Posts Tagged ‘holiday’
Story: Happy Fucking Easter
The alarm began blaring, on schedule, at 6 friggin’ o’clock in the morning. The fact that I was the one who had set it in the first place still didn’t keep me from snarling and swiping it to the ground with my massive forearm before crawling back into my cave and…
…and sighing and rolling over and waking Kelly up, dammit. “Hey hon, time to get up.”
“Wha? I’m still s’eepin’, go ‘way. I’ma kill yu.” Kelly isn’t a morning person, either.
“We gotta get the Easter baskets out before the kids get up. C’mon, you were the one who didn’t want to stay up last night. Move, it, Easter bunny.”
She sat up groggily and held her head in her hands. “Yeah, yeah. Hippity hoppity.”
We pulled ourselves together just enough to pretend we were awake, got up and managed to locate all the Easter crap we had bought and hidden in various hidden caches around the house. I did catch her grabbing a quick nap in the hall closet, but one poke in a soft spot and she was moving again. We had gone to great lengths to stash everything as carefully as possible, so the odds were good that at least a third of it would be a complete surprise to the kids. Kelly, wrapped in a terry cloth robe, staggered downstairs with plastic baskets and plastic bags full of assorted plastic goop and headed off to turn them into pleasing arrangements of holiday joy, while I was assigned the task of sneaking out to the front yard and raiding the trunks of the cars for more hidden loot. I came out ahead of the game – I just suffered cold wet feet, but she had to actually start thinking.
Or perhaps not. I suspect that had I seen her creations at any other time besides the rosy dawn I would have shrieked like a cheerleader and tried to hit them with a stick. There on the kitchen table were three brightly colored baskets, stuffed unevenly with unnaturally bright green grass and filled with candy which had rather obviously been dumped straight out of a bag. She had missed a few times. However, since I hadn’t had to make them, I thought the baskets were the most beautiful things I had ever seen in my life. We scattered some toys about, left some new church clothes nearby where they wouldn’t get trampled, and I made a half-hearted attempt to prop up the Easter cards my mom sent. Kelly grabbed the last bag of candy, plopped onto the couch and pronounced us done.
“Happy Easter, you wild bunny, you,” I said. I sat down next to her and carefully rammed a humorous pair of bunny-ears-on-a-hair-barrette on her head. She gave me a withering look. Oddly, the ears helped.
She pulled a fuzzy eartip down where she could peer at it. “How exactly did the manifestation of the central event of Christianity result, through the centuries, in me wearing these goddamn ears and setting out huge heaping buckets of chocolate?”
Meanwhile I had noticed that her present state of collapse was causing her robe to open, displaying gorgeous legs and just a hint of blonde curls. I was suddenly completely awake for the first time that morning. Maybe there was time to celebrate this joyous holiday after all…
Kelly continued to complain to the ceiling. “It’s not like Jesus went around handing out Skittles to the cripples. ‘Here, take thee and partake of the fish and the loaves and the bite-size Butterfingers.’ What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m hunting for Easter eggs.”
“I’m pretty… um,… pretty sure I didn’t hide any there. Oh.”
“Can’t be too sure, it looks like a nice soft place to hide stuff.”
“Ah, Jesus… just a little faster… hey! Stop that! The kids are gonna come downstairs any second!” She tried pulling her robe closed but I had a good lock on her thighs.
“We’d better hurry then, huh? C’mon babe, you’re no bunny ’til some bunny loves you. Hey, look, I found candy!” I pulled a cherry lollipop out of the leftover bag and began running it between her furry lips. Two great tastes… She didn’t object, not in so many words, so I decided to see if rapid rubbing against a g-spot could help me get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop. I made sure to keep it well-lubricated by pulling it out and sucking on it now and then. I even gave her my best blow-job impersonation; propping the stick against her clit and bobbing up and down on the “head”. With one hand she grabbed my head and guided me. I couldn’t see where the other hand was, but it was fun to think about.
“Yeah, baby, take it all,” she cried, quietly. She pumped her hips back and forth, sorta joking and sorta getting off on it. “Suck! Suck, oh god… Hey, my turn!” Kelly scooted backwards up the back of the couch and moved over so I could sit down. I handed her the sucker, but she just smiled and said she had better.
She worked my shorts off – she always pulls them off flat to my body, she says she likes watching my dick fwap against my stomach – and kneeled between my legs. She smacked her lips like Wile E. Coyote, letting her tongue sweep from one corner of her mouth to the other, and then she smiled up at me as she grabbed the base of my cock with one hand and brought out her other hand out to produce… a chocolate bunny. I think I just gave her a dumb look, and then she grinned, twisted the head off the poor little rodent and jammed it over the head of my dick. I couldn’t help laughing, it fit perfectly, and it gave my genitalia such a festive look. Then I saw how she was looking at it, and I panicked. I’ve seen how she eats chocolate bunnies. “Um, you’re not gonna bite the head off, are you…?”
Kelly just grinned again and stroked my shaft before she started nibbling on “my” ears. “Oh, yum. This is much better than the old way.” In her hand our new rabbit friend bowed and waggled at me. Kelly thoughtfully supplied the dialogue. “Here comes Peter Cottontail, fucking down the bunny trail!” She grabbed a firm hold on the base, rubbing me gently with her thumb, then abruptly bit off one of the ears.
I tried to jump back, but she had me pinned. “Agh! Damn, woman, take it easy!”
Saliva and melted chocolate was running down her face, across her breasts and all over my crotch. “No,” she said happily, and she bit off the other ear. I reached down to grab her head and rescue my rabbit but she quickly took my entire “head” into her mouth and moved her hand up and down to match her motions. I magnaminously decided to let her continue. The noises I was trying not to make were just to reassure her of her abilities, really. The feeling was incredible; as the chocolate crumbled and melted inside her mouth she moved faster and faster, letting the candy drip down and cover her hands.
After far too short a time she stood up and leaned over me. Most of the bunny was gone now, but there was a huge amount of melted chocolate smeared all over her upper body and a wild gleam in her eyes. I grabbed hold of her hips as she turned away from me and sat down hard on my candy-coated dick. I could hear both of us fighting valiantly to stay quiet as she sank to the hilt and her tight ass pressed hard against my lap. I think she had planned to guide the ride, but things were moving too fast and I had my own ideas anyway. I wrapped my fingers around her bountiful breasts, rubbing gooey chocolate over and around her nipples as I leaned forward and whispered into her ear, “Hippity hoppity.” Then I gripped her hips and started jackhammering, figuring if I wasn’t going to last any longer there was no reason she should.
She didn’t. (Neither did I). We both bounced wildly on the couch, trying desperately to drive me farther and farther into her, and we had just found the right cadence and I felt that incredible feeling of hot liquid fire rushing from my balls and I could tell that she was desperately fighting to wait for me…. when we heard the kids’ bedroom door open.
Many things happened simultaneously: Kelly stood up, my dick fwapped into my stomach again (leaving a phallic chocolate silhouette this time), I grabbed our clothes, Kelly threw some cushions over our new Nestle’s wet spot, and we both dashed for the downstairs bathroom even as the kids came bounding down the stairs. It was a tie, and we closed the bathroom door just as the first cries of greedy happiness began.
Kelly and I stood in the bathroom, shaking with laughter and need and adrenaline. She was leaning against the door with me right behind her so we could both listen, but we weren’t really paying much attention. Kelly was squeezing her thighs together over and over and I think my dick was humming, we were still so close. She looked up at me, eyes wide, then turned quickly and leaned towards the sink as I sank right into the heat of her climax. Her sweet gooiness gripped me with rhythmic pulses and my furious spurting followed right after, followed by a few minutes of breathless panting and giggling and a good twenty minutes of two grownups trying to silently wash themselves in a bathroom sink.
So what did you do for Easter?
Valentine’s For One
Valentine’s Day! Most romantic of holidays, a day (and night) to celebrate the powerful relationship you’ve forged, with hard work, love and communication, with your significant other(s). Sure, it’s a combination of several pagan holidays and Roman baccanalian celebrations hammered together and relentlessly pushed at you by soulless corporations to sell greeting cards, candy and roses, but is that any reason not to go with it? Love it up!
However, there are those of you who will be alone on this day. You may be single, or widowed, or your lover may be unavoidably occupied very far away. Many of you feel Valentine’s Day to be a mockery of your solitude, an insult added to your injury. I say thee nay! Valentine’s Day is meant to be a celebration of love eternal, no matter what your immediate social situaiton may be. Spend it with the one you truly love! The one who will never leave you, no matter how bad things get. The one you can say anything to, the one you can touch wherever and whenever you want without fear of awkwardness or misunderstanding, the only one in the world that truly understands you and loves you anyway. Your dog.
For those of you who have no pets, spend the day loving yourself. Take a 24 hour period and cherish yourself the way you were meant to be. Learn to love the person who truly owns your heart.
Monday morning, welcome yourself with breakfast in bed. Granted, you won’t have the element of surprise you would ordinarily, but you’ll get to enjoy both the little-sneaky-kid feeling of doing something special AND the wonderful feeling of being pampered. Bring your tray back to bed, cuddle up under the blankets and watch cartoons while you dine.
Be sure to get up early enough to get ready. Remember, you’re going out tonight! Groom yourself thoroughly – brush, shave, pluck, tweeze, shape, wipe, whatever you’d do for your hottest date. When you shower, however, take your time. Soap yourself thoroughly, letting your hands roma over and down your curves, no matter how many curves you have (or don’t have). Close your eyes and relish in your touch – let your slippery hands slide along your throat, brush your nipples, glide down your stomach and slip between your legs. Go ahead, lose yourself in the sensual… well, y’know… sensations. Don’t take yourself too far — you want to heighten the anticipation, not lose it in the shower. Towel yourself withe the biggest, fluffiest towel you own and get ready for work.
After making a few quick phone calls, head out to the car and find the love note you left for yourself. Isn’t that sweet? Secret love notes can be left anywhere you’re likely to find them, whatever your personal circumstances — tucked into your car visor, in your briefcase or lunchbox, tacked to your kitchen bulleting board, stuffed into the top of your garter belt, slipped into a file you know your Chief of Staff will be handing you later. Be creative.
At work, check your messages or voice-mail and smile to yourself as you hear the message you left yourself an hour ago. Gives you a warm feeling, doesn’t it? Your secretary or the guys at the plant may look at you funny, the jealous, small-minded fools, but they’ll really be surprised when the bouquet arrives. Don’t let anybody see the card (although you should chuckle to yourself as you read it, and blush if you can. What a hot little number you are!). Later in the afternoon, sneak off to the bathroom or lock yourself in your office and allow yourself to think about what’s to come. Close your eyes and whisper gently into your ear (fake it, c’mon, work with me here) all about what you want to do with yourself later. Get good and worked up, then go back out amongst your co-workers and try to hide your condition. Isn’t it wicked getting your lover worked up at work?
After work, head straight home. It’s time to start feeling sensual. Lay out your clothes so everything’s ready, then luxuriate in a long, hot bubble bath. You need to unwind and start feeling like a lover. Pour in lots of bubble stuff — bath salts, dishwashing detergent, those little soap ball things that are supposed to dissolve but always leave little deflated skins floating around in there with you — and just experience the moment. Feel the heat of the water on your skin, and the sense of steam rising past your face. Lather yourself completely and, still laying in the hot water of the tub, pour bowls of cool water across yourself. Let your hands roam a bit and see how close you can bring yourself to climax without going over, then jump out of the tub and get ready. Your fanciest outfit, jewelry, scent, the whole shebang. Hurry, you’ve got reservations!
Well, reservation, anyway. When you show up at the restaurant, explain to the maitr蠤e that your partner is an ER nurse on call, but you expect them to show up any minute. This will help keep your server from sniggering at you when they bring your drinks. Make sure that you request a table by a window – they’ll think you’re watching for your lover to show, when you’re really using the reflection to gaze into your eyes. You’ll even get better service, as your server will feel sorry for you the more it seems that you’ve been stranded. With a litle luck you could even get them to come sing to you and bring one of those little cakes. Get up to go to the bathroom, find a server that hasn’t seen you yet, and have a drink sent to your table. If you’re feeling exceptionally daring, head to the bathroom, take off your underwear, stuff it in your pocket, and return to your seat to enjoy the illicit sensations. Enjoy a fine meal, but take it easy on the wine, you don’t want to get out of control.
When you leave (tip well), don’t go straight home. The night is young! Take yourself on a carriage ride, stroll on the beach holding hand, go to a horror movie and hug yourself during the scary parts, play mini-golf and giggle when you catch yourself cheating, pull yourself into a dark alley, slam yourself into the wall and roughly thrust your hand down between your legs for the fast, brutal thrill of it. Share an ice cream cone.
When you do head home, be coy. Smile knowingly when you let yourself in and see the champagne and candles. Oho, what did you have in mind? Stretch out on the couch and spend some time talking to yourself. What are your true feelings? What do you want from a lover? What turns you on? What fantasies do you have that have never been fulfilled? As you get closer, touch yourself lightly on the face and caress your throat. Open the top buttons of your shirt, or slip a few fingers into your neckline. Feel the heat of the room and the richness of the champagne as they both combine to bring fire to your cheeks. Close your eyes and let your hands roam as they will. When you’ve gone as far as you can with clothes on and you’re still thinking reasonably clearly, head to the bedroom.
Light just enough candles to see and drop onto the bed, ready. Strip your clothes off like an animal, flinging them away without ever taking your eyes off yourself. Grab yourself savagely, uncontrollably, undeniably. Ravish yourself quickly and violently the first time, to satisfy the hungry cravings that you’ve ben cultivating all day. Grab your hair and pull your head down, if you’re flexible enough. You can sit on your hand for five minutes to deaden it if you want to feel like someone else is touching you. Once you reach the ragged edge of orgasm, hold yourself there for several long, agonizing minutes, and then rake your fingernails across your nipples as you bring yourself to a screaming finish. After your breathing becomes regular again, you can continue to caress yourself the rest of the night.
Next morning, be sure to call yourself. It’s the least you can do.
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
I WANT:
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.
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!”
“Saunders?”
“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.
Hoot Island Halloween Party!
Hey, cool, glad you could make it! Great costumes! Don’t you get cold like that?
C’mon in, I’ll get you set up. Mind your step, the fog covers the floor and we’ve already discovered how dangerous that can be around here. Whatever you do, don’t walk around barefoot. I’ve got little latex booties for everyone and you can hose your feet off later if you want. Worth it for the effect, though.
Drinks are over at the bar, leave your keys in the bowl. Food is buffet-style over there. The orgy’s “come-as-you-are,” leave your proof of birth control and blood tests with Marcia, she’s the blonde over on the couch, the one dressed like Lady Godiva’s horse.
Try to keep a sense of style about you if you can, work it so that if you fuck someone your costumes match or at least conflict in an amusing way, like that couple over there dressed as Pat Robertson and the boy scout, or that group trying to make a star. Nice grouping, guys!
Lotta great costumes here tonight. The guy by the punch bowl? Naked guy on skates? That’s Billy, he came as a pull toy. Jennifer, the one with the black gloves and black shoes and interesting trim job, she came as the 5 of spades. There’s at least six or seven human condoms walking around, two sets of testicles, one guy came as Margaret Sanger, and one courageous woman came as a female ejaculation (with hidden hydraulics, careful around her). Oh, and Bernie by the stairs is a dick. What? No, I didn’t notice what his costume is, he’s just a dick. Not many ghosts, though, No spare sheets.
We’ve got lots of party games going on. Out by the pool they’re playing “Bobbing for Boobies.” They float, you see… You can’t use your hands and most of the girls don’t fancy the kind of jaw strength that can grab an apple, so it’s a game for masters. Well, as it happens Sharon is an apple girl, so she only counts as half points, but the rest of them you gotta be more careful.
Let’s see what’s in here… hey, what’s with the lights?
“So I reached out and took her ripe, taut buttock in my hand. Here, pass this around. Feel how full, how sweet it is.”
Just back out quietly. That was Dave, doing the body parts game. Ever been at a Halloween party where they turn the lights off and one guy tells a scary story while he passes around creepy stuff? Like talking about a witch’s eyes and passing around peeled grapes or something? Well, we don’t go in for scary stuff too much here.
In the next room they’re doing the same sort of thing but they’re passing around a flashlight. Under their faces? Not hardly…
For those of you who have always wanted to live a childhood fantasy, the back bedroom is three feet deep with candy. It’s by far the most requested romantic rendezvous room of the evening. There’s just something about the smell of it, the crinkling of the paper… If you’re interested you’ll need to sign up. You can tell who’s been in there already; I had a Butterfingers wrapper stuck to my ass for an hour before anyone told me. The bastards.
Out in the backyard they’re trick-or-treating. Yeah, the backyard. You go up to someone and go “trick or treat” and you get one or the other, usually right there on the spot. Be careful approaching groups, they might all chip in.
Upstairs we’ve got a haunted whore house set up, tours go through every half hour. Ghoulish ladies of the evening, in several sense of the term. You walk through spooky State Supreme Court hearings on sodomy laws, there’s a room decked out like your parents’ bedroom, and I still have nightmares thinking about the Hall of Impotence.
There’s a group experimenting in the kitchen. See, they started out making caramel apples, but they ran out of apples, so they’re making do. They stuff wraps nicely around so many things, you know? And it just gets gooier when it heats up, but then, so do I. Oh, safety note – do not insert candy corn anywhere you can’t shake it out of. We had an incident earlier. Amazing what you can do with a pumpkin scooper when you really have to.
Hmm? Oh, that’s the local witches’ group celebrating Samhain on the roof. Ordinarily this is a time when witches and pagans celebrate the final harvest time of the year, the halfway point between winter and spring, the final turn of the wheel of life, and they put themselves in harmony with the elements of the universe and seek to honor those who have gone before. Our group just fucks, mostly. The Hoot Island coven call themselves Waccans; they’re a bit goofier and more whimsical than your average pagan. Right now they’re raising a cone of power with three cases of aerosol whipped cream cans.
Just settle in and enjoy yourselves, I’ve got more guests to greet. Happy Halloween, everyone! Hey, you folks need another hand in the back bedroom? The candy man can!
