Monday, December 14, 2009

Grey's Analatomy

I put my glove on as fast I could and then shoved my fingers into her birth canal. She groaned a woman's moan. I grimaced as I felt the walls of her vaginae, searching for clues.

"Anything?" she asked, breathy.

"Only pussy," I smiled.

Staring up at her, past her pubis mons and her navel and her mammaries, we locked eyes. She licked her lips at me, causing my penis to engage in engorgement.

Suddenly, I felt something amiss inside her. A large, round, textured mound. It slipped into my grip and I carefully pulled it of her vaginael opening.

"Do you play golf?" I asked, holding the golf ball up for her to see.

"Oh my, I'm so embarrassed!" She blushed.

"You must be a terrible player to have hit a ball so badly that it would end up inside of you."

"This is true."

She was hurt, and I had caused the hurt. This was a no-no, according to the Hippocratic oath.

"I am sorry for speaking to you that way," I apologized. "Let me make it up to you with food at night."

"How about you make it up to me right now?" She slipped her foot off the stirrup and undid my fly with her toes. My penis popped out and dripped pre-ejaculatory fluid down her foot, leg, and into her womanhood.

"Oh no!" I exclaimed. "That can contain semen!"

"How dare you!" she yelled, panicked.

"I must destroy the baby! I must destroy the baby!" I began bashing her stomach with my fists, furiously.

"Harder! Harder! Get rid of it!"

A rogue punch flew and hit her in the face, instantly murdering her from punch to the face wound.

"What have I done!" I yelled at the fluorescent ceiling light. "What have I done!" I put on my stethoscope and put the hearing-bit to my head in order to know what I was thinking. I was still thinking about vaginae. I masturbated to the sound of my thoughts through the stethoscope, and ejaculated onto the newly-dead patient.

Oh, the caverns of the heart
so stuffed-full of art,
and the lions roar heavy
on a pale moon skye.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Bukowski Smut

those nights in Ohio,
sitting in my chair,
watching her cunt on the bed

my typewriter on the arm rest,
my hand on my purple onion

she would rub and rub at it,
and I'd smile and smile

I could hear her cunt hairs
against her fingertips

and I'd throw the toaster
out the window
onto the crab grass,

and she'd tell me I was bad, bad,

and the mail truck,
and the rain on the mail,
my big ugly mug

if I am dying right now
typing this,
let it be in a cunt
rather than remembering one,

and the world continues on,
with the birds in the trees,
and the sparrow on my purple onion

I miss you

you were one of the good ones

e.e. cumming

that feels










Sunday, December 6, 2009

Areolas: A Manifesto

The proletariat breast is true breast. Large areola, serving transition from nipple to breast meat.

The elite breast is unsatisfactory. Small nipple with small or non-existent areola like a man's nipple. Need be extincted.

Man's nipple need not be passed on to women to have. Bad design. Not 'happening'.

Proletariat, it is projected, will out-create elites at infant-creation 10:1 in coming harvest. A good thing. Better breasts for future generations.

Society run on breasts. Need to survive. A standard valuable and venerable more so than gold.

Paper money is creation of elite. Helps to keeping breasts small areola. Fiat paper money system needs a destruction. It is time.

Large areola must only exist. Make better an social construct. Possible to eliminate sadness in men.

Now is time make fire.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Socialism Smut

Elfriede stood alone in center of cold room, shivering. The door opened. It was Kriviev.

"I did not know," said Kriviev. He always knew.

"I am all but forgiveness," said Elfriede.

Kriviev stepped in and closed door behind him. Went over to Elfriede with gusto and touched cold skin with colder hand. "I don't think that."

"Think harder," said Elfriede. She stared at him with eyes of youth, but body of pain.

Kriviev destinationed over to record player. He inserted an amount of tokens and selected a melody. The melody played. Only could afford Locrian mode.

"You can only ever always only afford Locrian mode," said Elfriede.

Kriviev did not reply but instead did in fact a removal of pants. Elfriede sighed a body sigh, then took off brassiere A, and finally, brassiere B.

"You look venerable," said Kriviev.

Elfriede raised side of upper lip. Was how she smiled. "You have always ways with syntax."

Kriviev went and took hand of Elfriede and brought body of Elfriede to sleeping corner. She rested down upon single sheet. Kriviev collapsed on top of her with a bear's strength. He rubbed pelvis upon hers over and over. Neither people removed her pants. Was too cold, also baby not affordable.

When ejaculation of man, Kriviev rise and exit. Single tear of Elfriede not visible in dark light.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Really Good Smut: A YouTube Series

Really Good Smut is now also a YouTube series!

Check out episode one:

Make Your Own Penis

It is possible to make your own penis. An extra to keep handy in case of emergency. Follow these instructions:

- Semen
- Arm & Hammer Baking Soda
- Ground Saffron
- Woman's Spit (Spit from a Woman)
- Tin Foil
- Dark, Damn Environment
- Empty glass of water

1) Mold a sheet of tin foil into your desired penis size. You may use several sheets if necessary. Remember to pack the tin foil tight.

2) Masturbate to your favorite pornographic cassette. I suggest 'Love Gnome 6'.

3) When it comes (get it?) time to ejaculate, do so into an empty glass of water. Remeber, it is important that the water is empty.

4) Sprinkle saffron into glass of water of semen as fast as you can for ten seconds.

5) Sprinkle baking soda into glass of water of semen as fast as you can for eleven seconds.

6) Have a woman spit into the glass of water of semen and saffron and baking soda. It is important that she does this willingly, or else your penis will be ugly.

7) Bring tin foil mold and glass of water of semen and saffron and baking soda and woman's spit to a dark, damp environment. Place the tin foil mold on a surface, and then pour contents of glass of water of semen and saffron and baking soda and woman's spit onto the tin foil mold. It is okay if the tin foil mode is not covered completely by the contents of the glass of water of semen and saffron and baking soda and woman's spit, but do try to cover it as well as you can, for science.

8) After six weeks, your new penis will be ready. You now have two penises; one attached to your body, and one sentient and superior in every way. Try the latter one out on a woman. If you are a nice person, you should probably try it out on the woman who donated her precious spit. However, this should only be done if you are still romantically involved with this person. If you are not, try the penis out on an alcoholed stranger.

9) Make another one. Make several. Most men have ten.

10) 8==============D

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

All-Natural Penis Enlargement

My wife, Suzie Cocksuck, is a professional at dick-fucking. Most of you already know her from our website, SuzieCocksuck.cum. Here is the story of how I met Suzie.

I was once a small-dicked man. My dick was no good for fucking; no good for fucking at all. On a nice day, my little rocket stood a mere three inches. It was a terrible penis.

One day, while watching a pornographic laser disc on my home theater system, a particularly giant member appeared on the screen. Something about this member incensed me like a thousand sticks of incense dipped in fire. I turned red with rage, and took the rage out on my penis, tugging at it as hard as I could. To my surprise, it lengthened.

It was now twelve inches long and mighty. I almost had a heart attack from how turned on I was staring at it. I quickly ran out of the room and out the front door in search of fuck.

The first lady I saw was Suzie Cocksuck. She was walking a dog no bigger than a dog, and was completely naked. Her breasts were perky; each of her nipples pointed at the sky like conjoined twins admiring constellations. Her pussy was as slimy and hairy as a guido. I was in love.

My dick became an erection and her vaginae became a mission. I jumped her and began porking her before she even knew what was happening. We fucked for months on that damn sidewalk. When I finally came, my sperm all had beards and jobs. It was truly an epic session of penising.

Wiping cum off of her with a nearby supermarket circular, I asked her to marry me. She said yes, and from that day on, we have been fucking on camera for the entire world wide web. I'm fucking her right now, even. Try and stop me.

Tom "Dick" Cuntfuck, C.P.A.

Monday, November 30, 2009

The Prophetess

Walking down the road she was born on, vagina of her mother shitting her onto burning black tar mixed with crushed stones. She was vengeful and lucid. This dream would not pass before she found the woman who's coitus had created this monstrosity she considered herself. The deeper she went into this suburban hell though the more the cum caped doors beckoned her back to wakefulness. She fought; violently piercing all ten of her orifices hoping against hope that she would find her. Then in the distance she saw the abomination seething the world out from its silken folds. Mother and goddess engorged with undeserved ecstasy. The closer she came the deeper her naked feet sank into the deepening folds that the road was becoming. She began to swim through her mother's female cum; penis of her father tied tightly to her back. She had searched the world of dreams her entire life hoping that she could one day finish what her father started. And as she began to climb the maternal pubic forest she her mother began to moan; deep moans, moans that shook mountains, forced boy's to cum for the first time and impregnated untapped vaginas. This moan she was prepared for placing a single drop of semen into each ear as mounted the pubic mound. Feeling the penis of her father grow hard upon her bare back she knew what must be done. Carefully walking up to the sopping hole of her mother she inserted all that remained of her father.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Thanksgiving Smut

A mother stuffed her meaty arm through the turkey hole and deposited stuffing. A father stood next to her, pounding away at a can of cranberry sauce, demanding it enter the bowl underneath it. It would not budge.

Upstairs, a brother and a sister lay next to each other exploring bodies. The bodies were in a video game called Trauma Center that they were playing on a television. A younger brother walked in and gasped at this, then grabbed his testicles.

"I'm telling!" the younger brother yelled, then ran out of the room.

The brother and sister looked at each other briefly, then continued playing with each other.

The younger brother hurried down the stairs and tripped, falling flat on the floor of the foyer. As he began to cry, a dog came over and began humping his behind. A grandfather rushed out of the bathroom, pants around his ankles, and hoisted the dog off the defenseless, injured boy. As he lifted the dog, a poop came out his anus. It fell to the floor with a plop.

The boy stared at the poop and vomited. The father walked in to see what the commotion was all about, and slipped on the vomit. The mashed potatoes he was carrying went into the air and he went onto the ground. A naked aunt walked in and the mashed potatoes fell on top of her, dripping down her bust and vaginae. She licked some of it with glee.

The brother and sister from upstairs ran down the stairs and farted in shock at the scene in the foyer. The mother came in and was made horny by it all. She squirted milk from her breasts into the mashed potatoes on the aunt, which had needed more milk anyway. The aunt orgasmed as loud as a dog bark and then diarrhea struck everyone at once like it were the year 2012.

Just then, a mailman walked in with a package. It was the new mario system the children had been awaiting. The mailman took one look at the scene and his erection burst through his government-approved outfit like a football team through a banner with the name of said football team on it.

"You'll need to sign for this," said the mailman. "What's your last name?"

"We're the aristocrats," said the poop.

The whole family peed. The mailman shit his fart fuck dick with ass cum.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

How to Eat Cunt

How to Eat Cunt
By Berneard Depareadeaut
Translation by Cody Clarke

Eating cunt is a science-- biology, mostly. Let us discuss.

The cunt is a labia.
All of woman is labia. To approach a woman in such a way is ideal. What are the properties of labia? Sorbet. Women are always cold. If you warm them with your tongue they will be most comfortable. If you warm them too much they will be too liquid for cunt eating.

Cunt hair as power source.
Cunt hair are cilia for women using swimming. Like an amoeba. To disrupt this is unwiser of man. Leave hair alone. If remove: hide evidence so as not to disrupt feeling pleasures.

Rhythmic Pulsations.
A vaginae has a rhythm much like a basketball. To not dribble is to cheat. Dribble cunt juices on the vaginae for maximum pleasure comfort. Support fair-trade cunt juices at your local grocer.

The Orgasm Orgasm.
When the orgasm orgasms, you will know by a tone. F#. Tune surrounding instruments accordingly to heighten vibration of cum. Shake the penis with vibrations in the air at it. It will turn into cum. The woman will be proud of her venerability.

An old joke of my grandfather:

Baker: Bastion, where are you?
Bastion: I am making cum.
Baker: Be quick of it.
Bastion: I am actually Bastionenne!

I appreciate your reading of. Thanks to you, your woman will think at you. Cum is shot. The penis.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Milkinson: Part 1

We all know how Milkinson died in 'Snow Falling on Peters', but very few know how he lived. This is Milkinson's story.

Milkinson Rogerst Jacobs Jr. was born in the Upper West Side of New York City. On his eleventh birthday, he decided that he did not like his middle or last name, only his first name. He threw a tantrum, threatening to burn his face on the stove unless his parents let him legally change his name to only Milkinson. They allowed the change, and a few weeks later, he was Milkinson and Milkinson only.

Milkinson had a penis like a woolly mammoth's face, sans tusks. When he was eighteen, he had sex with the captain of the women's badminton team at his school. She came several times, and by the end of it all, had a cunt like the inverse of a woolly mammoth's face, sans tusks.

The next day, she missed the final Badminton game of the season, as she was sick at home with cunt pains. The team lost without her.

Her parents were livid. They offered Milkinson a check for one million dollars to leave the state and never contact their daughter again. Milkinson took the money, and flew out to California the next day.

Milkinson had always wanted to visit California. As a youth he'd had a babysitter named Julia Roberts. She quit the job in order to pursue a Hollywood career, which devastated Milkinson. She had been his favorite sitter, and his first crush.

When Milkinson arrived in Los Angeles, he bought star map after star map, trying to find one with Julia's address on it. None did. At a bar, he complained of his woes to a stranger sitting next to him. That stranger turned out to be Robert The Niro.

The Niro took Milkinson over to the phones and showed him a phone book. Milkinson flipped through it, and lo and behold, Julia was listed. Milkinson was overjoyed. The Niro was aroused.

The Niro pulled his penis out and twirled it like a twirly snake at Milkinson. Milkinson clapped with glee; it was a phenomenal trick. The Niro dragged the now hypnotized Milkinson into the bathroom and fucked his face with his skinny twirly snake penis. The twirly snake penis slid down Milkinson's entire throat and into his stomach, where it drank all of Milkinson's stomach acid, then promptly left the way it came.

Milkinson lay devastated on the floor of the bathroom. The Niro was gone, and he was all alone. He had been robbed of all his stomach acid and would not be able to digest any food without it.

He ran out of the bar in search of a late-night stomach acid shop that was still open. None were.

If you think Milkinson should try and cultivate his own stomach acid in a basement laboratory somewhere, turn to page 68.

If you think stomach acid is overrated and Milkinson can do without it entirely, turn to page 99.

To be continued...

Monday, November 9, 2009


The chamber was beginning to fill up with water. It was about eight feet tall and about four feet wide and made of dark black concrete. There wasn't a lot of space in it. The male in the chamber looked at his female. He gazed at her lovingly as the gentle stream of water poured over her body. They weren't going to be able to escape; this was where they would die. They were captured spies and the foreign government would never let them go, for with them, dozens of secrets would flow out as well. Her pert nipples were showing through the rather minimal clothing she was wearing. The water had made her top into something far more diaphanous than the makers had probably intended. Her breasts were basically fully visible and begging to be caressed. The man thought about the things he had witnessed: rape, murder, poverty, and suffering, amongst other things commonly only experienced in nightmares. He felt himself beginning to become erect as he vividly recalled a car chase that concluded with the death of a poor family and the destruction of their neighbor's home. As he squeezed her firm buttocks, he thought about how he had just continued after the perpetrator, not even pausing for a moment to dig through the mangled bodies below his automobile. They bathed in flames just as he would bathe in the juices of his woman.

She was wet, both externally and internally. She wanted him before she died. They would not worry about contraceptives, even though they had both been briefed time and time again about their importance in the prevention of sexually transmitted diseases. Although spreading sexual disease would be a wonderful way to get back at terrorists and bad people, no one wanted to sleep with a tainted spy. She wanted his ejaculate in her pussy, just as badly as their government wanted answers so that bad guys could be killed. She was sucking on the tip of his penis, just gently flicking her tongue around the head. She saw in her mind the body of a guard as it fell over the railing. She heard the sickening crack as it hit the pavement below. It coincided with a slight shudder in the man as his body was filled with pleasure. Foreplay could not last long, however. They would soon be dead and needed to fuck quickly. For if they did not, it would never happen. For her, this brief delay was acceptable because of her need to suck one last cock before she could never suck another again.

They became one conscious body and mind as they fucked. Together, they shared memories of torturing terrorists and murdering those that prevented access to terrorists. As his cock rubbed against the edges of her pussy, a knife cut the flesh of a bad guy's throat and blood began spurting out. They imagined the water was a flowing stream of blood, soaking their bodies. It was the blood of success. They had served their government bravely and now they would continue to fuck. The water continued to fill up until it was just about at their faces. The man, through some strange maneuver, was able to hoist the woman's cunt and his own cock into the tiny accessible space above them and shoot his proud cum into her. She too, would come, exactly when he did. They would float on the surface of the water, imagined refugees of a destroyed military vessel that they were nearly killed protecting. However, defending a ship had never been so pleasurable. The two began to cough as water filled their lungs. They died with his cock still inside of her, his cum coating her insides. These two, engaged in such intense fuck, had died as heroes because they killed enemies.

Seeing Miley Cyrus Live

Last night I saw Miley Cyrus live. It was so cool!

The doors were opening at 4, so I got to the mall at around 2PM, and was on line inside at around 2:08 PM. Even though I was early, the line stretched from the doors of the venue all the way to past the food court. The length of the line was intimidating, which filled my '<3' with ':S'.

Everyone walking past, just going about their day, would gawk at the line. Sometimes we would go 'Woooooo!' as they passed to make them go '?' and then we'd 'lol' in our hands. This cheered me up a bit. Also, I talked to a few girls behind me about where they came from. They were from Boston and had Miley Cyrus baseball jerseys on. They played for an all-girls little league team, the Robert's Pizza Miley Cyruses. Too cool!

A little bit later, Miley Cyrus came by and cut in line in front of the baseball girls. I was standing NEXT TO Miley Cyrus! She looked at me and smiled in her Miley Cyrus way, and I stared at her face. Then she spoke:

'Are you here to see Miley Cyrus? :)'


'Want to be best friends?'


'Hehe, you're funny. You also have four mouths.'

'Now just one: :-)'

'Oooh! You look much cuter with one. Your nose is a little long though :\'

'Is this better? :)'

'Yessss! You cut yours off like me! VERY cool. :)'

I felt like the luckiest grown man in the world. We talked and talked, hitting it off and off, reciting our favorite Bukowski poems in grizzled Bukowski voices and cracking each other up. It was the most fun I ever had with someone while waiting to see them.

When the line started moving inside, she grabbed my hand and held it tight.

'I don't want to lose you in the movement of people!' she said.

'Me either, Miley.' A tear came in my eye, but I brushed it away.

As we entered, she hurried me over to her favorite table of the venue. When the waitress came by we both ordered virgin Long Island Iced Teas. We only got to have a few sips before Miley had to go perform in the show.

As she hurried off, the lights went down. Then, bright lights on the stage as her whole band was suddenly there, performing wildly. Everyone went wild! The cuts and dissolves were amazing. I didn't even realize I was watching a commercial until everyone faded into a giant Coca Cola logo.

Then, the giant TV screen curtain came up and there was Miley, LIVE! She launched into her hit, and then another hit, and then another hit. After every few songs, she'd stop and talk to the audience, always in a raspy Bukowski voice. This was her letting me know she cared.

She told the audience stories about New Orleans, back when Jazz was first being invented. She talked about Jelly Roll Morton and Cinnabon Jim. Back then, all those guys were sponsored by sweets companies, so why were people making so much of a fuss about sponsorships now? The crowd retweeted in agreement.

After the show, Miley and I walked around NYC talking about current events. When the topic of pedophilia came up, it turned out she was a staunch supporter! How lucky, I felt, to find someone who shared my beliefs.

Later, I gave her a promise ring and told her I loved her. She told me she loved me too, and began to nibble the candy jewel. I stopped her and told her that if she loved me, she would not eat the ring pop until our wedding night. She nodded in her Miley way.

I hailed her a private jet and she took it home. I was to visit her in LA on her dime next month when her tour was over. We were to be married in a hotel bed, naked, protesting a war or something. Months later, I would be assassinated, and her music would get better and better.

R.I.P. Cody Clarke (1972-2010)

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Breast Haiku

Big titty parade
outside my window today
Window of my soul


Beauty and The Beast sat down to dinner one evening. The Beast was wearing a king's outfit. Beauty was wearing lingerie. It was Halloween.

"Pass the gravy," said Beauty. The Beast passed the gravy to her. She poured the gravy on her mashed potatoes like the shit grew on trees.

"Does that gravy grow on trees?" The Beast asked. Beauty ignored him. He asked this every time they had gravy.

Beauty slid the gravy back angrily. It sploshed all over The Beast's food.

"Rargh!" The Beast exclaimed. The Beast hated extra gravy more than walnuts. Beauty stifled a laugh.

"What's so funny?" The Beast asked.

"Nothing," said Beauty.

The Beast pushed lots of things off the table. They crashed to the floor with ease. All the appliances and utensils that were sentient beings were injured by this.

"Do you see what you make me do?" The Beast asked.

"I don't," Beauty replied. She had been blind many years from a rogue cum shot.

"How convenient," said The Beast. He stormed towards her with a fervor and picked her up out of her seat. She pounded and pounded on his back with her fists as he carried her all the way to the bed room upstairs and tossed her violently onto the bed.

"How dare you," said Beauty.

"Time for dick," said The Beast. He pulled out his fully hairy dick and dicked her then and there. Beauty moaned in delight like a delightful woman. He knew she was not one, but he dicked her anyway.

"Dick me harder," Beauty pleaded.

The Beast dicked her hard like a crossbow full of dick bolts.

"Perfect," said Beauty, "I am making cum."

Beauty made cum and it shot down her labia and out over The Beast's dick. His dick was so aroused by Beauty's cum shot that he in turn shot a few cum shots up into Beauty. Then, Beauty dripped his cum back out onto his dick and he came a second time from the sensation of this.

"I apologize for the gravy," said Beauty, with a sigh.

The Beast ripped open her chest and devoured her insides. He kept eating and eating until she was just bones and bits of sinew on the bed. He was, after all, a beast.

Later he went out and got himself a bunch of new women. Women with no cunty dispositions.

Moral: A bitch in time =/= nine.

Friday, November 6, 2009

Famous Smut-Related Quotes

"Tis' a small cock for man but one giant cock for a kind man-child" - Buzz Aldrin

"Four whores and seven beers ago our foreplay bonked forth this great pair of knockers" - Albert Lincoln

"Fuck is our response to our highest erections, and can be nothing else" - Any Rand

"Fuck without pussy is lame, eyes without fuck is blind" - 'Detroit' Abraham Einstein

"100% of thrust you don't make don't go in her pussy" - Bruce Wayne Gretzky

"kcuF" - remlaP aruaL

"An eye for an eye and the whole world has cum eye" - Gumbi

Unsafe Sexnet; Senior Thesis

Today the internet connects millions of cocks and gavs ("gav" is an internet slang term for "vagina") around the world. It is considered the great pornographic product of the information age, and massive corporate projects have been undertaken to increase its sex appeal to teens and young boys interested in computers. However, the potential for sexual bodily harm is a serious issue facing internet safety experts in the already well endowed nations. Oftentimes the victims of computer related sexual injuries have only just crossed the digital divide, usually coming prematurely, according to sexual sociologists. The predominant safety issue today involves the modification of computer hardware to accommodate human sex organs as direct input devices.

Connecting one's part ("part" is a gender neutral term used on the net that refers to the personal sex organs) to the ports on a personal computer has long been considered risky, but no serious study has been published detailing the possible negative side effects, and sexual hardware manufacturers exert powerful influence over policy makers through lobbying and PR. This has left many governments mostly powerless to stop the practice of "dialing in" to a computer with your dick. Indeed, with the recent introduction of the Personal Cock-Computer Interface (PCCI) onto the market by eCum Ltd, the problem appears more severe than ever.

According to urban legends, some eager boys' dicks have been completely absorbed into the information stream of the world wide web from use of the PCCI. So the rumors go, dicks and gavs, once dialed into a PC physically, immediately become at risk of being converted into information. In one instance, in London, a young boy allegedly "went in after his little cock", according to a friend, and remains in a coma at hospital. This has led to widespread social hysteria surrounding the use of PCCI and other part-port devices. Several firms have taken advantage of the public outcry and have produced a great variety of software programs which advertise the ability to recover assimilated sex parts. These programs often sport interfaces similar to the latest and most popular video games. From the PCCI scandal has risen an immense online community full of speculation, conspiracy theories, and pseudo-scientific examinations of the phenomena that has become known by part-port enthusiasts as "horny ghosting".

Seemingly little can be done to curb either the spellbinding appeal that the part-port world has cast on waiting young boys' cocks, or the growing number of cases of horny ghosting. Until more scientific investigation takes place, the spontaneous digitalizing of young dicks and throbbing waiting gavs can only be considered the stuff of science fiction and fearful hysteria. Nonetheless, the part-port world will require close scrutiny as the world moves into the era of internet-enabled global sexual connectedness.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

The Trench Twist

A thousand miles away and as many years the soldiers ran. They ran up towers packed so full that from your home you could see their pulsing mass perched, so high. They ran down deep, so deep, bellow your feet. Their grenades a rhythmic quiver. Above you see their white parachutes coming, so close, then blown away blood dripping down upon your face. Your AA fed by the roughest hands of your roughest soldiers penetrating the sky with tracers. This night of nights rocked your homeland bringing you to the brink, but whats that...? An unnoticed siege has found the spot and as he lays down beside you his paratroopers cum raining down upon your captured homeland.

Girl Cube

He felt around in the dark. “What have I gotten myself into this time?” he thought. She was in the bed somewhere. He dug through the blankets until he finally found what he assumed was his date for the evening. She was drunk and passed out. He was extremely riled up; six months without sex had driven this man to near insanity. He began losing his mind and ended up at his co-worker's party; the man was normally content with sitting inside on a Friday evening, curled up with a good book. She had invited plenty of people over of all shapes and sizes and tonight. He could not leave without sex.

He forgot to bring a condom. “It doesn't matter,” he thought. He remembered earlier when she had said she was on the pill and hoped that she took it routinely. This man's sexual desperation, however, would have led him to fuck her regardless of her birth control status. He was usually a rational man, but he would resolve this matter in the most animalistic fashion and hope for the best.

He continued to dig. Finally he found her. He began to count her sides. “Six,” he cried. This was the woman. Although she was passed out, he still went through the routines of foreplay. He talked dirty to her and rubbed himself all over her body, sometimes gently and sometimes a little more rough. He would kiss her deeply and prepare to actually penetrate her, something he had been waiting for for the longest time. He would feel the surrounding warmth of her wet pussy around his cock. He would fill her with his cum and go home much happier after doing so.

His throbbing cock was ready; he couldn't find any openings, however. “This is a girl, right?” he said to himself. He remembered how beautiful she looked earlier at the party. He basically drooled over her voluptuous breasts and curvacious body. Her hair was beautiful, long and flowing. She would run her hand through it as she dug in her mind for a topic just on the tip of her tongue during conversation. He found her mannerisms to be utterly adorable. She was a beautiful woman and he was fortunate to be concluding a six month dry spell of sex with her. The man's cock was leaking pre-cum and he was ready to fuck.

“I'll just masturbate and try to find her vagina when I'm about to cum,” he thought. He simply couldn't wait any longer and being as she was passed out, there wasn't anything she could do for him. He began masturbating. The room was dark so he did his best to illuminate his mind with the vivid memories of her body from the hours before. He continued to rapidly slide his hand up and down the shaft of his cock as he approached orgasm. His body was quivering with anticipation. With his free hand, he began feeling around her six sides. He was going to ejaculate very quickly. “Shit,” he yelled as he realized he wasn't going to find anything to penetrate. His body relaxed as the jet-stream of semen was produced. It shot out of his cock and landed on at least two of her sides. After recomposing himself post-orgasm, he lay down, lonely and miserable from another failed attempt at sex.

He had tried to ejaculate inside her, but he could not; she was a girl cube.

Snow Falling on Peters

A long time ago, an evil witch lived in an igloo not too far from here. It was a large igloo with everything a normal house would have in it. From the inside, you wouldn't even know you were in an igloo. From the outside, it was quite obvious it was an igloo. She made such a good establishment with magic.

She was very good at magic. Card tricks, mostly. One day, three college students were wandering around looking for a beer or something when they found on the igloo.

"Dude, look," said Brad.

"Huh," said Geoffreh.

"*Fart noise*," said Milkinson.

They all went inside the igloo easily because igloos don't have doors. Inside, the witch was watching 30 Rock. She hit pause on her DVR.

"Who are you?" asked the witch.

"Brad," said Brad.

"Geoffreh," said Geoffreh.

"Milkinson," said Milkinson.

"How dare you set foot in my igloo. I will put a magic on you for this," said the witch.

The witch shot magic out of her face, mostly her eyes. It hit all of them easily.

"Ahhhhh," said Brad.

"EEEeesh," said Geoffreh.

Milkinson farted.

The three were affected or effected by the magic (I can't remember which) in a very specific way. They all became her sex slaves instantly and they all were given massive erections.

The witch ordered her slaves outside, and they went out there. Then she made them all strip and lay on their backs. All of them had great peters. She really lucked out.

Their peters stuck straight up in the air as if to say 'ride your pussy onto me.' She did so. She fucked each peter one after the other. Her witch vagina was truly a good vagina. Wet and pink as a watermelon lollipop with saliva on it, but with hair everywhere. Everywhere. (Even on her bum)

After she fucked all the peters she told them, "Your curse is you must lay here paralyzed forever. Snow will cover your peters and then the plow man will come by and plow your peters off. He won't know he's done it."

The three could not respond, as she had now paralyzed them. The witch went back inside and finished her episode of 30 rock, all the while college cum dripping out of her vagina and down her chair.

Later, she would take a shit with the door open. She did this often.

The End.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Smut Chase

“I can help you write better smut,” he said proudly. She gave him a good looking over. He was attractive, but he seemed misguided. “I know no one would help you before, but I am certain that I can actually help you. In fact, I'd love to help you,” he added.

“That would be great,” she responded. She still had her doubts about him, but what could it hurt? They would try to write smut and it would be good or bad. They could go their separate ways and write their own smut, or still collaborate. She already had a smut collaborator; he did good work, but it was not the best work and he knew she was looking for inspiration and encouraged her to seek it out. She could remember a brief time long before that where her smut was the finest ever. It was raw and realistic, oozing with the sensibilities of the classic writers of smut. It had been so long ago though that she had forgotten how to write that way. When she needed to write smut, she would, even if she didn't enjoy it. If someone contacted her and needed a story, she would provide. It would keep them from complaining or being displeased with her.

What she wrote was considered excellent by some of the simplest crowds; she could quickly adapt it to the needs of the contractor. However, it lacked the classic appeal that her earliest work had. She had began her career in smut as innocent as anyone. Her ideas were easily visualized and mesmerizing to her readers. The way she could seamlessly weave plot elements and complex interactions into the smut was incredible to say the least. But those days were over; she did simple, straightforward smut that was useful only for masturbation material. Those who loved her trademark sex-metaphors and allegory would be severely disappointed as they would read only the raw thrusting of a pen against paper.

This era of simplicity had been reactionary; she had a period where her she found some of her most complex works to be under-appreciated and ignored. Changing attitudes of readers and a lack of legitimate critics transformed her previously creative works into something more mechanical. The smut-writing that she once loved became no different than any straightforward work. She did it to the best of her ability to satisfy her bosses so that they might not complain to her. She hated to hear complaining, especially since she never heard compliments anymore. The satisfying silence was far more appealing to her ears.

This man would try to help her write better smut. However, he would get wrapped up in his own smut-writing. He would obsess over his own characters and the degrees of penetration. He would give her poor advice as he stroked his own smut-ego. “I usually have better ideas,” he would say with a shrug after a failed brain-storming session. She would still feel hopeless, but satisfied by the nothing that she used to replace her quondam excitement. This man had seemed interesting enough and he was pretty; however, he was definitely not interested in her, at least not then. He had a specific fan base he was appealing to, and he brought that along to her smut. How could he not know that smut-circles never mix well? Smut, one of the most beautiful works of literature, is exclusively enjoyed by small groups of readers. It sometimes takes years to change the tastes and preferences of comfortable readers.

Even despite the man's failed attempts, he would continue to try to help the woman write smut. Her loneliness would allow the man to stick around, despite his deep narcissism. He would say over and over again that he could help her write smut like she did before. He insisted that he could make it happen. But time and time again, he would fail. He would try just as hard as he could, but with his previous ties, he would be stuck in a state of perpetual failure and poor advice. Brain-storming would never really develop into anything special, as he was just looking for ideas for his own smut. She would turn to her collaborator during this time. He seemed to understand at least. He was focused on writing smut with her, rather than overwhelming her smut with her own. She at least found some comfort in this fact. And although his smut wasn't the finest, he was certainly writing better than the new guy. She would keep both smut-writers around, but they wouldn't interact. When she became overwhelmed by the failure of her new helper to actually assist her, she would turn, with joy, to her long-term collaborator.

When the new helper got word that his works were no longer selling to his most consistent audience, he would initially panic. He had gotten so familiar with this audience and knew exactly how to cater to them that a shift like this would be devastating. However, rather than doing something drastic and causing further harm to his career, the man instead opted to focus again on the woman he wanted to help. See, she had began denying him the ability to help her. After a prolonged writing session with her long-term collaborator, she became disinterested in him and made him feel unwanted, something that had been the case for a long time and he had not known it because he was too wrapped up in selfish pursuits that just seemed to vaguely involve the woman. His new energy, however, would force him to press on with his focus on the woman who had began to instill in him such joy, oblivious of the disinterest that lurked inside of her. Perhaps if he could help her, he could actually help himself. He would push on toward an obvious, albeit completely non-existent prize.

Eventually, swimming in the sea of his new energy, he would grow to focus on her needs. He would help her write page after page of smut, which, after much deliberation, would prove to still be weaker than what it once had been. She would state that she had lost her edge. Her inspiration for the once-powerful smut topics had depleted. It lacked the raw energy and innocent excitement of a fresh new writer. She felt detached from the smut. She was so distant from it that sometimes she wondered if she even knew what it was anymore. This would frustrate the man. However, he would continue his quest to help this woman, sometimes behaving in irrational manners to try and assist. His efforts would pay off; she needed to be writing romance, not smut. She had lost the capability to write smut as she had experienced more of the world. Her writing had matured alongside her. He would take this angle as he helped her and she would suddenly begin to thrive again. Her work expanded near immediately and her mind was filled with thoughts of joy and pleasure as she filled up page after page with beautiful sentences and ideas. And although the other collaborator had been helpful, he had never touched on this idea. It was all that she needed to thrive, and oh how she needed to thrive again.

As his excitement grew, the new helper's output would shift topics and increase as well. He would begin filling page after page with raw, unfiltered smut. He wrote the dirtiest thoughts and ideas, and she loved to read them and imagine. His house became filled with his works; they overflowed from chests, drawers, desks, and anywhere else they could be stored. The two people would take the next logical step forward in their relationship and combine their works. He would combine his smut with her romance to create something that stimulated both the sex organs and the mind. They would make love on the piles of smut. Their tangled, pulsing bodies, full of pleasure, would be forever captured in the pages of beautiful, romantic smut.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Star Wars - Episode II: Attack of the Clones

It was the first time I'd ever sucked four titties in a row, rapid fire. Two blond bombshells laying on my bed next to each other. They looked exactly the same in every way.

This was year 2525, and my name is Anakin Skywalker. I am a solider for the galactic army. This is the story of that fateful day.

I was on sick leave in the sick bay. Horace the doctor was out for the night. I was all alone in the sick bay, my cock hard and red like a fire hydrant. I couldn't reach it because my arms were in casts. I had injured it while fighting jedi with my light gun.

Suddenly two women came in. Their names were Leia and Leila. They told me this, right before they threw me off the bed, hurting me. Then they got as naked as two women can get and laid down on my bed.

"If you can make it onto this bed, you can fuck us," they said, simultaneously.

I climbed as hard I could. Harder than my cock. It was painful. I remember several times being overcome with a desire to die, but then my cock would throb and I would continue climbing.

Eventually I made it to the top. They were upset. They had assumed I would not make it.

"We had assumed you would not make it," they said.

"I am Anakin Skywalker," I said.

"We don't want to fuck you but you can suck our tits in a row."

"Okay," I said.

I sucked their tits in a row. Then I went on to fight alongside Yoda and Darth Maul against the galactic federation for control of the galaxy's mining gas. We won. The rest is history. Ancient history. It was a long time ago. In a galaxy far, far away.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Chinese Girls

Chinese girls are the best kind of fuck. They bring luck to anyone who fucks them. The type of luck varies. You never know what specific luck energy a chinese girl will bring you.

Each type luck of luck is represented by a gem:

Ruby -You will have good fortune in powerful matters. You will win your next seven fist fights.

Sapphire - You will misplace some rope on your ship. When you find it again, it will be double the rope you thought you had.

Pearl - The stock market will crash, and it will be your fault. You will marry a woman in a bread line. She will have giant breasts, great for squeezing, and her pussy hairs will be so soft you'd think she were a prince. She is pregnant and lactates. You will drink her milk. It is a time of famine, but you survive with her on breast milk, bread, and pregnancy fucks.

Emerald - Money, money, money! You will have so many stacks of money, for no reason at all. The catch is you are now gay.

Gold - Two dragons on the top of your building that you never knew were there. They will be yours for transportation. The second dragon is for your eventual wife. You will never have an eventual wife.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Cumshot Olympics

Since 1968 there has existed an annual underground Cumshot Olympics, based out of Chippewa Falls, WI. Applications must be submitted between May 1st and July 1st of every year. If you are chosen, you will be flown first class to Chippewa Falls International Airport, to compete in the event.

Submit the following questionnaire, using #2 pencil only, to:

Cumshot Olympics
55 Cockstone Drive
Chippewa Falls, WI


Name: (Cody)
Age: (21)
Penis length: (12")
Penis girth: (7")
Last recorded cumshot distance: (6')

Favorite cumshot olympian: (Jeff Daniels, Actor)
Favorite cumshot: (Billy Boxer. Age 12. Arkansas. 1919. Shot cum from shoreline of pond, hitting a fish jumping out of the water twenty feet in.)
Favorite spank material: (Dance scene from Scent of a Woman)

Friday, June 19, 2009

Sex Riddle

A man was found shot to death, with cum all over him, while in his car. The cum was not his own, there were no powder marks on his clothing, which indicated that the gunman was outside the car. However, all the windows were up and the doors locked. After a close inspection was made, the only bullet-holes discovered were on the man's body. How was he murdered and covered with cum?

Highlight for answer: The man was John F. Kennedy, and the car was a convertible.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Reader Question #1

Dear Really Good Smut,

this summer something changed in me. my penis hairs were getting longer by the second. i am 14 years old. my name is Robert.

puberty strikes, they say. my dad says. this is all the advice I am getting on the subject. I like video games and girls (sort of)

every single day my penis hairs grow an inch or two. why is this

thank you

Robert F
(but my friends call me goku)


Penis hairs are a specific species of hair. This is why they are found only on the penis.

When you rub a penis hair one of a few things can happen:
1) You feel sexual gratification
2) The penis hair falls out
3) The penis hair rubs back

These are all normal processes that the body must go through, and will continue to go through until you are a man.

Do not be afraid of your penis hairs. You can even trim them if need be. Some grown men trim their penis hair completely. Others do not trim their penis hair completely. This is up for the man to decide, not the woman.

Really Good Smut

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Sex Jokes

A man comes home from work to find his wife fucking a guy whom she is not allowed to.
"Honey!" the man says, in shock.
The guy turns around from fucking the man's wife to face the man. His chest is covered in bee stings.

* * *

Q: What do you get when you have sex in a cake shop?
A: Cumcakes.

* * *

Q: Why did the asian drive into a tree?
A: Naked ladies were abound.

* * *

A 10-year-old boy comes into the kitchen from the living room.
"Clean that up!" his mom yells.

* * *

A guy walks into a bar with a duck under his arm. He sets the duck down next to him at the counter and asks for a beer.
"I haven't seen you in here before," said the bartender.
"I've been here plenty," said the man.
"Did you always have a duck under your arm?" asked the bartender.
"No," said the man.
The duck puked cum onto the counter.
"You're gonna clean that up," said the bartender.
"After my beer," said the man.
The man drank his beer and then the bartender came back around to him.
"Will you clean that up now?" asked the bartender.
"After my next beer," said the man.
The bartender handed him another beer. After the man drank it the bartender came back around to him.
"Can you clean that up now?" asked the bartender.
"After my next beer," said the man.
"Well we're all out of beer," said the bartender.
"I guess I'll never clean it up then."
The man exited, never cleaning it up.

* * *

Q: Why does a woman have breasts?
A: For a number of reasons

Smut-bits for Bad People: Tales of Malicious Ejaculates

A racist man used a time machine to go back in time to fuck Cleopatra. When he found out she was black, he went back to the present and masturbated instead.

A bad man had sex with an orphan. When he found out later that she was an orphan, he thought "If I had known she was an orphan I would have came twice as hard."

An evil blind man had sex with a sad woman. When he found out later that she was sad, he thought "If I had known she was sad I would have came twice as hard."

A deceptive man wore a handsome mask in order to seduce a woman. When she was about to come, he took off his mask, revealing his plain real face.

A strong man seduced a woman with his strength. When she was about to come, he told her he was so strong because he was really a robot. This was a lie.

An intelligent man seduced a woman with his brains. The woman was a blind woman and the intelligent man was really a computer.

A braggart seduced a woman with lies. The woman was a naive woman but the sex was good.

7 men had sex with the same woman on different occasions. Later they got together and compared their experiences over tea.

A prudish man was once asked by his lover to shit on her chest while they had sex. He politely refused.

A stingy man was once asked by his lover to pour pennies on her chest while they had sex. He politely refused.

A society of bad men thought about doing sexually malicious things to women. On the way to do these things, they were brutally murdered by a society of bad women.

A sad man once thought naughty thoughts about an eagle. Several schoolchildren prayed for him and he reformed his ways.

Another sad man once thought naughty thoughts about an apple. Several schoolchildren prayed for him and he reformed his ways.

An intelligent man once installed a penis in his computer. The computer enjoyed it when the man stroked its penis and made odd faces and noises when this was done. This was all part of an experiment conducted without the computer's knowledge or consent.


"Give me all your faggot money!" the young, likely black ruffian demanded. He prodded the old man's spine with his pistol, edging him around the corner and into the shadowy alley.

The old man reached into his pocket.

"No funny stuff," said the disenfranchised person-of-colour.

The old man pulled out his wallet and opened it.

"Turn around!"

The old man turned and faced his robber. The boy was barely legal, and dressed in an undershirt and baggy jeans. His curly chest hair was bouncy and seductive.


The old man's hands shook as he opened his wallet and leafed through his money.

"Come on!"

The old man fanned out several heterosexual money.

"That's all you got? No faggot money?"

The old man gulped. His hands were shaking. "I don't use faggot money. I'm not a homosexual."

"You're not a homosexual?"

"No, son."

"Dammit!" the negroid urchin exclaimed. He looked around, thinking. "Alright, can you get me any faggot money anywhere?"

"I don't know any faggots."



"Alright, fuck this." The living darkness incarnate crashed the gun against the old man's temple and he fell to the ground, out like a light.

What came next was gay sex of epic proportion. You have never seen such a penis in all your life. It was like a tree branch sprouting from his loins, dark and gnarled. The veins were thick as guitar cable.

Oh, how that penis was shoved into that old man ass. What a mess of blood and enjoyment. You should've seen it. If you'd only seen it, you'd know.

The pounding lasted hours, and then the old man was pumped full of so much cum that it shot out of his nose as if he had been drinking milk and someone had told him a joke.

After, the old man was dragged to the nearest bank, and inside to the next open teller.

"This is a faggot!" the teenaged african exclaimed to the teller.

"I see," said the teller.

The chocolate person handed the teller the old man's regular money, and it was exchanged for faggot money.

"Will that be all today?"

"Yes," said the sentient licorice stick.

"Thank you and have a nice day."

"You, too."

The brown spectacle exited, and later gave the money to his favorite charity.

Friday, June 12, 2009

A Plea for Carnal Knowledge

Barcelona, Spain - A wildly popular new major was introduced into the curriculum this fall at the University of Barcelona. More than 1,000 incoming freshmen in the School of Psychology have declared themselves as "Carnal Knowledge" Majors. These students, under the direction of Dr. Smevgee Knoack, have copulated with over 10,000 individuals across the world since the program's inception.

"The idea is to create a complete catalog of the world's penises and vaginas." Knoack said.

The project, funded by thousands of anonymous grants made through Knoack's propaganda mouthpiece "Future Better Sex for President, Two Thousand and Sex," sends students to locations all across the world, in order to fuck a genetically diverse sample of the world's population. The student also takes various measurements and, assisted by a local translator, a short survey of the individual's sexual history. Upon returning to Barcelona, Knoack hooks the student up to an EEG machine and records their memory of the fucks (known as the "carnal knowledge" of the fucker) they have experienced. This data is later correlated with the physiological data and anecdotal history of the fucker.

"When we can learn to correlate certain aspects of a fuck with corresponding sections of the human genome, we will be able to increase future human sexual pleasure tenfold!"

Fuckers (the official term for the research subjects worldwide) are chosen randomly from a broad sample of populations chosen based on their genetic diversity. A student is then assigned to obtain sex and information from those subjects, through guile, seduction, bribery, or, one common method, the fabrication of false brothels. Students are encouraged to be compensated by the fuckers (though stealing is of course forbidden) and to donate this money back to the Future Better Sex Foundation.

The carnal knowledge of any given person includes things like the texture and wetness of thier vagina, the propensity to laugh during sex, whether they orgasm with their eyes open or closed, the aerodynamic properties of their penis, the flavor of their ejaculate, etc. These type of facts, once tied to particular genes, will be controllable by science. According to Dr. Knoack, when breeding programs are initiated (projected to begin by 2050), humanity will become a "Sexier Beast."

"Perhaps The Sexiest Beast," he added, wistfully. "We will never know until the same research has been applied to all the Beasts." Knoack confided in us his hope that his Future Sexier children will conduct this research. There was some implication that Knoack had a lot of money riding on this.

This humble smut blog wishes Professor Knoack the best in his endeavor and asks him for that our sons to have denser and more pleasant cocks than the cocks God granted us.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

The Royal Tenenbums

Royal Tenenbum bought the house on Archer Avenue in the winter of his 35th year. Over the next decade, he and his wife had three children, and then they separated.

This is the story of their copulations.

Richie Tenenbum

Royal and Etheline were playing bridge in their bridge room.

"I don't know why you play this with me," said Etheline.

Royal laughed. "Well I . . ." He didn't finish his thought.

"You what?" Etheline smirked.

"Let's just play the game." Royal smiled confidently.

Etheline placed her cards face down on the table.

"The game's over?" Royal asked.

"I'm going to the ladies room," she replied.

"I'll walk you there."

"If you wish."

Royal walked her there, and fucked her there. It was a quick fuck. Neither Royal nor Etheline removed a single article of clothing. She was wetter than he could ever remember her being; wet like the Gobi desert on opposite day. He prodded and prodded at her vagina, with his man meat. She rubbed her clit while she held her panties to the side. His man meat was purple; royal purple. And so hard, not even Max Fischer himself would be able to solve it in a daydream.

After fifteen seconds, Royal ejaculated inside her. One second later, Etheline came. Nine months later, a tennis star would be born.

Chas Tenenbum

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," the lady in the pornography VHS tape exclaimed.

Royal Tenenbum was sitting on the floor, stroking his member and staring intently at the Zenith television set. Etheline was not to be home for another few hours.

"Royal?" Etheline opened the door.

"Etheline!" Royal exclaimed, as he ejaculated high into the sky. His cum formation whizzed over the television and landed square on Etheline's dress, right at her F.U.P.A. (Fat Upper-Pussy Area).

"Royal," she sighed angrily. She batted at the stain with her hand, but it was too late. the cummage had seeped into her cunt and was already making Ben Stiller.

Margot Tenenbum



Vladimir was a worthless man; that was what was so sexy about him. He had no job, no aspirations. All he did was sit inside his cardboard box in the alley behind the chinese food place and sleep all day.

One day, Vladimir awoke to a knife at his throat and two slanty eyes staring at him. It was one of the dishwashers.

"Egg Roll!" the dishwasher growled.

Vladimir squinted his eyes. The light was shining very brightly. It was early in the morning; too early to think.

"Egg Roll!" the dishwasher repeated, even growlier, and forced Vladimir up onto his knees. He was strong, as far as chinese dishwashers go.

Vladimir put his hands in the air. "I don't know what you're talking about," he belched.

The dishwasher dragged Vladimir over to the shady side of a dumpster. They were obscured from pedestrian view.

"Egg roll," the dishwasher repeated, very matter-of-fact this time. He pulled down his pants and underwear, exposing his penis, which looked in fact, very much like an egg roll.

"Oh," said Vladimir. He stared at the penis, transfixed. It stood a straight four inches, surrounded by a Gene Shalit bush of black hair. It was dripping with oil and very crusty.

"Egg roll!" the dishwasher growled, and shoved Vladimir's face toward his penis. Vladimir froze for a beat. The dishwasher cut a nick on Vladimir's neck as a warning, and Vladimir immediately commenced the sucking.

The penis tasted of partially-hydrogenated soybean oil. Vladimir had been sucking it no more than ten seconds before the dishwasher shrieked with orgasm and ejaculated into his mouth, filling it with the taste of duck sauce. He swallowed respectfully, and the dishwasher withdrew his penis.

"Egg roll," said the dishwasher, his breath heavy.

Vladimir quickly grabbed a hold of of the dishwasher's knife and forced it out of his hand. The dishwasher stared in shock as Vladimir drove the knife straight into the dishwasher's urethra, slicing the shaft in half, causing blood to drain out like a faucet on high. The dishwasher clutched his groin and fell to the ground. Vladimir straddled the dishwasher and stabbed both his eyes, ending his vision for good.

He got off of the dishwasher and took a few steps back to stare at his accomplishment. The dishwasher was writhing on the asphalt, screaming, one hand on his genitals and one hand covering his eyes. Vladimir smiled, turned and left. He would keep the knife.

Broken contracts

There will be no more second chances for former Miss California Carrie Prejean. The Miss USA runner-up has officially been raped, this time with the penis of pageant owner Donald Trump.

Miss California pageant officials said Wednesday that Prejean was raped because of contract issues.

"This was a decision based solely on contract violations including Ms. Prejean's unwillingness to perform oral sex on behalf of the Miss California USA organization," executive director Harry Member said in a statement sent to '' "After our press conference in New York we had hoped we would be able to fornicate. However, since that time it has become abundantly clear that Carrie is unwilling to fulfill her obligations under our contract and corporate."

Even Trump, the real estate mogul who co-owns the Miss USA organization and saved Prejean from a donkey show last month, did not stand in the way this time.

"I told Carrie she needed to get back to work and honor her contract with the Miss California USA Organization and I gave her the opportunity to do so," Trump said in the statement. "Unfortunately it looked like she wasn't going to offer her full consent and Keith offered me his full support in making this decision. Carrie is a beautiful young woman and I wanted her, under contract she had no right to deny me."

Miss California runner-up Tami Farrell will immediately take over the crown and Prejean's responsibilities as Miss California. The current Miss USA Kristen Dalton and Miss Universe Dayana Mendoza will also lend a hand in an an effort to satisfy America's libido.


'Bag Balm' That is what he said when he touched my breast, teasing out my milk. Today he is not alone, he is with a friend I have yet to meet. Fulfilling his promise a tin is produced. I quiver with delight as I see my new lover reach deep in with his strong joints and pull out a glistening dollop. He is not as gentle as his friend, but his new touch excites me as he moistens my chapped teats. Once the deed is done I see that my former lover has been wounded and is now just here to watch. This excites me more and my milk now flows in rivers into the bucket bellow. As the bucket fills I dream of my bulbous mounds being washed by an orgy of unknown lovers. 'She's tapped' he says and opens the gate in front of me. As I leave I hear my new love say 'I sure cut my hand up good it's a good thing I've got Southpaw.' Later that night as I chew my cud all I can think is his name 'Southpaw.'

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Dogtown & Z-Boys

My name is Reginald. I'm an elderly man. I have known skateboarding ever since it was first being invented. I used to watch the very first skateboarders skate on the very first skateboards. Back then, skateboards were made the old fashioned way. The pure way.

They were made of dirt and cum. All the skateboarders would gather around and jerk off onto some dirt. Using the cum, they could mold the dirt into a skateboard shape. Then they'd bake the board at 650 degrees for 7 days, and their skateboard would be ready.

Oh how the town would smell when a skateboard was being baked. It would smell of dirt and cum everywhere you went. Dogtown was definitely the place to be, if you were a fan of dirt and cum stench.

And the skateboarders would never wear any shirts. Ever. It was frowned upon. So was circumcision. If you were circumcised, you weren't allowed to be a skateboarder. So imagine this: tanned, shirtless boys with foreskin. This was truly the golden age of skateboarding.

But then things changed. Skateboarders started wearing shirts. Jews started being allowed to skateboard. Times weren't so great anymore. In fact, they were downright bad.

I still fuck skateboarder boys anyway, though. Who could resist? They do their 720's and their 420's and their flippies on the pavement, just asking for an ass-full of cum-fuck.

Sometimes I fuck skateboarders so hard that they forget how to do their moves and have to learn them all over again. This is what I live for; it is the ultimate fuck.

In conclusion, life isn't so great anymore, but there are still pleasures to be had. Anuses remain unchanged. It's still the same hole. I have no complaints in that department.

Assistant Walmart Greeter
Fairfax, MI


She thickly gazed into his lust. He was sweaty; ten hours of workout would provide him with the man-stamina necessary to treat a woman as this to kind-fuck. She demanded domination-fuck on occasion, but after a long day at her job, she needed his tenderness, dripping from her wet innards. As he sat at his workout cataloging desk, she would brush by him. Her throbbing labia would be noticeable as it pressed upon his leg. As he felt her subtle labia-brushes, he began to dig his pen deeper and deeper into the paper. He had done a great deal of workout and needed to keep track of it. For him, it was human research. He would push his body through space and time as it would taken to its physical limitations.

The man was collecting his sweat as well. Any instance of sweat needed to be collected for his research. Sometimes this made their sex awkward. Sometimes as he was thrusting into his woman and hoisting her body above his own, their sweat would mix and this would frustrate him. He would still continue to slide his cock deeply into her. Sometimes he would slow it down so she could feel his cock so precisely; every ridge and edge was noticed during the slow in and out. He would run his hands down her back and grip her buttocks, his smooth fingers prodding the soft flesh. Sometimes he would gently place his lips on her nipples and suck with a precision of one-thousand Olympic athletes. He would kiss her thighs and run his tongue along her skin, drawing a line of saliva that would lead to her vagina, the thing he would eventually fuck if he wasn't already.

Sometimes he would kiss her neck and move to her ears, nibbling on them so gently. She loved this so much and would moan with the sound of one-thousand Olympic athletes. Often he would fuck her from behind, which she loved very much. His cock was angled downward, so this position would stimulate her g-spot more than she could handle sometimes. There was one instance where she passed out mid-thrust from all of the fuck-pleasure she was receiving. The man would continue and fill her limp hole with the cum of one-thousand Olympic athletes. He was a powerful man and worked hard in the gym so that he could fuck his woman.

Sometimes he would fuck his woman with his tongue; he did exercises for this and was able to simulate a powerful, albeit smaller, turbo-cock. He could move his tongue very quickly as he rammed his nose into her clitoris. The man had trained to soften the cartilage in his nose. It became a sensual device, not unlike that of a common nose-shaped sex toy the couple had frequently used that had inspired his bodily transformation. With muscles trained at the gym, the man could cause his nose to vibrate and send chills up the spine of his woman with the strength of one-thousand Olympic athletes. She was gorgeous when she came; he lived to see her cum and felt dead when she was not cumming. He always wanted her to cum harder than she had in the minutes before. Just imagining her not cumming could make the man run at double his normal speed. He could lift three times his normal threshold when imagining her not cumming. His nightmares were nightmares in which his woman never would cum constantly. Thankfully he lived more like his dreams. His woman craved his cock sometimes a lot. He wanted her pussy pressed up against his stomach. Sometimes this required some strange maneuvering, but she always did it for him. He could feel the edges of her pussy on his well-sculpted abs. He would desperately run his hands through his hair as he injected a variety of drugs into his spine. He would put his lips into a kissing position as she continued to rub him. Sometimes her juices would burn his skin. He wanted to burn like one-thousand Olympic athletes.

When their sweat got mixed, the man would become very angry. He had to collect the sweat, place it into jars, and boil the woman-sweat out of it. He would continue to fuck despite the fuck-sweat-mix; the thought of this hard work would still pollute his mind during every thrust with his cock. They were a good couple despite all of their problems and the man's unrealistic expectations for his own life that would probably kill him within a day or two.

Fist of Fury: A Bruce Lee Smut

Bruce Lee was walking down the road doing karate forms when all of a sudden he saw a woman who appeared to be unconscious on the ground in the woods nearby. He front-flipped over to her with the greatest of ease, and checked her pulse. She was fine, just faking.

"I've been waiting for you all day," said the woman, with a smile.

Bruce Lee stared at her stoically.

"I know you do your karate down this road. I watch you ever day. On this day, I decided to wait for you like this."

Bruce Lee stared at her stoically.

"Do you know why I waited for you?"

Bruce Lee stared at her stoically.

"It's because I want you to fuck me with your punches."

"Jeet Kune Do is training and discipline towards the ultimate reality in combat," said Bruce Lee, "Jeet Kune-Do is the only non-classical style of Chinese Kung Fu in existence today. It is simple in its execution, although not so simple to explain. Jeet means 'to stop, to stem, to intercept,' while Kune means 'fist' or 'style,' and Do means 'the way' or 'the ultimate reality.' In other words--'The Way of the Intercepting Fist.'"

"I see."

Bruce Lee began punching her inside her cunt as he spoke. "I have not invented a 'new style,' composite, modified or otherwise that is set within distinct form as apart from 'this' method or 'that' method. On the contrary, I hope to free my followers from clinging to styles, patterns, or molds. Remember that Jeet Kune Do is merely a name used, a mirror in which to see 'ourselves' . . . Jeet Kune Do is not an organized institution that one can be a member of. Either you understand or you don't, and that is that.
"There is no mystery about my style. My movements are simple, direct and non-classical. The extraordinary part of it lies in its simplicity. Every movement in Jeet Kune-Do is being so of itself. There is nothing artificial about it. I always believe that the easy way is the right way. Jeet Kune-Do is simply the direct expression of one's feelings with the minimum of movements and energy. The closer to the true way of Kung Fu, the less wastage of expression there is.
"Finally, a Jeet Kune Do man who says Jeet Kune Do is exclusively Jeet Kune Do is simply not with it. He is still hung up on his self-closing resistance, in this case anchored down to reactionary pattern, and naturally is still bound by another modified pattern and can move within its limits. He has not digested the simple fact that truth exists outside all molds; pattern and awareness is never exclusive.
"Again let me remind you Jeet Kune Do is just a name used, a boat to get one across, and once across it is to be discarded and not to be carried on one's back."

The woman orgasmed. Bruce Lee removed his arm from her cunt.

"Thank you, Bruce Lee," said the woman.

"I believe in having a few pupils at one time as it requires a constant alert observation of each individual in order to establish a direct relationship," Bruce Lee replied, "A good teacher can never be fixed in a routine... each moment requires a sensitive mind that is constantly changing and constantly adapting.
"A teacher must never impose this student to fit his favourite pattern; a good teacher functions as a pointer, exposing his student's vulnerability (and) causing him to explore both internally and finally integrating himself with his being. Martial art should not be passed out indiscriminately."

"Thank you."

Bruce Lee continued on down the road doing karate forms.

The Discovery of Lust

In the fourteenth century, an obscure Jesuit priest named Jocz Marghitu, a cloistered monk in Romania, wrote a theological treatise in which he rejected the existence of demons. He noted that God, the omnipotent creator and ruler of the Universe, had created good and evil, all the plants and animals and people in the world, and Satan. Further, there is no mention of Devils in the Bible. According to Marghitu, then, the beings at that time known as Devils were merely animals like any other, and not at all supernatural or particularly evil. He predicted that somewhere in the world, there existed animals that personified each of the 7 Deadly Sins.

Several centuries later, the Sloth was discovered and named in Brazil. Marghitu's text was largely forgotten by that time, but a young explorer and theologian named Federico Carvahlo had been shown the text by a charming librarian, and set out to prove Marghitu's theory true. Carvahlo sought and was granted funding by King Filipe II of Portugal for a voyage around the world to discover the remaining 6 "Devils."

Over the course of the next 50 years, Carvahlo and his team discovered and categorized gluttony, greed, wrath, envy and pride. But lust eluded them, and Carvahlo (the driving force behind the expedition) died in the hunt.

I believe this recently discovered, never-published document, written by young railroad baron Jeff Honnets, represents the first and only sighting of lust on record.

"My story is not a pleasant one, but it needs to be told for the good of society, to prevent this from happening anywhere else. It begins on Mackinac Island, the summer of 1906. My newly wedded wife and I were taking our honeymoon there, among the horses and globs of fudge. We took the ferry across in the afternoon, having spent the previous night debauching in high society at one of the more exclusive music halls of Mackinac City. The next morning we soaked in a bathtub scented with bubbles and camphor.

My wispy Mid-Western wife's hair wrote Lutheran hymns on the wind as we crossed Lake Huron. The sun hit us in each of our right places, and we became lightheaded and happy. A carriage awaited us on the dock; after helping my wife enter its claustrophobic pink innards, I pulled shut the thick curtains and entered my wife's claustrophobic pink innards. My wife prayed to God for an orgasm (a thing she had never dared to do before, the poor mousy daint) and I became His instrument in answering her prayer. I calmly smoked a chives cigarette while my rocky member carried out the Lord's will.

Such was the force of the orgasm God had granted her that my wife was knocked unconscious. I had to have her carried up to our room when we arrived at the Grand Hotel. This was the moment of my first mistake: I neglected to recover the life-juices that had spilled from the cornucopia of my wife's vagina when we had finished, opting instead to read a magazine article on beekeeping (my secret vice). At the time, however, I could not have known the significance of my omission: I thought it better at the time to leave it, as perhaps some animal or hungry person would find sustenance and succor in its life-giving magic. This had been my charitable custom throughout many years of boyhood tree-fucking, after all.

I stopped by the kitchen to pick up some things, and found my wife sleeping in our room. Lowering the sheets, I rubbed soggy cheese into her pebble-hard nipples. This was a treatment a doctor had prescribed her to increase nipple size and suppleness. I think the doctor was left-handed.

The next day, we decided to take a ride around the island on a bicycle-built-for-two. My wife, emboldened by God's blessing the day before, decided to take the (what was for her a) rather adventurous step (though I am told some women are quite accustomed to the practice) of lowering my trousers and stroking my member while we rode. Every few pedalstrokes I gave, I would seed the dirt road below.

We were only about a third of the way around the island when the sun had gotten to me enough that I decided we ought to take a break. My wife spread a blanket out on the grass, and we lay down together for a blissful hour, drinking courant and inhaling sea breeze. I fell asleep, and my wife must have wandered off to piss or find a water fountain or something. When I awoke, she was gone, and it was nearly sunset. The exhaustion of my fortifying life-juices on the road had tired me more than I had realized.

I packed up our things and set off to search for my wife. "Wife!" I called, but to no avail. The blue of the sky was deepening, and I decided to make a fire to attract my wife's attention. I lit my blaze sat down to relax on a log, smoking a clove cigarette and watching the play of the flames and shadows. A sinister feeling came over me then, which I attributed to my empty semen bladder. I heard a noise, then. A sort of . . . fapping, but with the terseness and savagery of wild dogs' yelping. "Wife?" I thought.

I took up a torch and headed in the direction I heard the sound from. As I approached, the sounds quieted, and I heard a rustling of leaves and cracking of twigs. I nearly tripped as I stumbled into something thick and fleshy. It was my wife's bloodied, battered, semen-dripping corpse. I remember little else from this point; I woke up in the morning in a pool of my own vomit.

The next few days passed in a blur. I wandered around the forest without eating or drinking, fucking trees and sleeping in them. Eventually, I was awoken by several soldiers, who roughly arrested me and imprisoned me in their treefort. A few nights later, I had regained my senses, but was still baffled by the situation, and nearly mad with grief. Clearly these men were under the impression I had killed my wife and bathed her in my own semen, but I knew this to be false. And why were they living in a treefort, supplied only with grain alcohol and stale peanuts?

That night, the soldiers had brought some prostitutes to their unique dwelling. I was able to see everything that went on from my cell, and I found myself erect in spite of my grief. I heard far off bayings and howlings then, and began to feel cold. The soldiers and their companions took no heed. A few minutes later, the tree began to shake from the base. Again, the soldiers and their companions took no notice. They were concentrated on the fuck. None of them even realized what was going on until the creatures had climbed into the treefort and begun pummeling their bodies with fierce, quick thrusts. These animals, which I can only describe as penis demons, ground the four bodies into a soup of blood and ejaculate. I was exceedingly glad of my cell now, as it seemed the demons were not intelligent enough to use keys and locks. It occurred to me then that the creatures were frenzied by the sight of my swollen cock, and endeavored to hide and eventually reduce that nuisance. After several hours, the animals calmed and fell out of the treefort to the ground below.

The next morning, I was awoken not by the sun, which did not enter my cell until evening, but rather by the sexy crying of baby penis demons. They seemed to have generated spontaneously from the bodies of the prostitutes. The demons are growing frighteningly quickly, and I fear they may not prove as dull-witted as their progenitors. . ."

This document was discovered several years ago during a Boy Scout camping trip to Mackinac Island. Since then, it has inspired a full investigation into the proceedings, though many decry its contents as the ravings of a treehouse madman. Preliminary investigation results, however, have lead me to believe otherwise. I have hypothesized that this man, Jeff Honnets, had a rare gene that changed a very specific aspect of his immune system. This allowed the parasitic bacterial phase of the penis demon (or sperm devil, as it is sometimes known) to live in his sperm, while it is killed off immediately by even the weakest immune system in other people. This bacteria, however, is killed off by lubricant fluids in the human vagina. It can only grow when in contact with blood and sun. When these conditions are met, however, it grows with abnormal rapidity and metamorphoses into a small reptilian creature that resembles the human penis. In order to propagate the species, the animals attack and murder other creatures and ejaculate in their blood to spawn the next generation.

No one will ever know what really happened to Jeff Honnets, but I believe certain elements of the text indicate he did finally understand what had happened to some extent before the diary leaves off. One strong bit of contrary evidence brought up by skeptics is that the neither the treefort, nor Jeff Honnets' remains have ever been found. Presumably, if the diary is taken at its word, the gene died out with Honnets. The fate of the penis demons is unknown, and will perhaps always remain a subject for conspiracy theorists and cryptozoologists.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Cocktown: A Proposal

Ladies and gentlemen,

Thank you for coming to my speech. You are much appreciated members of society. I commend you for that. I commend you.

(Pause for applause)

I bring you here today to discuss a new idea for our town. A new direction; a change for all ages. The future is coming and we can do nothing to stop it. We can get on the train or we can not get on the train. I propose we get on the train.

The best way to get on the future train would be to redo our whole town. Extravagant! You might say. Costly! You might say. It is all of these things. But it is the only way to a sure future for our town.

Let us knock down entire buildings all over town. Let us build, instead of new buildings, fully operational giant cocks in their place, equal to their size. These cocks will belong to giants that are buried underneath the ground. We will feed the giants through food tunnels, and keep their cocks constantly stimulated and erect by paying women to kiss the cocks 24/7.

Thank you for your time,
John F. Kennedy Jr.

Sunday, May 31, 2009

Sex Poem

Sex puts a dick in your ass
or a dick in your pussy.

This is a wondrous part of sex.

The groans and the moans
as your pussy hairs wave
to an incoming cock.

The orgasm of your orgasm.

Pussy fluid lubricating anything it touches.

Where can cocks be found,
if not in a pussy?
Waiting to be in a pussy.

I want to sniff cocks out,
like a pig to a truffle.
The Lord has made me this way.

Oh, my pussy gets so hot in temperature,
when you are near.

When you are far, my pussy drops to a temperature
as cold as ice, and I await your return.

You are the man for me, for sure.

Take my ass in your hands and lead me to a bed
so that you may impregnate my asshole with your seed.

I want to have a baby out of my asshole because of you.

Cum in my eyes so that I give birth to babies out of my eyes.
My holes are for having your babies.

I love you.

Friday, May 29, 2009

Evolutionary Sex

As everyone knows, Evolution gave us sex and it thus commands us to have as much sex as we can. This is a moral imperative. All life is holy to Evolution but it desires the Perfect Being and we must have the most sex to make this Holy Ghost real. This event will be called the Second Coming of Evolution. The First Coming, of course, refers to the beginning of life as Evolution's primordial semen.

I think the most important evolution in the history of it was the evolution of the Variable Length Penis (known in Europe as the Telescoping Prick). Before this evolution all the animals had to either walk around with a rock hard animal dick all day or remain limp and flaccid. This was a choice every animal made at birth. The evolution was made when a hard dick animal fucked a flaccid dick animal and they had a baby animal who was sometimes hard and sometimes flaccid.

If I may be allowed to hypothesize (no, I am not going to wait for your permission), I would like to give you my opinion about the next major evolution we will be given by Evolution. It is Interchangeable Genitals.

Evolution Bless You All!

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Small Penises

I am a hot, hot woman and I have big tits. 36-24-26 is my proportions. I'm toned and lovely. Beautiful face. So trust my opinion: Small penises are the greatest for fucking.

It's true. I love a small, puny penis on an overweight man. It is the best for fucking. It feels so nice in my tight pussy hairs. I like men who know how to sweat all day long. I especially like it when they sit in a chair in an air conditioned room watching Sliders on DVD. It is so hot that it makes me want to fuck myself with a small 2" limp dildo.

I like it when a man's glasses are so thick you could throw them off the empire state building and they wouldn't break. I like it when a man rubs tiny Risk infantry on my clitoral hood. It feels so nice on my clitoral hood for this to happen.

Have you ever eaten a perfect asshole? Mine is the perfect asshole. I only allow men with halitosis to eat it. Halitosis feels so nice on my anal nerve endings. Oh, how wonderful it is.

I am getting so wet writing all of this that I'm sliding off my chair. It's fucking unsafe for me to be writing this anymore, because I don't want to slip and fall and die.

Ciao for now,
Marissa the Minxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx XO

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Cumshot Highway

There is a highway in America known as the Cumshot Highway. Those that know its location keep it a secret. You cannot find it by word of mouth. Only by stumbling upon it.

On the Cumshot Highway there are naked ladies hiding in the woods that will let you fuck them in any way imaginable and then cum on their faces. This is the truth. They are the hottest naked ladies you're ever seen. Titties perfect like God's made them before he made everything else in the world. Fresh with His ingenuity. His passion for creation.

Their vaginas are brazilian waxed and awesome as fuck. Inside, they feel so warm and tight that you'd swear your dick was in Satan's asshole. No man has been able to last more than three seconds inside, but it is the best three seconds of your life.

After you pull out, they present their gorgeous faces towards your cock and you can shoot your cock cum all over their faces. It's a worthwhile experience.

Nobody knows why they're there. Perhaps its because they love cum. Some say they were born there. Some say they're a mirage. Whatever it is, it sure is great that they exist.

Life rules. Hit that shit up. Drive around. Find this place. Hit it up. Get it on.

~~~o Sperm for life ~~~o ~~~o ~~~o ~~~o ~~~o ~~~o ~~~o ~~~o

Monday, May 25, 2009

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Cunt

Arthur was standing in his bathroom brushing his teeth and thinking of cunt when he noticed a giant cunt outside his window. 'Cunt', he thought to himself, and continued brushing his teeth.

Later on, while stroking his penis as he took a shit, he noticed the cunt outside the window again. 'Cunt', he thought to himself, and then continued stroking his penis as he took a shit.

Still later, he was eating toast for breakfast when he finally saw the cunt in all its glory through the front windows of his house. There were three giant cunts in fact, all facing his house. This was not acceptable.

Arthur ran out of his house and screamed 'Cunt!' at the cunts. The cunts queefed in his direction. He continued screaming 'cunt!' and the cunts continued queefing back at him. Nothing of value was being communicated, ao Arthur left and went to the pub. He would have went to the bar, but he's british.

At the pub, he sat down next to a black man. The black man had a giant cock that was so large it looked like he had his son sitting on his lap. Arthur fucked the black man in the bathroom 42 times and then they went to outer space.

The End

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Gav Is Waiting

She was the most beautiful woman any of us had ever seen. Her name was America. She had her hair flowing, blond hair like a flag, and she had a squid. My friends and I would build forts outside her windows in the summer to stroke each others' boy penis, all watching through the window like it was a pornographic tape player, with her undressing and shoving beacons into her flipping girl tube. My friends were all young boys with cocks that we had our hands on the other boy's one.

Eventually America's parent discovered our Hide-And-Sex Fort and spent all summer grumbling around the yard for something to do, while boy semen dripped through the floor of the fort and fertilized Summer Competitiveness in the grass below. America never stopped becoming having no clothes on with her hand in her fish-port, it lasted all summer in the good old days. On the 4th of July our young shafts were turned into different colors by the juicy, sex-thinking fireworks exploding into orgasmic obsessed little boy dicks above. Our semen shot into the air above the fort and stayed there, and formed a swirling, flickery ball of multi-colored dazzling display of young one's cum-ball.

America's only parent with no gender shot at the Firework Ball of Kid Spank with his Intimidating Parent Gun, attempting to scare my masturbating friends and I away with loud noises and threats of expulsion. By this time though, this was nearing fall time, we were too determined to achieve Sex With Woman. As the leaves changed colors from ripe and sexy to old and withered-vagina, our mutual hand jobbing picked up its paced; we would need the semen reserves for the winter. The wind howled sometimes in the fall, and on one notably blustery day, the Dazzling Ball of Boy Matter was wrapped in leaves like a present for America.

When winter came, we congratulated the Happy Kid responsible for the idea of reserving our semen, as he surely saved us from the cold. His design for the Frozen Boy Cum Fort Top, coupled with our sweaty, collective Boy Jerking, kept us warm and satisfied through the long, waiting winter. The only unfortunate feature of the igloo being its necessary being-closed-in; we could not see America.

As the spring thaw came, I knew our friendships-for-life were cemented like the semen castle we had erected - like boy penis - around and above us. More than the warming of the surrounding air we were uplifted - and so were our young boy cocks - by the fresh site of America with her New Hair and New Dripping Gav. Our cocks with their still-pumping Friendly Hands were given new life. As well, the winter had coated our leafy, dazzling Ball of Boy Wonder, turning it into a depressing, shocking display of Young Boy Sex. America's single, breastless parent cried alone beneath our ball and drove his bloodied fists into the earth.

As summer neared, and as the ball was blanketed yet again - this time with the falling, flying petals of Amazing Flowers - we heard with a Wrench-from-a-Heart that America would be leaving soon for a new home, where she would study at university in the arts of "Pleasing In Her Man's Hidden Gav". The friendly boy-jerking stopped, the Ball of Dazzled Glorious Young Boy's Hard Earned Annual Thick Sleaze fell to the ground, crushing America's sad single parent. We tore the fort down, and all became very unsuccessful people.

Word Sex

The couple was deeply in the mood for sex. Usually, they had other people involved, sometimes other couples. As the group would deeply pile, more sex was thought of than actually realized. It was an odd predicament to be surrounded by so much sex that sex became a distant reality. However, for these couples, it became part of daily life.

For the single couple, they would indulge in pleasures that they would never forget. The man was tender; he had large thick muscles, but the only thing he would crush on his woman was her lack of orgasm. The woman was beautiful and full of depth; she had a beautiful mind and body, a face that the man could watch and breathe into. She was like a cloud to him and he drifted into her sky. Sometimes he saw beyond it; these things he saw would never forgive him and he could never forget.

Foreplay, although somewhat forgotten, was not an act of weakness. Each of the two would begin with simple words; these words would fire up the imagination just as genitals were inflamed. He cursed on occasion to wet her hair. She was like a high school principal; she would invite him to his office and fuck. He dreamed of students piled up on her desk, rubbing chocolate over their bodies. As a principal, she was gentle and had candy in her office for her students. They would not fuck her in the office; instead they fucked each other as she imagined them fucking her and fucked herself. The small words the couple used allowed for fantasies such as these to flourish. Simple words could make the man's erection throb deeply. The woman's parts had similar responses to simple words during the earliest sex.

When they proceeded to the actual sex, the words lengthened as the man's penis did. His woman's vagina would expand and spread itself into a world of pleasure. As they touched it, they mumbled words of great length and difficulty. The woman heard a word that made her ears perk up; she could definitely tell that the man had done his sexual dictionary practice. He often masturbated while expanding his vocabulary; the words entered his mind as the sperms left his body. The sperms would rebuild while his vocabulary remained reinforced. He had discovered a way for infinite expansion of his erotic potential. The two would climb on top of each other and the man would penetrate the woman. During the actual penetration, the man had words that he always utilized that would cause great wetness in his woman.

He would thrust and she would receive his cock. She would feel all of the ridges of his cock as it slid in and out of her well-oiled part. They would kiss as she felt pleasure. The act would need to reach a peak, however. These were experienced wordsmiths; they had heard nearly every word that had ever existed. Sex had occurred so many times that words had been assigned to nearly every emotion experienced during the sex act. This could become boring for the couple, so as they reached their climax, they would resort to gibberish and strange syllables. He would fuck so hard as strange words dripped from his mouth onto her willing mind. She would scream macabre sounds of nonsense as he sunk his teeth into her gentle flesh. He would grip her breasts with more sounds as she listened so intensely. She heard every sound of his and he heard every sound in the room. He needed to experience the room as much as he needed to experience her climax.

The gibberish would become so rich that recording it provided impossible. The man had tried to film their act numerous times and failed. The word-sounds were distorted and overwhelmed by the pleasure. Occasionally the man could recall a syllable that would cause instantaneous orgasm, even while casually traversing the halls of his workplace. He tried so hard to save these sounds for bathroom breaks or during his lonely time at home while he waited for his woman to re-arrive.

He would clench her as they both reached orgasm at the exact same moment. They had trained their bodies to arrive simultaneously, like two sex-cars at a sex-intersection. Instead of a crash, this collision would resemble a fluid transfer, with pleasure as its vessel. At the exact moment of climax, the gibberish would remain on a single syllable until the orgasm-experience would begin to fade. The climax of their word sex resembled a rebel yell, exclusively with the objective of fuck-synergy.

As the couple lay in bed, surrounded by the blankets of children, they would descend from their sexual heaven so slowly and gently. Light gibberish would occur, promptly followed by the words of kings and finalized with the words of peasants.