Tudung & Titties (and maybe some thick, juicy booty)
Read all about some Malaysian girls and a hot, alpha male in SMUTPUNK on SKATES
Learn how to make tweets work for you more!
Okay, Press Me to See what the fuck MJ is talking about, first.
Okay, so this mess (https://twitter.com/intent/tweet?text=Shit%20@MJKingOfErotica%20can%20teach%20you%20an%20incredible%20trick%20http://wp.me/p6B82a-1lb%20%23LPRTG%20%23DesignedTweet%20%23Tips) can become a pretty, neat, pre-written tweet containing twitter handle and hashtags.
How, MJ, How? Well it’s simple if you know a little unicode. Now, I’m not going to explain the whole alphabet to you but you will notice a lot of %20s and %23s. Well, those are the basic pieces you need to code your own interactive designed tweet buttons.
- First, you start with this code: https://twitter.com/intent/tweet?text=
- Next write your first word of the tweet flush against the “=” sign. (See my test tweet above)
- Then use “%20” for a a space.
- Now write a word and then %20 until you have the text of your tweet.
- Include an @twitter-handle (write your twitter handle here) so that you are notified each time somebody tweets
- I suggest you try to sneak this into the main sentence of your tweet, but that’s just so it looks neat
- Be sure to add a link to whatever it is that you want people tweeting about
- book links, websites, moctezumajohnson.com
- Add hashtags by inserting the code %23 before the tag you want.
- Note: still use %20 to make sure you have a space or the hashtag won’t read and will be impotent.
- There are more codes but these are the basics to make an interactive tweet.
- When you’ve finished your code, insert it as the link url to any link. I usually use “Press This” but you can add it to any text.
- Tag me in your first designed tweet so I can see my star pupil in action and start retweeting your success.
If you enjoyed this little tech tip, please tweet this with the “PRESS ME” button and let others know that MJ is awesome. Only his helpfulness exceeds his awesomeness.
What is Smutpunk
As you can see, smutpunks are regularly asked this question. The answers keep getting better and better.
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Enjoy this SMUTPUNK Erotica Giveaway Event 11 April – 16 April 2017
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Photos and GIFs of Big Asian Tits
Click the Thumbnails for full size images
FUN FACTS: I’m a huge fan of big Asian tits. I may be as big a fan as there is. I dated a slew of Asian women with big tits. I don’t think I’ve ever had a pair of big tits to play with that I haven’t enjoyed. Why are they so pleasing? They are something to squeeze. Squeezing feels good. They are great to suck on. Sucking makes me feel calm. They can be soaped up and/or oiled and feel great over my cock Russian style. They make great sponges to clean my own body when lusciously sudsed up. And, in a pinch, tits can be very useful to sate my nagging hunger or quench my ravenous thirst.
Read some Big Asian Tits Erotica
Candy Cunt Saga
featuring teabagging lollipops, bratty sticky-faced kids, moms with too much makeup on, and daddies who aren’t the daddies of the kids they are with)
Amazing what car rides can do for whining kids who have their lollipops taken away because they don’t want to walk up lots of steps so mommy can flirt with a daddy who isn’t really daddy.--MOCTEZUMA
The lollipop was in a kid’s sticky hands. It was meant to be a present for a cute little girl in her Sunday dress. She was a sweet little girl and her mommy promised her one lolly as long as she behaved during mass. She behaved well and she got the lollipop. However, when the mommy dragged her to the shopping mall the sweet little girl complained that her feet were tired. The mommy insisted she keep walking. The mommy liked one of the daddies who worked there. The daddy the mommy liked was not the daddy of the lollipop-holding chiquita, so the little cutey didn’t want to walk up more stairs. She’d walk for her own daddy, but not this daddy. Why should she walk just so mommy could parade herself like a hot little minx in front of this other daddy? The sweet little girl cried. The mommy threatened her, “you go or I’ll take away your dulce!” The little girl wouldn’t budge. She sat inconveniently on the stairs to start eating her lollipop. The mommy, looking pretty hot in her very tight white linen blouse that showed off her sleek curves and her tight A-line dress that emphasized her juicy booty and cinched her waist like she was a drawstring bag, snatched the lollipop from her daughter’s hand and threw it down to the landing below.
This set the little girl off on an intense temper tantrum but we didn’t really get to see that because we were not following the story of the little girl and her hot, immature, impetuous caramel-skinned mommy. We were following the story of the lollipop as it fell through the sky majestically, each colored-sugar swirl of the circular lollipop spinning like a sweet discus until it plopped on the soft grass around a big potted tree that sprouted from the garage all the way up to the fourth floor of this outdoor shopping plaza in the posh part of this Tropical city, with brand names sprouting up like Starbucks to entice wealthy foreigners to live the American dream. Money talks, people say. Yes, but what does it say? The lollipop knew what it said as it rested its weary, swirly head on the soft corn plant petal growing timidly at the root of the tree. Money says chupa chupa!
The little girl crying on the steps kept shouting out, “Quiero mi paleta, mama!” which I can’t translate exactly but means something like ‘what the fuck did you throw my candy down into the underground garage for, you crazy cunt?’ although I’m hardly a worthy translator. ‘Cunt’ may be the wrong word. Perhaps any linguist would assert that ‘slut’ would work better. Ask your local translator when you have a free moment, okay?
Paleta was what the little girl called the swirly lollipop, which you’d already figured out. I put it in the story because of this smoking hot transvestite I used to see on 14th street in NYC when I would go out to the clubs in the early 90s. Things were rawer back then. I used to promote these transvestite shows in Limelight Club, a famous club on 23rd street in Manhattan. You’ve probably seen the documentary of the club’s demise. I was lucky enough to never get busted for anything yet I really lived it up. That would later become a theme with me. It paid off well in the bar business, but let’s not get into that right now—there will be a novel about that one day. For now let’s get back to me at Slimelight, as we affectionately named this omnisexual meat market. This one ‘girl’ named Saturn was really cute and always had a massive lollipop that she would suck on. I found her incredibly sexy. She was more sexy than any woman without a cock (err, anatomically original woman) could ever be. Sorry cockfree-ladies, but it be true, so deal. She walked across 14th street like she owned the entire street. Truth was she did. What was funny is I was intimidated by her. She was taller than I was and hot as ballz. Also, she was a club regular and I was a newbie. I didn’t know what to say, but I found out she was in the ivy league school uptown and we actually had a ton in common. She also squirted me with an LSD-laced water gun, which can really loosen the tongue. I was shy in those days. Nothing like what I am now. I was a late bloomer. She’s the reason I put that type of ‘paleta’ in the story. Her name was Dory. Don’t think about—fuck, too late—the fish. No, not ‘as in finding—.’ This Dory oozed sex appeal and had an eidetic memory, for fuck’s sake! She had nothing in common with that dumbass, animated fish.
Quiero mi paleta, mama!
The lollipop in the manicured plant below couldn’t hear the little girl at all. Also, he was in shock from the fall. Yes, this swirly candy on a stick was macho, so he be he please let that be. Of course he was he, if you think about it. Think of him like a peacock! You know how beautiful those birds are when they go HELL-O in their flirtatious colorful way. Well, this swirly suck candy was no different. He wanted into your mouth, her mouth, his mouth, any mouth. He welcomed being passed around, but don’t think he was some weak-kneed pushover. No sireeeeee, Bob. Just wait you here. He was part of something much larger, much greater. He was purely monstrous when all put together, but right now he felt as if he was breaking apart. You could say Pop had an existential problem.
The lollipop, opened his one eye (yes, like a penis — mind always in the gutter, you) and blinked a few times to get his bearings. Then he hopped up and used his one leg to hop off the corn plant petal and down to the sidewalk. He was in some kind of high-class parking garage. There were Porsches, Mercedez-benzes, BMWs, Audis, and even an Aztec red Ferrari Spider.
Pop, as the lollipop was known to his friends, walked down to the Ferrari. A man was walking to it. He was dressed in a suit. A dolled up woman walked after him. The blonde Latina with peach fuzz on her rouged face and a tight white linen blouse that fit her tight little body was the mommy from upstairs, the one who threw pop. You could see the beginning phase of how the mommy would become an old woman who spoke too loud, wore too much makeup, and sprayed an unpleasant extra splash of daily perfume. She was clearly pining for the man getting in the exotic car. She was also upset that her daughter was crying. The mommy wanted to focus on the daddy, but was stuck settling down the annoying young girl.
The man got in his very expensive red sports car and pulled away. The lollipop had to hop back on the sidewalk to avoid being smashed. Tire on candy wasn’t a good deal for Pop (or any lollipop). The hot mommy was dejected. Pop knew that the mommy had fucked the man. Pop could clearly see the man didn’t want her anymore. Women weren’t good at being told no.
The mommy put her crying daughter into the car seat of a luxury car (but not as luxurious as the sports car he sped away in) and then popped open the trunk. She saw Pop on the sidewalk and bent down to pick him up. While she did, her mini-skirt blew up and anyone could see that the little slut wasn’t wearing any underwear. In fact, if you looked closely, which Pop did, you could see that she was leaking cum out of her golden slit. If you liked eating creampies, then the site was heaven—high up leaky pussy heaven.
She threw pop into the trunk with the shopping bags then got in the car and sped away.
Pop had no idea where the mommy took them. It was dark in the trunk. When she opened it, the sun blinded him. As he regained his vision they were in an elevator. The little girl was asleep. Amazing what car rides can do for whining kids who have their lollipops taken away because they don’t want to walk up lots of steps so mommy can flirt with a daddy who isn’t really daddy.
Pop the lolly was sticking out of the mommy’s purse. He could see right into her blouse and saw she had quite an ample breast tucked into her skin-tone lace bra. He was pleased. Pop licked his lips and his candy swirl got more intense. It momentarily went positively pop art.
The mommy plopped her purse down on the coffee table as they came into the sun-baked living room. Pop was still in it. The mommy then moved her daughter into her pink room. The girl kept sleeping like a sticky-faced cherub.
Now was Pop’s time to strike.
Pop surveyed the modern living room. It had fantastic bay windows with a panoramic view of Biscayne Bay. The water was aquamarine. There were two half circle soft white chairs contrivedly placed looking out the window. Behind them was a couch pointed at a huge flat screen TV. This was a wealthy house, sporting the trendy open concept kitchen with island.
When the mommy, called in social circles Miss Marvella Puig came back into the living room, Pop was ready for her. He was ready to jump up and force himself in her mouth or to lodge himself in her cleavage, but it wasn’t quite the right move. Not yet, at least. Marvella came out and sat in one of the big white chairs. She opened her legs. She fingered herself tortuously, making squishy sounds. She added in moans like a great composer added instruments tactfully, almost subtly. Pop hopped up, walked like a trapeze artist up the thin arm of the chair, and watched her naughty tongue slipping through slightly parted lips. Marvella’s eyes were closed. The symphony of her squishy moaning duet was intoxicating. Pop felt more disconnected and monstrous than ever. He couldn’t take it. He had to act.
Then he did it. It was his programming. He innately went to the eyes. And teabagged them!
He turned himself in such a way that his stick was facing out and his swirly goodness dipped right over her eye cavity. Marvella loved it. Her moans got louder. If she was the composer of her lascivious symphony, this was the signal for the crescendo. The horny bitch-mommy felt like she was being teabagged by the big heavy balls of the daddy who wasn’t her daughter’s daddy, the one who drove the Aztec-red Ferrari. She wanted him so bad now that he didn’t want to see her again. “Dejame en paz,” he had said after he shot his batch into her tight little mommy slit. That translates into something like, Bitch, please, I just needed a fuck doll to keep my dick wet. He said this in response to her impassioned exclamation: “I love you!” She saw yachts and champagne parties with this rich daddy. He saw the same, but not with her. In his fantasy it was with lots of hot, young, new women. Mujeriego!
Marvella fingered herself wildly with one hand. She rubbed her clit vigorously in three erotic circles. Then she dipped her finger deep in her pussy. She repeated this three pattern: three rubs and a dip. It was intense. Meanwhile her other hand was busy tweaking and pulling on each nipples intermittently. Her tongue was now out, wagging. “I want to taste you,” she hissed. She stuck out the tip of her tongue near her nose, trying to get Pop, but she couldn’t reach. Her tongue flicked desperately in the air.
Pop removed his sticky sweetness from her eye and drifted down her cheek, trailing little sprinkles of candy, to her mouth where her tongue went straight to work licking and sucking on him. He was quickly covered in her slobber, and as his whole sticky body was pleasure-filled nerve endings, he had a continuous orgasm from first to last lick, until she shouted the daddy’s name, “Ramon!” and then jammed her finger deep in her pussy until her sticky sweet honeypot released. She gushed on her own hand.
She was already lying on her back in the chair with her legs spread wide open, so her collapse after cumming was more spiritual than physical. Pop tried to put himself in her eye cavity where he belonged but he didn’t fit. What? Pop thought. I’m supposed to snap right in. What’s wrong?
Something was wrong. Marvella was not the Monster Pop was originally attached to. Pop had to admit it. Pop was lost.
End Part 1
Part 2 of Candy Cunt Saga
Monster? What Monster?
Bitna, pronounced /Bee-Na/, was in her little uniform, looking cute. She was a student, nineteen years young, and with two legs like daggers. They were so hot, they sliced into the boys at school, and none had the balls to speak with her. So she walked to the candy store and got a lollipop — a big, colorful swirly thing. She didn’t open it straight away. She would first come back into her room, a one room apartment with a single bed and a desk. The shower and bathroom were in a shared room down the hall. She threw her book-bag on the desk and then lay on the bed and started to rub herself. She couldn’t help it. She was horny. Her pussy ached to be rubbed. Her wetness was begging for attention.
This is when the pop came alive.
Bitna shuddered. Just the thought that something inanimate could suddenly BE ALIVE was terrifying. Then the fact that it as an aggressive little stick was worse. The stick had swag. It strutted up her desk and stared at her. Bitna stared back. She watched his candy swirl. He was like a psychedelic peacock. “You’re beautiful,” Bitna said in a mesmerized voice.
“Thank you,” he said in a deep baritone voice. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Bitna, pronounced /Bee-Na/.”
“What’s up, B?” He said suavely. “That’s a nice pussy you got there. Why is a hot chick like you so horny? Don’t the boys at school fuck you.”
“Nah,” Bitna said. “They are scared of me.”
“Scared!?” He laughed heartily. “They scared of you. Dumbass kids. Well I ain’t scared of you. I’m going to fuck your holes good, hard, and long. Give you what you need.”
Bitna leaned back. She was scared of this lollipop. He was cocky. In fact, his stick was growing as he was talking.
“Are you getting a hard on?” she asked.
“Keep rubbing your pussy, babe.”
“Yes sir,” Bitna said submissively. She had no idea why, but she was falling under this thing’s spell.
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