “She seems to be talking.”

“Talking?” queried Banger. “What about?”

Miss Bergman turned up the sound.

“About you, sir,” she answered.

“Me?!?!” he cried. “She shouldn’t be talking about me! Why would she be talking about me? What is she saying?”

“She appears to be reading out your credit card details,” Miss Bergman informed him, coolly.

“My what!!!???” he screamed, red in the face.

“Oh, and your home phone number...” she added.

* * *

Once Lisbeth had finished righting wrongs she began to consider the upside of this situation. It would take a while for Banger to close down the network. In the mean time Lisbeth wanted to keep together her fan base. Not everyone would be as happy about having been an unknowing porn star as she was, but she also hoped she could help anyone who did like the idea to keep in touch with their fans too.

It didn’t take her long to collect an email list of all the customers and all the “performers”. She wrote an email explaining what had happened and explaining that she would use one of the many under-utilized hard drives on a government computer network to keep the webcam switchboard going for any who still wanted to take part. She especially emphasised to her fans that she wanted them to keep watching her. She told them that, now she knew they were watching, she was determined to stick lots of things up her bottom. And she also said that she would love for it to be two-way. She couldn’t watch all of her thousand or more fans jack off to her, but she intended to watch as many as she could.

She ended up staying up all night, and when Michael woke up the next day he found that his goth girlfriend was now the mistress of ceremonies of a world-wide web of wanking.

“Don’t look! Don’t look!” she insisted, as he came over to see what she was up to. “It’s a surprise!”

He covered his eyes, but poked her impatiently in the shoulder with his erection. He was, however, careful to keep it away from her spiky dog collar.

“O.K. You can look now!” she said. “Meet my girlfriends!”

Michael opened his eyes to find the whole of Lisbeth’s computer screen covered with small windows in which women of all shapes, ages and colours were shamelessly wanking, sucking on their nipples and sticking things up their bottoms.

“Well, say hi!” she insisted.

“They can see me?” he asked.

“Of course,” she huffed impatiently, “now wave your lovely cock at them. They deserve encouragement.”

A bunch of comments started appearing in a chat window down the bottom of the screen. “Nice cock!” “Don’t I make you want to stroke it?” and “Wank that willy!”

Michael laughed and began stroking his hard cock as he looked at all those horny women.

“Why don’t you show your girlfriends that you’re a sucker for cock,” he suggested, gently turning Lisbeth’s head and pressing his hard-on against her lips, while taking care to rest, rather than skewer, his balls on the spikes of her dog collar.

She dropped down, opened her mouth and began licking his balls as a river of pre-cum ran down the side of his cock. Then she licked all the way up to the head, making sure to gather up all the glistening liquid as she went. Finally she planted a warm kiss on his sensitive head. But she didn’t go on to give him what he really wanted.

“I’ll show you how much of a sucker I am for cock!” she cried. “Look at my other friends!”

She hit a button and all of a sudden the screen was covered with images of guys jacking off.

“Billy’s my favourite!” she exclaimed, clicking on one frame so that it expanded to fill the screen. On it a fit young man who looked like a surfer was gyrating around while stroking the biggest cock Michael had ever seen. After a minute he cried out, “Oh, Lisbeth!” and spurt after spurt of creamy cum shot out of the end and splattered all over his nut-brown muscular chest.

“I didn’t really need to see that!” insisted Michael.

“Oh, but I did!” she teased, slapping him on the arse.

She brought back the bank of women.

“So who’s your favourite wanker woman?” she asked.

“You,” he insisted, kissing her on the head and inserting a finger up her dripping wet pussy.

“I know that, stupid!” she replied. “I mean from my fan club.”

Michael thought a moment and then pointed at a redhead in her mid-forties who had really lovely big soft pale boobs and a cheeky smile on her face as she sat with one leg pulled up so that the foot was on her office chair and the other stretched out along the ground. “She looks like an older version of my gym teacher from when I was in college,” he explained. “And I always did want to see Mrs. Stokes masturbate.”

Lisbeth made the web cam image go full screen.

“Michael thinks you look like his old gym teacher,” she informed the woman.

“I don’t believe it!” cried the woman. “I thought it looked like you, Michael. I always wondered what the schlong that flopped around in your gym shorts would look like angry!”

“It’s a class reunion!” laughed Lisbeth.

“Now you be good to that boy!” insisted Mrs. Stokes. “He deserves to have his cock sucked. I just wish I could do it! Yum!”

And so that is how Michael Plumfist ended up filling his girlfriend’s mouth with cum while his sexy ex-gym mistress looked on and wanked off.

“This could be a great tool for networking in other ways,” he told Lisbeth later as they chatted with their fans. “I have to fly to Helsinki the day after tomorrow to research my new story. Maybe we have a fan who lives there who would be willing to put me up.”

“There’s a girl named Katti who lives in Helsinki. She’s only eighteen, but she has her own flat. Here she is,” she added, calling up the image of a blonde girl with her hand down her pink panties. “I’ll see what she thinks of the idea.”

“Very nice,” declared Michael looking her over.

“She seems to like the idea,” Lisbeth told him. “I’ll just turn up the sound again.”

“I put him up,” said the smiling girl in broken English. “I put him up my bum!”

“There won’t be much time for extra-curricular activities,” Michael declared. “If I’m going to break the story of price fixing in the pharmaceutical industry of Finland I’m going to need to do some deep probing.”

“And if you want free accommodation while you’re there I think you are definitely going to have to do some deep probing,” Lisbeth pointed out. Then she laughed so hard she fell off her chair.

The End

Illustration by Grok

You know how it is in dreams. How you aren't always yourself.

Well, last night I was Gordon Ramsay.

I was about to give the Kitchen Nightmares treatment to a lady chef. I already had my shirt off as I strode into her large kitchen, resplendent with metres and metres of sparkling aluminium surfaces. There she was washing vegetables at the sink. All she was wearing was an apron. And she had the most gorgeous arse I'd ever seen, round and pert and gloriously pink. She had the figure of a fifties sex goddess, from her broad shoulders to her womanly hips and fleshy legs which tapered down to exquisitely well-turned ankles. She slowly turned to face me.

It was Nigella Lawson.

"I've been dying to poke around your pantry, Nigella," I told her.

"You think you're such a rogue, don't you Gordon?" she scolded me playfully, a naughty twinkle in her eye. "But you're really just a boorish brute. Jamie is much nicer. And cuter. Even if I can really spank his bottom when it comes to cooking."

"What are you trying to make?" I asked, shaking my head as I came over to examine the contents of the sink, and, at the same time, shamelessly fondle Nigella's nude bottom.

"I'm making a tomato surprise," she explained.

"I don't see any tomatoes there," I pointed out.

"It doesn't have any," she said. "That's the surprise."

"What's the main dish?" I wanted to know.

"This is," she replied. "We're serving a vegetarian meal."

"Fuck me!" I cursed. "Why would you want to do that?"

"It's healthy," she maintained.

"Nothing wrong with the good old fashioned English meat and two veg!" I cried.

"Gordon! Gordon! Gordon!" she sighed, shaking her head.

"Here's one I prepared earlier," I told her, pulling down my chef's pants and waving my stiff cock and balls in her general direction.

"Unimaginative," she declared, raising an eyebrow as she stared at my cock. Then she gathered a droplet of pre-cum off the tip with her finger and placed it between her succulent lips. "But boldly delicious none the less."

The next thing I knew the kitchen staff arrived from out of nowhere. Twenty female cooking students between the ages of 18 and 25 of all different body types and hair colours, and all stark naked. They weren't even wearing aprons any more, and neither was Nigella. This was a dream. None of us were going to get burned by hot fat.

They were all doing a great job of preparing a gourmet meal, but I was Gordon Ramsay, and this was Kitchen Nightmares, so I just pretended they were incompetent, because it was more fun that way.

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me!" I cried. "You call that chopping parsley!" The cute pink-cheeked little butter ball was actually doing an awesome job, but I wanted to tell her off and spank her big bottom. And that is just what I did.

They all knew I was just pretending. And they were determined to have fun at my expense as well.

"Now to slice up some salami for the pizza!" cried a skinny freckly redhead, grabbing my cock in one hand and a huge butcher knife in the other.

"Hey!" cried Nigella, rescuing me. "This is a vegetarian dish remember?"

"Oh, dear!" cried a short bespectacled brunette. "I've made a mess!"

She had spilled a creamy cheese sauce all down the front of her.

"I'll help you with that!" I cried, sinking to my knees and enthusiastically licking the delicious thick liquid off of her erect clit.

"Here comes more!" she cried, picking up the saucepan and deliberately pouring it all over her nipples and belly and my own head. The next thing I knew there were wet tongues lapping at my back as the sauce ran down towards my arse.

"How's this?" asked Nigella, walking up and deliberately sprinkling a herb and spice mix over her pussy. "I'm not sure if I've got the mix quite right?"

Soon all the girls were getting me to taste stuff off of their stiff clits.

"I'm getting a stiff back here," I complained. "Let's do things a little differently. I'm not the only one with taste buds you know."

So from that point on all of the tasting was done by the girls, off of the end of my erect cock. Those lasses were a lovely lot of lickers. And, this being a dream, I came and came and came, filling all of their mouths with my own special recipe sauce for afters.

The weirdest bit of the dream was when whipped cream started shooting out of the end of my cock and the girls took turns to use me to decorate cakes.

Finally the meal was prepared and we all sat down to eat it.

By this time Nigella had been hitting the cooking sherry and was happily plastered.

"We don't have glasses," she pointed out. "So everyone will have to drink wine out of my cunt."

"A red, I think, with this meal," I suggested.

"I don't care, as long as it's bubbly," she slurred. "I love the feel of bubbles up my boo boo."

So she stood on her head with her legs spread while I poured a sparkling red up to the brim of her cunt.

"Ooooooh, it tickles!" she cried. And we all lined up to drink the fizzy liquid and give her clit a friendly flick with our tongues.

Of course it all ended in a food fight. And we had to lick all of the food off of each others bodies.

Just as I was laying back feeling tongues lapping at my face and nipples and fingers and balls and cock and toes and.... everything, there was a loud knock a the door.

"We heard that there was a major culinary event underway, so we thought we'd drop in," explained a gruff voice.

It was the Hairy Bikers. Thank goodness at that moment I woke up.

The End

Image by Grok

O.K. Before we start, lets just get something straight. You’ve come to expect from my stories a certain standard of realism. So when I start talking about a world where humans coexisted with dinosaurs, I can see that you are going to give me a hard time. But that is where you would be wrong. Because humans and dinosaurs did, in fact, walk the earth side-by-side. An increasing number of fossil discoveries have proven this beyond a shadow of a doubt.

So why haven’t you heard about this? I’ll tell you why. A conspiracy. The paleontologists of the world have made a secret agreement to keep a lid on the evidence. After all, not only would it be embarrassing to have to admit how wrong they had been for all those years, but, to release this information would serve to redeem and give comfort to a certain group of irresponsibly irrational individuals. You know who I mean. That’s right. The makers of movies such as One Million Years, B.C. and When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth. Should these men learn that their movies were a spookily accurate depiction of what life was like for our cave-dwelling progenitors, right down to the brand of false eye-lashes worn by Racquel Welch, there is no telling what might eventuate. Maybe even a new series of The Flintstones.

So why am I breaking this conspiracy of silence? Because I’m not a scientist, I don’t give a fuck, and I quite liked The Flintstones.

Ook was a member of a tribe who called themselves the Rock People. They lived far up in the mountain caves of central Europe. There life was a harsh battle against the elements. The wind blew heavy through the mountain passes, stirring up the massive drifts of snow. Like the rest of his people, Ook covered himself in a cloak of mammoth fur and also wore a tiger pelt loin cloth. His feet were wrapped in antelope leather, but his hairy legs were bare to the chilly winds. Only the tough survived in the high lands.

Ook pulled his flint knife from the side of his loin cloth and joined his fellow tribesmen in hacking free large slices of meat from the carcass of the mammoth that they had just felled with their mighty spears.

Old Mongo enthusiastically cut off the beast’s genitals with a single swipe of his stone blade.

“Look at me,” he cried, “I’ve got a mammoth cock!”

“Get a move on,” growled Krog, the leader of the tribe. “The sabretooths will have smelled the blood. They’ll be here any minute.”

Of course they weren’t really speaking English. They were speaking a language consisting of guttural grunts and expansive hand gestures.

As they headed back to their cave, heavily-laden with their cargo of raw meat, Ook contemplated his lot in life.

Ook had always felt that he should be leader of the tribe. Wasn’t he the most intelligent? Wasn’t it he who had first pointed out that their living conditions would be much pleasanter if they shat outside the cave? And yet Krog was the leader because of his prowess as a fighter. Krog could fell any man with one blow of his club. Anyone, that is, who had not already been laid low by his body odour.

One reason why Ook wanted to be leader was that the leader got first pick of a mate. Krog’s woman, Hubba-Hubba, made Ook as horny as a Triceratops. She had ice-cold blue eyes beneath a tangled mane of raven hair. Her full breasts were barely contained by her crude leopardskin bra and the jiggling cheeks of her ass were tantalisingly revealed whenever the wind whipped up her loin cloth.

Ook, though very clever, was the worst fighter in the tribe. That is how he ended up with Grot-Grot as his woman. Grot-Grot had a bald patch on the top of her head, she was missing an eye and she smelled like a dead skunk. She did have a good sense of humour though.

The cave was a very crowded place. A tribe of thirty five men, women and children squeezed into a cliff-front cavity the size of a Taco stand. If they wanted to fight, they had to go outside.

And there was no privacy when it came to fucking. Once the children were asleep and the fire had gone out, the moaning would begin as couples rubbed together their bare skins beneath their bear skins. As the men humped away at their women in the Stegosaurus position, the women would gossip amongst themselves about whether their men were able to rock their world or whether they left them stone cold.

Then came the time for the women of the tribe to make their monthly pilgrimage down to the lowlands to gather fruit. Normally, this was an arduous but uneventful trip. But on this occasion the women were cornered in an orange grove by a hungry Tyrannosaurus. It came charging at them on its powerful legs, saliva dripping from its razor-sharp teeth, and its pathetic little arms just sort of hanging there.

They had no alternative. Two of them picked up Grot-Grot and hurled her forcefully towards the terrible Thunder Lizard. And, as he bit her head clean off, tossed it in the air and swallowed it with a loud gulp, they turned tail and ran back up into the mountains.

So that is how Ook came to be sleeping alone on the night of the full moon.

All around him couples were grunting and squealing like sex-mad warthogs. He was feeling especially horny. He tried rubbing his raptor, but it just wasn’t the same.

Krog loved nothing better than having Hubba-Hubba gobble his knob. And this is what she was doing beneath the bearskin to Ook’s right.

“No harm in having a peak,” he told himself as he lifted the bottom of the pelt and, by the light of the moon flooding through the cave entrance, feasted his eyes on Hubba-Hubba’s luscious bare bum.

Krog’s eyes were tight shut in ecstasy. What would he notice if Ook stole himself a bit of Hubba-Hubba’s action?

He pulled himself up behind her and slid his stiff cock into her hairy wet pussy. She wriggled in approval. Just as Ook had suspected. She was a cavewoman of easy virtue.

Ook grabbed onto her hips and slapped his hairy six-pack against her bare bottom as he probed her pussy with his flesh spear.

If Ook had been a little less enthusiastic, things might have gone well. But he rammed into Hubba-Hubba so hard that she fell forward and sank her teeth into Krug’s engorged prick.

“Owwwwwww!” cried Krug, his eyes flying open. “What the fuck! Ook you terrible cunt, stop fucking my woman!”

“What?” Ook, responded, thinking on his feet. “You mean this isn’t a dream?”

But Krug didn’t believe that Ook had been sleep-fucking. He challenged him to a fight.

Rather than die a horrible death in that cramped cave, Ook ran out into the wilderness where he could be free to die a horrible death in the fresh air.

He ran and he ran and he ran. If you’ve ever run down a mountain you’ll realise that that is what happens. Starting is easy, stopping impossible. Two days later he arrived at the lowlands and fell forward on his face. For three hours he just lay there, but when a baby raptor came past and started eating his ear, he had to climb to his feet and look around. He was in the grove where the women gathered the fruit. So he filled his belly and then he thought about what to do next. He would have to go far far away if he were to be safe from Krog’s vengeance. On the edge of the fruit grove was a creek, and beyond that a mighty desert. He drank his fill of water and then set out into the desert. He doubted that he would survive to get to its other side, but he could think of no other way to put a significant barrier between himself and Krug.

He was used to the cold climate up in the snow-capped mountains. The heat of the sun beating down on the desert sands was overwhelming. He abandoned his furs and his tiger pelt loincloth. Dizziness swept over him, and he had to use all of his will to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

And, finally, inevitably, he collapsed. There was no more energy in his body. He almost welcomed the end that he knew would come as the sun dried him up like a raisin.

But it was not to be. Just as all seemed lost, a mighty shadow swept across his body. In the clear blue sky above him a hungry pterodactyl circled and watched. And then it swooped down, clasped him in its sharp claws and bore him aloft. The desert was no place to enjoy a leisurely meal. It would take him back to its island nest.

Though Ook didn’t know it, this was man’s first experience of flight, of the freedom of souring up into the sky and seeing the world shrink below until the mightiest of trees looked small enough to stick up your nose.

It was a pretty big desert. Ook could see that from the air. There was no way he would have made it without the pterodactyl’s help.

Ook’s next surprise would be the ocean. How could he have suspected that somewhere there was an expanse of water even larger than the desert? He could see it coming a long way off, as they were flying quite high. But as they neared the beach, the pterodactyl began to circle and descend. Eventually, Ook could see why.

There were women on the beach. Naked women. Their only fur was that growing between their legs. Among the Rock People, nakedness was something that only happened in the dark. The sight of these gorgeous shapely nude women, all of them with strange yellow hair unlike anything Ook had seen before, cause him to pop a boner, even in his situation of grave peril.

The pterodactyl was circling the women on the beach trying to make his mind up whether one of them would make a tastier morsel than the sinewy piece of man meat he currently had in his possession. This gave Ook plenty of opportunity for a good long perv.

“Why not have a wank?” he asked himself. “After all, it might be my last.”

Thus did he become the world’s first member of the mile-high club, solo division, as he grabbed his stiff cock and stroked happily away as he enjoyed his aerial view of the bevy of buxom blondes who bedecked the brine-swept beach. How he would love to fuck one of those strange creatures. They were even more luscious than Hubba-Hubba. It didn’t take long before his happy cock produced a spurt of creamy cum which fell down and landed on the belly of one of the dozing dishes.

“What was that?” she cried, opening her eyes. The girl next to her did likewise, and spotted the circling pterodactyl. Then she looked down at the milky substance that had landed with a splat on her friend’s stomach.

“A pterodactyl just jizzed on you,” she laughed.

The first girl wiped up some of the liquid on her finger and then licked it off.

“Funny,” she said. “It doesn’t taste like pterodactyl jizz.”

Around this time the pterodactyl apparently decided that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Although he was really the only thing around that resembled a bird and the only bush in sight was of the pubic variety. Which just goes to show that it is a good thing it is me telling the story and not the pterodactyl, otherwise we’d all be confused.

As Ook’s captor winged his way out over the water, headed for the volcanic island, which loomed up out of the sea about a half a mile offshore, Ook pulled out his flint knife and jabbed the creature’s leathery claw.

The air was ripped asunder by an ear-shattering squawk, as the pterodactyl dropped Ook, who fell with a mighty splash into the sea.

Weak from dehydration and wanking, all Ook could do was to let the current float him towards shore. But by this time he had attracted the notice of the blonde babes on shore. A couple of them swam out to fetch him. One of them grabbed him by the dick, and the other put his head under her arm and pressed it up against her soft boob as she dragged him to shore.

The five women who had been sunning themselves on the beach were apparently only the tip of the iceberg, metaphorically speaking. Twenty three more stunners, their hair blonde and their bouncing bodies well-tanned, came pouring out of the cave that overlooked the beach.

There were no men. What Ook didn’t know is that the men of the Sand People were off on a long fishing expedition and would not be back for several days.

Ook staggered out of the water with the curvaceous cavegirl beside him still pulling on his cock. Then the others gathered around him, sniffing him and curiously tugging at his strange dark hair.

“Akita!” one of the women said, insistently, thumping her fist between her ripe bosoms with an air of great pride.

“How are you doing, Akita?” Ook replied.

“Akita!” insisted another of the women, with the same gesture. Then another followed suit. And another. And another.

“Strange,” thought Ook. “It must be confusing if they are all called Akita.”

What he would only discover after living with the tribe for many months was that, in the language of the Sand People, “akita” meant “slut.”

Realising that Ook was not in good condition, the girls took him back to their cave and fed him on fish and fruit and coconut milk. After a couple of days he was back to his old self.

These women of the Sand People were not like the women of the Rock People. For a start, they never stopped playing with themselves or each other. Or with Ook himself. There were always a couple of them sitting by the pile of palm fronds on which he rested. His presence seemed to greatly arouse them. They would stroke his head and the hair on his chest. They would kiss him and suck his toes. Meanwhile they would smile sweetly and masturbate with their other hand. If they thought he was not too tired they would suck his cock until he spurted his love juice down their throats. And when he was able to walk weakly out onto the beach he would find them playing a game which might have been called Lick Pussy Chasey. One would chase the others until she caught one, and the one caught would have to lick the catcher’s pussy until her face was bathed in cunt juice.

Once he was recovered, Ook found he had his work cut out fucking all the girls. They loved wanking and licking each other’s clits, but they liked cock best of all. Each night he would fuck three or four of them, and then, when the others pushed forward he would make a face which spoke apology and wag his limp willy at them to show that it had lost all hope of stiffness for that evening. But he was always willing to cuddle with them while they wanked off and licked each other’s pussies. So nobody ever grumbled too much.

But Ook had a problem. His skin was used to the cloud-covered mountain skies. While the women were used to the sun and well-tanned, Ook burned a painful pink if he stayed too long in the sun.

Through gestures the women told Ook that they had a solution for his problem. They indicated that their pussy juice had a miraculous power to protect him from the sun.

Now, before you decide to save money on sunscreen and seek ozone protection for your next beach visit by smearing girl cum all over your body, let me tell you that it doesn’t work. Those Sand People girls were conniving little bitches who knew how to exploit the ignorance of a hick from the high country in order to get the non-stop orgasms they craved.

“It’ll take an awful lot of pussy juice to cover my whole body,” Ook pointed out, though the girl’s didn’t know his language. They could pick up the gist though. They smiled and nodded their heads.

The first stage was the wanking. The girls lined up and Ook pleasured their pussies and stiff slippery little clits with his newly skilful fingers. He helped the process by sucking on their stiff nipples. As the cum squirted out, Ook wiped it up with his fingers as it dripped from their hairy pussies and smeared it onto his skin.

The second stage was the oral sex. Ook almost got fur balls from licking all of those hairy cunts. But the girls would soon squirm and shoot or dribble more of the substance he sought.

The final stage was just for those who could perform especially well under unusual circumstances. Mostly it was a case of him spanking their bottoms hard while they wanked themselves off.

Then one of them pointed her bum at him, bent over and pulled her cheeks apart. One of the other girls pointed to her butt-hole.

“What are you trying to say?” asked Ook. “That she’s constipated?”

One of the other girl’s looked exasperated. She lubricated her index finger with saliva and then slid it up the other girl’s bottom. The girl whose bottom it was, gave a shivery giggle. The other girl removed her finger, pointed to Ook’s cock, which had mysteriously stiffened at this display, and then back to the butt-hole in question.

So Ook wiped his pre-cum all over his member and then slid it happily home into the girl’s chocolate starfish. The other girls all clapped as he plundered her poop shoot. Meanwhile she rubbed her clit until she squirted her essence into her hand. Once Ook and pulled out and wanked off over her beautiful behind, she wiped her cream all over his face.

Secure in the false assumption that his skin was duly protected, Ook lay out to sun himself and rest from all this exertion.

It was at this time that the men of the tribe returned from their fishing expedition.

The women told them about the stranger who had come to join their tribe. As the men gathered around to meet Ook, they sniffed and wrinkled their noses suspiciously.

“I think something fishy is going on here,” one of them said to another.

The End

Image by Grok

Hypochondria is a complex problem at the best of times, but especially so when the sufferer is a member of the medical profession.

Montague Periwinkle was a successful Harley Street physician, but his practice took a serious toll on his emotional wellbeing as he had a tendency to become persuaded that he suffered from the same conditions he found in his patients. A large portion of the fees he collected were spent on consultations with his fellow practitioners. This could often be quite embarrassing, especially on the occasion when he believed himself to be suffering from an infection of the ovaries.

If he had lived in our day he could have simply chilled out on a self-proscribed dosage of Valium. But our story takes place in 1926.

One of his colleagues suggested that he take up a quiet practice far from the stress of the big city and Montague agreed. So when he was offered a position as private physician to the family of Francis Stryker, owner of a Haitian sugar plantation, he accepted. He would have only six patients to attend to so the number of imaginary illnesses to which he might fall victim would be limited, and the time spent lazing on the tropical beaches would ease his hypertension and resulting angina. He was pretty sure that he did actually suffer from angina as his attacks of chest pains were a regular occurrence which seemed to have no correlation with the treatment of patients with heart problems.

His wife Gertrude was rather less enthusiastic about the move as Haiti was, as she put it, “full of darkies.”

“We won’t have to mix with them socially,” he assured her, “and I hear that they make very good servants if beaten regularly.”

However, once he actually arrived on the island, he found that he came to share his wife’s distrust of its dark-skinned inhabitants. Their warm smiles and unfailing friendliness could only be a sign of sinister intent, he told himself.

And when, on the morning of his third Wednesday on the island, he returned from a walk on the beach to find a crudely made palm fibre doll laying on his bed with a pin stuck in its chest, his suspicions were confirmed. He clutched at his own chest, the angina burning like a red hot spike through his heart.

Even leaving aside the unscientific nature of such a belief, there was a logical inconsistency in the idea that the voodoo doll was the cause of the pain in his chest. He’d been suffering from angina for a full year before his arrival in Haiti. But logic had never been much of a defence against Montague’s psychosomatic ailments.

“You’d better go see Mama Loa,” Stryker advised. “Of course it is all just superstitious nonsense, but if one of my servants has a grudge against you you want to find out who it is, and only Mama Loa has the connections to find that out.”

“Who’s Mama Loa?” asked Montague.

“She’s the local Voodoo Queen,” Stryker explained. “Toby will take you to her.”

A full moon shone in the tropical night as he followed the gaunt old black man through the cane fields to the small shed in which Mama Loa saw her constituents.

He wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he arrived at the clearing in front of Mama Loa’s shed. There she stood, her wild raven hair piled up like storm clouds around a face of breathtaking beauty. A raging fire burned behind her dark eyes and in her sinewy limbs and proud stance Montague could tell that she embodied the wild majesty of the untamed island in a way which made her position as Queen something inevitable. She was dressed only in two strips of cloth, one tied across her swelling bosom, the other acting as a make-shift skirt, tied above one coffee-coloured hip and hanging down halfway to her knee on the other.

“What brings you to me?” she asked, her eyes searing into his soul.

“I... that is... Stryker... He said you could help me,” he stuttered.

“In what way?” she wanted to know.

“I found this in my room,” Montague told her, holding up the doll.

“Poor workmanship,” she commented, taking the doll from him, “but sufficient to do the job for which it was intended.”

“Do you know who might have... put it there?” he asked.

“Someone who wants power over you,” she informed him.

“You couldn’t give me a name?” he queried.

“What I can do is to make you invulnerable to this kind of spell,” she told him. “If you trust me enough to put yourself into my hands.”

He didn’t feel he had any choice.

So it was that he found himself lying on his back, arms and legs stretched out on the ground, while three drummers, huge muscular men stripped to the waist, beat out a savage rhythm that seemed to invade his very being, causing his heart to race and his mind to spin as if in the grip of some powerful drug. He couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. He felt like a butterfly mounted on a display board, a pin stuck through its thorax.

And out into the moon-bathed clearing came Mama Loa, now completely naked, dancing like a thing possessed, sweat pouring down her body as she shook and twitched like a convict in the electric chair, her breasts swinging, her pelvis thrusting, her buttocks gyrating wildly. Montague had never witnessed anything so insane, so intoxicating, so cock-stiffening.

The next thing he knew, she was on top of him, her slippery wet breasts slapping his face, the musky smell of her armpits intoxicating him, her hair-covered pubic bone rubbing insistently against the swollen length of his engorged member. She reached for something behind his head and then he saw the light of the moon reflected in the blade of a massive knife which she lifted high above his face.

When the knife came down it was to cut away his shirt. Mama Loa seemed possessed of inhuman strength. Flash, flash went the knife and his bare flesh was exposed to the light of the moon. She undid his belt and pulled it off, and then began cutting away his trousers.

His cock throbbed with the same electricity that shook her naked body, the head slippery with pre-cum slipping out from inside his shorts. She threw away the knife and tore his remaining garment down over his legs. He was naked.

She continued to dance, but now it was with a quiet intensity that she twisted her body like a limbo dancer, deliberately swaying back and forth over his body, never touching but sometimes as close as a millimetre from his aching cock. It was unbearably tantalising. How he longed for her touch. How, even more, he longed to plant his prick deep inside her warm body steaming with sweat. All he could feel were the drops of perspiration that fell from her dark flesh and splashed like a soothing rain on the burning skin of his cock, running down its length and dripping over his balls.

Then her face was between his thighs, her pink tongue was running wetly up the underside of his prick as he strained his neck to look directly into her hypnotic eyes. And she swallowed it, her lips pulling back, her pearly white teeth glistening in the moonlight, making his heart thunder as, for a moment, he feared he would be a victim of cannibalism. But he had nothing to worry about. The wet furnace of her mouth made tender love to his stiffness as her hands massaged the flesh of his thighs.

His ears numb from the thunder of drums, Montague watched as Mama Loa surrendered his cock and stood over him once more, swaying and slapping her thighs. Then she spread her legs and squatted over his belly letting him see the creamy juices that poured from the pink pussy that was framed by the darkness of her thighs, labia and pubes. He felt her pussy juice drip onto his belly as she brought her firm sweaty buttocks down onto his stomach. She wiped up some of her essence on her slim fingers and pushed them forcefully between his lips. He tasted her and it was good.

She teased him by dragging her buttocks down over his thighs so that his stiff cock was forced to push deep between the cheeks of her ass, rubbing against her tightly puckered anus, before being released to slap forcefully against his stomach. Then she grabbed it in her hand, lifted herself and then slid her wet cunt down decisively over his lusting cock.

Up until now he had felt paralysed by Mama Loa’s divinity, but now he knew she wanted him to respond. He grabbed her slippery wet butt cheeks and thrust his thighs up to meet her. Her eyes were rolling up in her head and his were riveted to her bouncing brown breasts and the droplets of sweat that flew off her stiff nipples.

She quivered to an orgasm that climaxed her dance like the crescendo of a symphony. And Montague felt a fountain of boiling jism rocket up from his balls and explode into the cunt of the Voodoo Queen.

It was at that very moment that Gertrude’s rolling pin came down with a sickening crack on Montague’s head.

“I leave you alone for a couple of hours,” she screamed, “and what do I find. I find you copulating with a jungle bunny!” And then she marched off in a huff.

“If you like,” said Mama Loa to Montague, “I could turn her into a zombie.”

“A zombie?” queried Montague, rubbing his concussed bonce.

“She’d still have the lower brain functions required to cook, clean and give you a blow job,”she explained, “but without the upper brain function necessary for complaining, criticising or gossiping.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Montague, snuggling up to the sexy Voodoo Queen. She smiled and kissed him on the top of his head. He notice that his heart felt kind of strange, but it didn’t hurt any more. The warm excited feeling which possessed it was decidedly pleasant.

“Do you want me to put the doll back in its box?” asked one of the muscular drummers.

“It was you!” exclaimed Montague.

“We all have our fetishes,” explained Mama Loa. “When you live on an island with a 95% black population and your fetish is for nervous white guys sometimes you have to resort to special weapons and tactics.”

The End