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They claimed it would never sell, that it was a fools idea. Charles Billionworth VI showed them, he had showed them all. His new invention would be all the rage. It would be featured in the top magazines, have a MTV reality show, and make his name quite literal.
It was the first American salad bar strip club.
He opened at 9am sharp. American flags hung from the ceiling, “Proud to be an American” was on loop from the tinny speakers on the wall, the salads were filled with everything from caesar to mango, and the women were in the corner, nervously giggling to each other and rubbing baby oil onto their breasts. It had been awkward to recruit the only women he knew – prostitutes and family – into this job, but it would be worth it when his only job was going on vacation and fucking biological women.
The door 'dinged', and Charles tensed in anticipation, pulling eagerly at the edge of his Speedo. It was time to show the genius of his invention to the first customer.
The nervous, weedy man shuffled up to the counter, and Charles grabbed the woman nearest to him and quickly inserted his stiffy into her. The plan was simple: as Charles filled up the woman, he would fill up the customers salads. The man looked terrified, but Charles could see that hidden desire, that lust to watch a handsome man serve both carnal delights and beetroot salads.
The woman pressed her implants up against the glass. It had been a messy surgery – her areola looked like an unpacked suitcase. But you worked with what you had. In a heated fervor, Charles hands shook as he filled up the stryofoam to the customers liking. “ISN'T THIS EXCELLENT, SIR?!” He bellowed over the counter. His hands shook with his impending orgasm. The woman's cries, not dissimilar to a cat being skinned, overpowered even the strains of the patrotic music. He blew his load just as he sprayed balsamic in a heated fervor all over the fruit salad.
It was truly a great day to be American.
They had been flirting all day, and the blacksmith couldn't wait any longer. As he groped furiously at her breasts he felt something rise beneath her dress. Much to his horror, his comely wench that he had been flirting with all day was more than he had bargained for. She had the tool of the devil beneath her dress.
The blacksmith tried to tear him self away from this abomination unto god. But "her" strength was prodigious and she pulled him close and whispered in his ear "I'll be gentile. I like big strong boys."
Howls were heard through out the ren faire that evening. The blacksmith was never seen again. And neither was the wench.
Cassandra you are a talent.
Satans..... hints.....
Hahaha
Like there are straight guys at ren faires
Or attractive women
Or the lack of an assumption that 90% of the people you meet are in drag
Worst super power ever.
Won't save the world with it. Can't even put it on my resume.
Satans..... hints.....
I've never been to a wedding.
This will take research.
Wikipedia. Diagrams.
Reference photos.
Two MAN-children without genitals of any sort.
You need your own awesome posts forum
seriously though do you write, you know, things that aren't horrifying literotica?
I mean I am fucking blown away at the quality of this
It was a chilly afternoon in Stayton, OH and not many people were out shopping that day.
Danny was on the closing shift of the local Gamestop. He had finished all of his closing duties but there was still about half an hour left before he could lock up and go home. He decided to kill the time by surfing 4chan at work. As he clicked his way through /b/ a strange noise started to emanate from his computer. The low humming noise got louder and louder until it became a drone.
Images began flashing through his head. Images of pale wrinkled men locked in sweaty coitus, gently caressing each others shriveled, dessicated nether regions with slick pink tongues. Images of a gargantuan, dripping pink maw, held open by two enormous hands. Images of a pair of flat, lifeless tits, that looked they had been chewed on by an over zealous puppy and then pasted back on with no regard to weather they were even or not.
As these horrific images coursed through his brain he felt a tugging at his pants and he looked down. Seemingly out of thin air a large group of tentacles had appeared and were pulling his pants off. He tried to scream for help, but as soon as he opened his mouth, a tentacle filled it. It tasted salty he thought as it forced him to take more of it into his mouth. Soon he couldn't breathe and was gasping for air, and it was at this moment that he felt a pressure on his pants and then a terrible pain. He was now penetrated from both ends and suspended in the air. The tentacles moved of their own accord and took him all the ways that they wanted.
Bleeding from the anus and nearly dead from lack of oxygen, he heard the door chime. And as fast as they were there, the tentacles were gone.
As he struggled onto his feet and looked over the counter he said the only words he could remember: "Welcome to Gamestop, would you like to preorder Madden 09?"
Two people hook up at a wedding:
Susan had tossed back three glasses of wine, carefully counting each calory. She had only had a small bit of the wedding cake – cake was so high in fat. But the only thing she was intoxicated on was desire.
The two of them were in the cramped supplies closet. The strains of that damned chicken dance tune filtered through the door, but the only thing Susan could concentrate on was Dick's dick in her mouth. Dick was an older man, distinguished. He wore a white suit and looked like an older Zach Braff.
The only problem was that sperm had calories, and eating that rich wedding cake would put her over her limit for the week. She was terrified at the same time as powerful desire swept her up in its strong, white-suited arms.
The DJ was now shouting out for all of the single girls to get to the dance floor. She took his firm balls in her hands and squeezed them like the computer mouse she worked at her job, day after day. He smiled at her, and she pulled him out onto the dance floor. Maybe after tonight, she wouldn't be single...
They danced together, this song filling her with joy. She pulled him close, whispered in his ear something that would be sure to tantalize him:
“Maybe when we're done here, you can suck my dick, Dick.”
Backwards Name, I write, but nothing of substance. Poems. A blog. Half finished short stories.
It was cooky and juice time, and that was the best time for Timmy and Johnny. They squealed and clapped their hands as their kindly old grandmother came in, toting a tray of fig newtons and Tang. Grandmother popped a tape into the rickety old VCR.
“Now, be careful you two.” she admonished them. “Don't get crumbs all over the carpet.”
She loved Timmy and Johnny with all of her heart. She had taken them in from an early age, and although they weren't biologically related, it had not taken long for them to love eachother as brothers. She went to rub cream into her old joints and have a glass of Earl Gray while Timmy and Johnny watched the tape. It was Aladdin, a story about a boy who rubbed his lamp and made friends with a large muscle man who fulfilled all of his wishes.
Timmy and Johnny watched the tape with rapt admiration. When Aladdin escaped the scary cave, Timmy lay his head down on Johnny's shoulder... and Johnny felt his bad devil urges rising up. The front of his khaki shorts became tense with the tiniest erection.
“Timmy” he whispered. “I'm having bad no-no thoughs.”
Timmy shockingly responded by grabbing Johnny by the shoulders. “I want to marry you!” he cried, and then put his tongue in his mouth. Eeew, gross!
Timmy took his shorts off to reveal bulging Thomas The Train Engine undies. “This is what married people do!” he proclaimed, and began to bump his raging erection into Johnny's bum. Poop comes from there! Johnny got really curious, and took the undies off. “Eeeeew!” he shrieked. “Your pee-pee has hair on it!”
Grandma came in to refresh their tang and dropped the tray. Tang pooled and soaked the carpet. “Timmy, Johnny, no!” she gasped, seperating the two. “That isn't acceptable behavior!” She forced the two to dress and go to their rooms, angry and shocked. She sat on the front porch of the large estate, frowning at the sign that established the purpose of her home.
“The institute for adult downs syndrome sufferers: open since 2003.”
Oh my god
Cass
amazing.
This is amazing
go with down's
it's tried-and-true
Changed just for you
Pretty cool
After four years, the dirty picture staring back from inside the locket just didn't excite Chuck the way it used to. He had spent countless lonely nights staring into her eyes as his rough, calloused hands tried to replicate the memories of her touch. But tonight, it all seemed so empty.
He tossed and turned for hours, his mind and eyes wandering aimlessly, when, suddenly, there it was. The answer. He spent all these years pining for a woman thousands of miles away while his best friend, his only companion, rested at his beside. Did he feel the same way? Did he long for something more than this dreary, mechanical existence? There was only one way to find out.
Chuck sprang with renewed vigor, grabbed his spear and set to work. He fidgeted and chatted aimlessly as he worked, too excited to sit still. Twenty minutes later he sat back and smiled at his handiwork. He only allowed a moment for reflection before lust took over. He threw his spear to the side, swiftly removed his pants, and firmly gripped his best friend with his right hand.
He thrusted, feeling the freshly cut leather scrape at the sides of his erection in agonizing ecstasy. He came quickly and powerfully, filling nearly a quarter of the hollow sphere with his essence. It was a feeling he hadn't truly experienced in years, during that strange period before the crash, a time grown hazy in his memory.
Dawn. The wind rustled the palms as Chuck released his grip, the only sound a faint murmur of "Oh, Wilson" as the ball landed softly in the sand.
The first thing that occurred to Jeb was how much he was sweating.
Well, the first thing that occurred to him was that this was taking way too goddamn long. He’d done this before, too many times to count, and prided himself on never coming up empty. The second thing that occurred to him was how much he was sweating.
He had been pumping for close to twenty minutes now, and still nothing. Dammit he thought, this used to be so much easier. But he could never give up. He had promised himself that. So he did the only thing he could do: screwed his eyes shut, ignored the sweat dripping from the tip of his nose, and really put his back into it.
Pump. Pump. Pump. Jeb couldn’t even bear to open his eyes. He just prayed and listened. Listened for those little telltale sounds that told him his job was done, that he had done well. Those sounds that he had come to know so intimately over the years. Come on, old girl he thought desperately just give me a little something. For Daddy.
Breath burning in his lungs, exhausted, Jeb finally stopped and stumbled away. You always knew this day would come he told himself, but that didn’t make it any easier. What kind of man does this make you? He asked himself, angry and red-faced with shame and effort, how can you look her in the eyes anymore? He decided to give it one more try, and leaned in to start again.
No longer able to endure seeing her man like this, Laura, who had been watching through the open door, stomped through the threshold and glared at her sweat-soaked husband
“Dammit Jeb! If she’s gone dry just go dig another one. But for chrissake, don’t go on and break your worthless back!”
Defeated, old farmer Jeb released his grip from the rusty old hand-pump well. He sighed as he thought It's going to be a long summer…
I saw him today, I see pretty much every day if I know where to look for him. As always, he looked at me. I look at his body and I desire it so, I feel my balls clench and my member rise whenever I see him.
I'm always hoping he makes the first move on me. The most he does is smirk and before I know it he looks away. Sometime we make eye contact for a second, whenever that happens I just want to jump over the counter and mount him.
Today, I feel is the day I'm going to do just that regardless of what may happen to me. I need to feel his white hot semen all over my face. I need to see him stroking his tree branch thick cock.
I walked past him again, of course he was behind the counter as always. We made eye contact yet again, This time we kept it. I looked over his body as he did mine. I was in awe of his ripped abs and his V towards his genitals. I was going to make him mine today. I was going to have him scream my name in extacy.
I leaped over the counter to grab him, but as I did I hit the faucet, banging up my knee. I then tried grabbing his neck to pull him closer, but I hand only reached out inches before me for that little barrier between us.
I see that look in his eyes, he wants me to do what I'm trying so hard to do. I see the wants and yearn in his blue pupils. I wipe out my cock and start going full force back and forth, showing him how much I'm into him. Happily his does the same at the exact moment I do, I always knew we were on the same page. I get close to orgasm and Want to spray it all over his handsome face, I aim up to over come the barrier.
I hit the top of it the same time he does, it just dribble down. The man behind the mirror will have to wait another day for my hot stomach filling spunk.
steam
Sit a few more days
you know what, don't bother getting up
The best talent.