Story: The Yule Log

…and as she screamed her orgasm out to the world I finally unloaded and fired spurt after spurt of my manjuice until it ran in pools and streams across her tits and belly. She sighed, trailing her fingers through the steaming goo, and looked up through lidded eyes.
‘That was incredible,’ she said, and then she gasped when she saw my slugger coming up to bat again. ‘Oh my God, again?’
‘Game lasts nine innings, baby,’ I said as I watched all ten inches disappear into her hungry, cum-drenched mouth. ‘Can’t disappoint the fans, can we?’

Jimmy let the magazine drop to the bed and fought for breath as his spasms subsided. After a time he swabbed his stomach with a towel and lay back with his forearm over his eyes. Damn! Why can’t I get girls to react like that? Well, duh, he thought, looking down at his equipment with a depressed and familiar frown. Look at that. Hard as it ever gets and still barely peeks over the fuzz. Why would a girl want to grab that in her fist when she’d only have to figure out what to do with her three extra fingers.

He got up, rubbing at the drips that resulted, and stood in front of his mirror. Hmph. Pale, pasty and pathetic, and nothing to offer a girl that would be any better than her own thumb. Goddammit. Why do girls always go for the big, hunky, confident guys? I’m sensitive. I can talk to them, I’m always there to listen to their problems and give them rides and let them cry on my shoulder, but if I hint at a friendly blowjob what happens? Whap! That’s what. Not like the girls in the magazines, or in the movies. Soon as the guy shows up, bam! Down on their knees, begging for it all night. Where the hell do I find girls like that? Just one would do. Maybe I can get one for Christmas.

Hey, Santa? Can I have a slut for Christmas? I’ve been good!

The towel dropped to the floor by the bed (next to the others) when he stood to pull on his jeans. Once he was back in his living room he sat at his desk and tried to remember what he was doing when the urge struck him. Oh, yeah, the papers on the Jentwick account. Fucking Christmas Eve and I’m doing office work! No wonder girls avoid me. The figures on his screen blurred and danced before his eyes and he slumped in front of them, scowling. I can’t concentrate on this, I’m too depressed. The centerfold tacked to his bulletin board seemed to agree with him.

His computer screamed (he had long ago replaced his “new mail bong” sound with a Homer Simpson shriek). Oh boy, more crap e-mail. Probably another friendly virus. I’ve got maybe three friends in the whole world but I sure seem to be on everyone’s e-mail list when they want to sell me Rolexes. Out of purely morbid curiosity he clicked on it.

Hey kids!
Don’t forget, Santa’s loading up his sleigh right now! Have you mailed him your list yet? Well, you’re in luck, because his e-mail is always on! You still have time to send your Christmas list to Santa before he leaves, so Click Here to get started. Merry Christmas!

Great, he thought, with the world-weary cynicism of the Internet veteran. Gotta be either a porn site or an e-mail harvester. Wonder how they word it so they don’t get sued? I shouldn?t be bothering with this, I?ve got work to do. I can?t get distracted!

It was a simple enough web site. Some boring Christmas clip art at the top and bottom, a basic form, and the words “Tell Santa What You Want” across the top in (ugh) blinking text. Jeez, what year did they make this? He scrolled down to look for a copyright date or company name but there was nothing else on the page. Weird.

What the fuck. I must be the most bored human being on the face of the earth.

NAME: Jimmy Saunders
ADDRESS: 88563 Lonhurst St
CITY: San Diego, CA

He paused, thinking, then began to type quickly:

I want to be a superstud. Like in the porno movies. I want to last forever and make any woman cream.

He clicked on ?Send? before he could change his mind. There. Merry fucking Christmas.

He pushed away from the desk and spun in his chair a few times before getting up. That’s it, I’ve hit my level of pathetic for the day. I’m going to bed, I’ll do this junk tomorrow. Nothing else going on, unless the cat got me a present. His bed and blissful slumber awaited him, provided he remembered to avoid stepping on the sticky towels in the dark. Again.

Behind him, the computer screamed silently. The new e-mail had a subject line that read:

Order confirmation #882665992-238856782.

A blast of sound slammed Jimmy out of a moist dream about his seventh grade math teacher and he swept the still-running alarm clock off the nightstand. I don’t believe it, the one morning I can sleep late and I forget to turn it off. Figures.

He got up, yawning and scratching, and wandered into the bathroom for the usual morning piss. And shrieked.

What the fuck is that?!? Staring up at him was the tight purple head of his now-mighty dick, and it was a lot closer to his face than he was used to. A lot closer. He could feel it pulsing, like having an enraged weasel attached to his groin. Christ, it’s thicker than my wrist, he thought. His fingers barely wrapped around it and he quickly discovered that it was stronger than he was, which was about to become a serious problem if he didn’t want to hose down his medicine cabinet. Even pressing straight down with both hands did nothing but make his elbows pop. Impending hydraulic dangers forced him to change his plans; he ended up standing over the bowl, facing away, and touching his toes.

It almost did him in. The sensations of hot liquid rushing through the beast caused him to curl his toes so tightly he almost fell over. He straightened up and looked down at it with equal parts fear, respect, and awe. Is it… humming? It bobbed a feral agreement. Jimmy ran into the bedroom (a mistake, his new friend whapped painfully into his stomach with each step) and closed the bathroom door to stand in front of the full-length mirror on the back.

Oh. My. God. It was unbelievable. He was hung like a bull moose. A thick, hard head the size of a tennis ball on top of a long coke-can-thick shaft that rose and fell with each heartbeat. He was reminded of a stalking snake, slowly and rhythmically soothing its prey before the strike. Ropy veins wound around it and the urethra was a tight pencil-sized lump along the underside. His balls were equally large and filled his hands like a sack of oranges. He gave it a quick stroke from bottom to top and nearly went to his knees from the feel of it. His prick was inhumanly sensitive; every touch sent shocks of icy fire through his balls and throughout his body to the tips of his hair. What will an orgasm do? I may not make it… A quick dig through his desk drawer produced a ruler. The head of his new cock stuck out over the top.

Holy shit with cream and a cherry. How the hell did this? From the living room the television blared sounds of sleigh bells and caroling and answered his question for him.

It was Christmas day and obviously Santa had brought his present, which frankly beat the hell out of a tie or a George Foreman grill. He sat down on the bed and considered his options. First thing, play with his new toy. Didn’t even need batteries. But who could he call?

Jill? No, she still hates me. Andrea? No, she likes girls now. Billie? No, she’s with Andrea. There’s gotta be somebody I can… The doorbell interrupted. Jimmy grabbed a robe and pulled it on, then spent a few panicky minutes trying to force his two-o’clock erection into high noon so he could tie the robe shut. He walked to the door, trying not to feel like a man smuggling a kielbasa through customs, and opened it to see a young lady with bright red hair, a UPS uniform, and an “I’m in a big fucking hurry so take your package so I can leave” expression.

“MerryChristmaspleasesign,” she said, thrusting a small box at him. Jimmy reached for the box. There was a sproing! sound as his robe failed him. The UPS lady looked down at what was now lying across her clipboard, and then looked up to meet Jimmy’s eyes with a wide-eyed stare. Perfect, Jimmy thought, fixing a frozen smile on his face. I wonder if you get internet access in prison?

“Ma’am, I am so sorry,” he began, but he stopped after she dropped to her knees and started franticly forcing his pound of meat into her mouth with both hands. “Um, ma’am? Ma’am?” He raised his voice to carry over her loud slurping. “Um, wow, could we take this inside? Mr. Jenkins across the street is staring at us. Ma’am?” Her only response was to grab his ass with both hands, pinning him in place. With a sigh, Jimmy relaxed to the inevitable.

Oh, fuck yeah, that’s what I’m talking about! Her mouth was stretched to bursting and there was still plenty of Jimmy for her to wrap her hands around. She nearly gagged a few times before she got the hang of it, saliva running out of her mouth and over her shirt, but she persevered like a trooper. Jimmy grasped his dick at the base and tugged it away from her, like the guys in the porn movies did. She resisted at first, but finally let her hands drop to attack her own crotch as she raised her open, begging mouth for his benediction. Oh yeah, just like the movies, he thought, and so he waggled his unit like a baseball bat and with a macho sneer he whapped her across the mouth with it, which was a mistake because it knocked her cold.

After a brief moment of panic (which just made his erection get even bigger) he checked her pulse. Even unconscious she was moaning and pumping her hips. He grabbed her under the armpits and dragged her back in the house (after waving to Mr. Jenkins, who was shouting “Merry Christmas, Jimmy!” at the top of his lungs). Once he got her inside the house he kneeled beside her to do something medical, although he wasn’t at all sure what. He was vaguely aware that he should be pumping her mouth and blowing into her chest, but he wasn’t sure how to start, and anyway she was definitely alive. He could tell because she was masturbating furiously with one hand and blindly reaching out for something with the other. On the off chance that it was him, and hoping to at least get a hand job out of the deal in any case, Jimmy maneuvered himself so that her questing hand found his pole.

Her eyes snapped open. In one swift movement she whipped her pants off and jumped on him, forcing him to the carpet and landing on his chest with her hands between their bodies, holding on to him for dear life. Her juices were coming out in gouts, which surely saved her serious internal injuries as she forced herself down on him. It was exquisite. Jimmy could feel her slick tightness sliding up and down the entire length of his monstercock. She was stretched so taut against him, he could feel every ridge and every vein of his python as it pushed past the clenched fist of her pussy. He could even see the bulge of it moving in her lower abdomen as she rose and lowered herself with increasing frequency. Her hands were squeezing her breasts over and over, her eyes were shut, her breath was coming faster and faster, and a cucumber-shaped bruise was forming across her jaw.

Jimmy knew from experience that this sort of thing could only last two, maybe three more minutes, and then only if he thought about raw sewage. Ah well, he thought philosophically. It’s great while it lasts.

It lasted two hours.

They tried every position they could think of and he filled and overflowed every crevice in her that they could find or create. He stopped counting her orgasms after they started running together. Finally he stood up and, with one powerful stroke and an exultant scream, he fired quart after quart of thick fluid across her face with his first orgasm of the morning. She fell back to the floor with what looked like a cream pie across her face and fell asleep. Damn, no wonder these guys are arrogant assholes, this is incredible! I feel like cutting someone off in traffic. He straightened up and almost fell from the pain in his back. Better start working out if I’m going to keep up with the big boys, he thought. A few Advil and a swig from the bottle under the sink helped with the backache, but the sight of the computer in the living room brought a raging headache, front and center.

Oh, shit, the Jentwick account! Oh, I am so dead… He pushed the broken, sweat-stained couch to one side, swept away the half-eaten vegetables and empty whipped cream cans, ran to the computer and got to work, trying to ignore his sticky, still hard cock. He had to lower his chair to keep from scraping against the desk, which just made his back hurt more. The spreadsheet looked just as impenetrable as it did the night before and he hadn’t had a throbbing foot-long distraction then.

A sound from behind made him turn. Hobbling towards him was the UPS woman, arms outstretched and walking as if she had a dislocated hip, which, for all he knew, she did. He also noticed for the first time, with a guilty start, the wedding ring on her hand. “No, baby, I can’t right now, I gotta finish umph!” She pushed his face out of the way so she could reach down into his lap and reclaim her prize but sex was the farthest thing from Jimmy’s mind right now. Well, not the farthest thing, but pretty far… She stroked and pulled at him with all the loving affection of someone trying to start a lawn mower. The second thing, definitely the second thing on my mind… No! I have to finish this or I’m unemployed. He stood up to grab her hands but she just moaned and spun around, bending over and pressing herself up against him. “Okay, one more quick one.”

By two in the afternoon, Jimmy had come sixteen more times and had finally been forced to lock the UPS woman in the garage. There was also a pizza delivery girl penned in the bathroom, an Avon lady tied to his bed, Mrs. Bilhaus from down the street had teamed up with a woman from a pool-cleaning service and they were slowly circling the house, trying all the windows, and the neighbor’s dog was howling in the backyard. Jimmy was more tired than he had ever been in his life and twice as sore. His penis was as red and inflamed as an over-nuked hot dog (but still rock hard), it appeared to be missing significant amounts of skin, and just brushing against it brought tears to his eyes. The women didn’t look to be in much better shape but all of them continued to beg (or howl) for him at the top of their lungs. Jimmy hauled himself over to his desk and sat down as the phone rang.

“Hello?” he said, trying to hold the phone tight to his mouth so the anguished female shrieks wouldn’t be heard.

“Saunders? We need you to come in to the office, Jentwick is here and we need your figures.”

Aw, crap. “But sir…”

“Fuck me! Fuck me with your massive horsecock!”


“Ram it to me, motherfucker!”

“I’m sorry sir, that’s the uh, the television.”

“Oh, those damn Christmas specials. Forget it, Saunders, this is important. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.” The line went dead and Jimmy’s brain shut down. Oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap…

The shower was agony, especially since he had to drag the pizza girl out first (he left her tethered to the refrigerator). He finally settled on poking his dick out of the shower curtain while he quickly scrubbed the rest of himself. Underwear was almost impossible. It took the application of several thick coats of hand lotion before he could tug his boxer shorts over his pulsating prong and only his loosest pair of jogging pants would fit him. Harrison was just going to have to put up with casual attire, at least until he found a harness for this thing. Jimmy pulled on a huge sweatshirt and stood before the mirror for inspection. Great, I look like someone’s trapped in my pants and they’re trying to get out. Which, in a way, is true. He wrapped a jacket around his waist and tied the arms so they hung down over his groin, which helped a bit. Grabbing handfuls of paperwork and disks, he ran… walked, rapidly, to his car.

Moving the seat all the way back gave him just enough room to turn the steering wheel as long as he didn?t make any sudden movements. Feels like I’m driving with a Big Gulp between my legs, he thought, and then tried hard not to think about that. He drove as fast as he dared, dodging cars and slipping through gaps barely larger than his car before a red light caught him a block away from the office. He waited it out, anxious and fidgety, until the slam of a door drew his attention to the car alongside him. The driver, a luscious blonde, was running around to his side with a purposeful expression.

He got his window rolled up just in time for her naked breasts to smash against it. “I’m sorry, I can’t right now!” he yelled, willing the light to change. His passenger door was yanked open and a foul-smelling woman wearing ragged clothing and what appeared to be a scrap of Hefty bag on her head began scrambling into the car. Jimmy screamed at her and pushed her back out, locking the door behind her. He turned to run the damn light and saw a wave of women in various stages of undress crawling over the hood towards him in a pink and white-laced version of Dawn of the Dead. I’m going to be raped to death, he realized, and to his horror his dick throbbed even harder at the thought. The car started rocking as the passion-crazed women tried to force their way in.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Jimmy was glad to hear a police siren. The women in front of the car parted, reluctantly, to allow a patrol car to drive up and park. Jimmy could just barely see beyond the wriggling bodies to the officer walking up to his car, and he started trying to figure out what in the world he could say. I’m sorry officer, but they all need my schlong? It lacked something.

The magnificent breasts against his window finally moved away. Jimmy rolled his window down, saying, “Officer, I really don’t know what happened but I’m sure glad you’re…” He stopped when the cop shook her hair free of her cap and began unbuttoning her blouse.

He slammed the car in reverse and gunned it, knocking aside several masturbating executives and a spasming lady walking a spasming poodle, and managed to drive the car backwards into an alleyway. Gunfire rang out and the car sagged as his back tires blew, but he kept driving as if all the hounds (bitches?) of hell were at his heels. His fan club followed, screaming and moaning, and he had one quick glimpse, off in the distance, of a battered UPS truck barreling towards him. After a few hundred feet of terrified driving he plowed into a dumpster and jumped out, wincing at the pain. His building was a block away. He could make it.

“I’m terribly sorry about this, Saunders is usually very prompt,” Mr. Harrison was saying in the friendly, avuncular voice he reserved for the Really Big Clients. “There’s probably a lot of, um, holiday traffic or something, or a parade in the way. Maybe some Jewish thing, I really don’t follow the news. May I get you another coffee?”

“No, thank you. I really must be going, I have a flight leaving in a few–”

They both stopped, speechless, when Jimmy burst through the door, dragging two women behind him. He slapped their hands away and forced the door shut on them, locking it and leaning against it to try and get his breath back.

He was a mess. His sweatshirt and jacket were completely gone, he had only one sock left, and his sweat pants were reduced to tatters and strips (with a few obvious bite marks here and there). And through the wreckage rose his dick, proud and unbowed. Jimmy took a deep, shuddering breath, and looked up to tell Mr. Harrison it was okay if he was fired as long as he could hide here for a while, just in time to see Jentwick for the first time. Mrs. Jentwick. Before he had time to dodge Jimmy went down in a pile of tasteful gray clothing, elegant pearls, and 227 pounds of frenzied matron. He tried to object but he was just too damn tired and besides, Mr. Harrison kept making “go ahead” motions at him, obviously already planning how to bill her for this.

Oddly enough, she was the best yet.

At five minutes to midnight, Jimmy arrived at the hotel room to hide out in relative peace, thanks to the limo and carefully-worded arrangements of a grateful Mr. Harrison. He was a wreck. Large patches of scalp showed through where his hair had been ripped out, he was bleeding freely from thousands of scratches all over his body, his entire torso was an immense and painful hickey, his balls felt like pressed grapes, and his goddamn motherfucking thrice-cursed Jesus tap-dancing Christ dick was still hard! He collapsed naked on the bed and buried his face in his hands, sobbing in the empty room.

“So, Jimmy. Was it worth it?”

Jimmy jerked upright (with a small cry of pain) to see a very large, very old man sitting on the bed. Jimmy looked at him closely. Fat, check. Beard, check. Rosy cheeks, check. Sonnuva… “What the hell did you do?” he cried.

“What you asked for. You wanted to be a superstud. Ta-da! Whatcha think?”

Jimmy moaned. “I’m fucked. I can’t get near a woman without getting assaulted. Every muscle in my body is cramped. I’m out of sperm, I’m shooting white blood cells and spit. If I’m not careful I get dizzy from blood loss. I can’t talk to a woman, can’t get them to see me as anything other than a penis. Every woman in the world, they don’t care about my personality or my privacy, but the second they see me they just want to use me over and over again ?til I die.”

The fat man put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and smiled down at him. “Rough when people objectify you, huh?”

“You know it. It’s not just young women, it’s any woman past puberty. Cheerleaders, geeks, doctors, nurses, female firefighters, nuns, even a congressperson, I think. And my boss wants to put me out for stud service to help get contracts from upper class women. This is going to kill me.”

“So,” the man said, his eyes twinkling, “you ready to get back to a normal life?”

Jimmy looked up in shock. “Are you kidding? Hell no!”

“Yes, something told me that by now you’d be ready to… what?” The man did a splendid double-take and stood up, flabbergasted. “What?” he roared. “You want to keep it?”

“Hell yeah,” Jimmy said. “Are you kidding? I’m getting laid like no other guy on earth! Even the guys in the movies can’t beat this! I’m the greatest stud there ever was!”

“You’re insane. You’re supposed to have a new and better appreciation of your day-to-day existence that will let you live the rest of your life with a positive outlook on your life and the cards you’ve been dealt, you fucking moron! If you keep on going like this you’ll be dead in a week!”

“Yeah, but I’ll be the happiest fucking corpse in history! It might not even stop there! Women might travel from miles around to dig me up and hop on!” The man began slowly backing away, horrified, but Jimmy wasn’t looking at him anymore. “Maybe they’ll bury me so it’s sticking out of the ground, and women can come and fuck me for years and years and years! I could become a rite of passage! A god!”

Unnoticed, the fat man headed for the door. “This shit just isn’t working the way it used to,” he muttered. And, laying a finger alongside his nose and shaking his head sadly, he left.

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