The Japanese Love Doll Deal | an excerpt
Subtitle: A bizarre twist of fate on CyberMonday
This is the story of Thomas an ordinary chap somewhere in the heartland of America, you know a place I’ve never been to as I hug the liberal coasts when I do venture into the US but never mind me and my magical ways, let’s stick to young Thomas, trying to get ahead in life, to climb the corporate ladder and find himself a good woman with whom he can settle down and make babies.
Thomas was always a weird child way more into his toys than his peers. He was happy sticking to himself. This life needed money to survive so he had to interact with other humans, but that prospect didn’t thrill him and he did his best to ignore most human interaction. Thomas had blonde hair that he wore neatly parted to expose his face. His black glasses partially hid his sparkling blue eyes. His nose was pretty small like a child’s but then he had light facial hair that gave his cute baby face a more rugged, sexy look. He was not a bad looking guy if he would just take off his glasses. He was working selling insurance, a thankless job. Most people who he spoke with were furious at him and his company, but there was really nothing he could do to help. He wanted to help people but his hands were really untied. He came home to his messy little apartment and plopped down on the couch. He held his last beer can protectively. It was the only good thing on this Monday evening, the first Monday since the Thanksgiving Holiday. He popped the beer can open and it exploded all over him. “Goddamnit,” he said. He wasn’t mad about getting beer on him, he was mad that he wasted nearly all of his last beer. He checked his wallet and found a folded $1 bill. That wouldn’t get more beer. He turned on the TV and his favorite sports team The Old York Stinkies were getting pummeled 17-3. He flipped through the channels but there was nothing good on. Just advertisements for internet shopping and this new “Cyber Monday” stuff. Thomas got out his laptop and jumped on the internet, hoping something exciting would catch his eye. It was as bad as staring into the fridge when hungry and lazy: nothing appealed to him.
He ended up searching porn but that bored him. How many times could he watch a white girl with her teeth gritted yelling, “fuck me fuck me fuck me?” Porn was so predictable and criminally un-creative. Where was the fun? He searched “sex toy shops” and then “dick-lengthening pills.” After jumping from one page to another, Thomas found himself on a new site. This one was selling very expensive dolls. Each doll was handcrafted “by god himself” and the prices were in the ten thousand to one hundred thousand dollar range. The site featured hundreds of exquisite photos of the dolls. They were seen sitting at the dinner table in fine clothes, posed on the couch, leaning out the window, in corporate casual at the boardroom table, and in the bedroom. They were each beautiful as a supermodel, with high cheekbones, full lips, and incredible bodies. They weren’t quite the bodies of bimbos (no GG tits or anything), but they were very sexy with great curves.
Thomas was blown away.
They were so unique, so beautiful, and they stirred something sexually inside of him. The url was from a japanese love doll site. He checked his wallet again. He just had the dollar, but he did have plastic. He could whip out his credit card and purchase one of these lovely dolls. He couldn’t. The one he liked was twenty-seven thousand dollars. That was more than a car! For a doll. They were exquisite, classy, well-dressed, beautiful, sexy, inviting, but he just couldn’t. It was crazy. He thought of Larissa in his office. She was wonderful. She was like a doll to Thomas. He had finally gathered up the gumption to go up to her while she was eating salmon in the cafeteria and while holding his coffee he said what he’d practiced a thousand times, “Larissa, I was wondering if you have dinner plans tonight. I really admire you. I’d love to get to know you more.” Thomas was surprised it had come out so cogently. He was deathly afraid that he would trip all over his words as he usually did in front of a woman but practice makes perfect and that came out really perfectly. It didn’t matter. Jim, the managing broker stepped right in and put his hands on her shoulders and said, “She has plans. Plans to be at her knees in front of me.” He burst out into racaous, inappropriate laughter. Larissa blushed a little but wasn’t the type to buck the trend. She stayed complicit in his bragging of her as his sex toy and Thomas noticed she was wearing a choker that had a little hook to clasp to a leash. He shook his head like the thought was paining him and said, “Nevermind. Forget I asked, and stormed out of the room while Jim and a few of his cronies had a good laugh at Thomas’s expense and Larissa’s expense.
He clicked BUY.
It only took a few minutes to put in the requests he had: long black hair, a large C-cup, thick booty, full ruby red lips. He chose her clothes. He put in his address and credit card info and clicked confirm. Then he plopped back down on the couch, drank the two fingers of warm beer that hadn’t spilled and passed out on the couch.
Thomas woke up trembling to the sound of the doorbell. He shook off the cobwebs. He stood up, shakily, and went to the front door. When he opened it, it was pitch black out and really he should have checked out the window first. This was a great way to get robbed and murdered. This was why so many Americans carried guns, Thomas thought. He was so sleepy he’d be liable to shoot just about anyone, including himself, in this state. He blinked a few times and checked his watch. It was 3 a.m. There was a large box on his stoop. He grabbed it to lift it but it was heavy. He got a better grip and lifted it up. It had to be about 100 lbs. As he walked in the house with the box the weight in the box shifted. He put it down with a loud grunt and remained crouched. He stared at the box. He hadn’t grunted. The box moved and he jumped up to his feet and stepped back. “Oh my god!” he said.
The flaps to the box opened. It was like there was a cat in the box, it was moving on its own. It was a cat in some manner, the dirtiest, of the word. A tall, beautiful woman rose slowly out of the box. She had high cheekbones like a supermodel. Her long black hair was pulled back in a gorgeous pony tail. Her lips were painted red and full and juicy. She was wearing a sexy green tank top and jeans (the very outfit Thomas had picked on the internet). Her tits sure looked like the large C cup that he had requested. This girl was real and she was spectacular. Thomas stuttered, “My my my, you you you’re…”
“Thirsty. Can I have a glass of water?” She spoke in a Japanese accent.
“Sure sure,” Thomas said. He went to the fridge where he kept tap water cold and took out the bottle of water. The water sloshed around since his hands were shaking. Then he got a cup from the cupboard and poured water for her. It splashed all around and some landed on the counter. “Ice?”
(Continue reading this Cyber Monday Love Doll Story)
The Sex Manual – Read these sex tips for a flamethrower in the bedroom
Read the Sex Manual right now
The Sex Manual – Read these sex tips for a flamethrower in the bedroom
Why are you rubbing two sticks together in the bedroom? Get a flamethrower!
Ever wished your partner came with a small pamphlet on how to operate correctly? Well, now you have it. Moctezuma spent nearly a decade running a bar, writing erotica, and blogging. He gathered a lot of information. So you want to have mind-blowing sex but all you know is what your priest and Cosmo told you? You poor thing. Well, fret no more. Let Moctezuma Johnson share his research in this in-depth, self-help book. He has found out what’s plaguing most bedroom partners. It’s simply intimidation and insecurity. So many fans have asked him how to be better, sexier, and more experienced. Moctezuma speaks openly and honestly offering a series of very practical solutions for men and women. This non-fiction, how-to book is told with humor (a necessity for the bedroom) and compassion.
Whether male or female or transgender, The Sex Manual is the book you wish came with every person you’ve dated. Well, wish no more. It’s out, so add it to your kindle. Just the fact that you’re reading this description is proof that you’re ready to improve and you’re almost halfway there. This book will take you the rest of the way. It’s filled with ideas, game plans, tips, and list of clothing, toys, and poems to spice up your sex life.
These two chicks—is one Callie Press?—bend over and remove their panties (remember, smutpunkists, Moctezuma Johnson = remove your panties) to stare at Moctezuma lasciviously. Yep. We been doing a lot of talk about brand imaging and I clearly have no idea what the fuck any of it means. Some people say I’m bad for their brand image. I say it’s a matter or perception. You be the judge. Me? I’m going to keep doing my thing. If you dig it, let me know, please, because I mostly get to hear from the haters. Thanks, twitter!
CHOOSE YOUR OWN SEXCAPADE™ is a pulpy erotic read about you and for you in which you can choose what happens next
Instructions: Just go ahead and read G-strung’s Custard Parade as you would any other book but when the main character “you” is left with some choices click the link to the choice you would most likely choose and then follow to the next part. If a choice you would love to make is missing, let me know in the comments below and I’ll scribble it down. This is an extensive, labyrinthine preview. Click here to Pre-Order the Complete Choose Your Own Kink SEXcapade by Moctezuma Johnson completely FREE. Let’s begin, huh?
G-strung’s Custard Parade
Your dick is out in your hand. It’s big but not fully hard. You know you have a big dick because when you’re not hard all the excess skin that will stretch out when the hormones fire and the blood flows is bunched up from under the mushroom head all the way back to the root, where the balls hang out like steroid-laced raisins. You pull the mushroom head and all that bunched up skin stretches. The blood is starting to flow. That’s because of who lies in front of you.
G-strung, as you all called her, was paid beforehand (they said) and lying face down on the white tile floor with her brown skin tight, taut, and hella fine. She was lying face down with her head in her hands. She was kicking her toes into the floor and laughing into her hands. She was cute a pink glittery button. No joke. She was. Her smile was the shit poets write about when sober. Her ass cheeks were two scoops of chocolate ice cream. If god gave out sample of her ass in little pink plastic spoons, damn, god would be popular. I don’t mean this American right wing popular I mean there would be lines trying to get in like heaven was a Haagen Dazs on a humid August day in Brooklyn. G-string was making a giggling and whining sound at the same time. The walls were white. She was feeling like she was in an insane asylum. She was kicking her toes into the ground like she couldn’t take it anymore. You thought she may have been cold, or too stoned. You looked down on her, not because she was brown and you were white. You were no racist and had dated Asians, Latinas, and other races, religions, and groupies for rival bands and sports teams before. You were open minded. They said you’d fuck anything with a pulse. You were that type, they said. They called you Sticky Rice, cause you liked Asian Chicks and admittedly jerked off rampantly. You were proud of it. Porn wasn’t something you hid. Anyway, although it wasn’t pejorative you did look down on G-strung. You looked down on her because she was lying on the floor with her beautiful ass smiling at you and you were standing over her. You had to look down at her. Now, you had to decide what to do next. You had choices. She was already paid, they assured you, and all yours. You had to take her. You could take her any which way you wanted. They say the world is your oyster, right? She was your clam. Here were your choices:
Choose your own SEXcapade © 2015 by Moctezuma Johnson
*note – this is kind of a work in progress, any ‘sorry’ links will go live little by little (have patience with me, this was a huge undertaking! lol)
Love Office Chicks in Compromising Positions? Of course you do! Try more with Emme Hor’s Romance on Rollerskates Series
KUALA LUMPUR, MALAYSIA — 19 MAY 2016 — Insiders are calling this series the Butt Plug Blues (title totally leaked by Moctezuma Johnson, retired smutpunk author) and singing it’s silly, sexy, smutpunkie praises. In each episode an Alpha Male leads Heather to end up with a butt plug up her ass. Somehow she’s always in micro-mini skirts or tight yoga pants and roller-skates. Can this Asian chick be any sexier? Well, the Alpha Male known as ‘That Fucker’ seems to think she can because he’s got a bevy of other girls’ anus’ butt plugs on display in his office on THE BUTT PLUG MANTLE. This cruel alpha, Heather’s boyfriend when the story starts, is out of control. HE’s so bad that Heather’s MILF mother Lana has to step in and help.
It all leads to a massive CLIMAX featuring BUTT PLUGS, ROLLER-SKATES, SKULL CANDY and much much much much smutpunkedly much MORE.
Peel Another Banana, America
You love Aztec bitches
in their feathered headress
tattoed Teotitlan titties
hairless heiroglypic cunts
Today Tijuana has–
Meshica cunt shtuffed
full of obsidian cock–
Dress her up like an Aztec
in jaguar skin
to sacrifice at the altar
of thick Moctezuma cock
lay her on the stone
high atop pyramid
high on princess pussy
with King-sized cock
plunge that guatemalteca
like you were splitting her
in two, ripping her apart
to get her entrails out
splatter that tomato
chocolate- and coffee-inventing
face with dick drip
diciendo: “dame dame dame
todo el poder!”
Read the Rest of the Poem on the Full Poem Page, Sorry (I had some formatting issues and couldn’t get it all to paste here well)
I love when “Amazon Customer” drops a surprise 5-star review on me. I’m glad somebody caught the humor and the sex appeal of this weird political satire smutpunk, Dump the Futa President.
In other news about myself, Triangulum Stain 2 – The Battle for Alien Relish came out of the gate with a bang and then settled back down to Earth (a long fall from the Triangulum Galaxy). I just wanted to pop back in with my fans with this sudden spike to 22nd in LGBT Science Fiction. Thank you whoever is suddenly buying it! Perhaps it’s in part due to the inquisitive and well-written Smutpunk Article by fantasy writer Jamie McLachlan.
Been messing around with Instagram and with xvideos and pornhub. Have a look at this vid about a Gay Mexican Alien who falls in love with presidential hopeful T. Ronald Dump.
Keep in mind Dump is the Futa President and they will Dump the Futa president. Both meanings are cool in this smutpunk romp.
Give it a read here and Latino Futa Presidential Smutpunk!
Tastefully Airbrushed for your Pleasure || What the fuck? Playboy, too? || A Guest Post by Callie Press | #LPRTG #EARTG #Playboy
I want to thank Callie for agreeing to post on my dirty little site. She’s got more balls than most men I know and also has big tits. In other words, she’s a hot, mental Futa! Let me introduce her and then make way for the juggernaut of smart that is Ms. Press.
While Callie could barely type a word thanks to being as high as the Fuck Force Five flying to Planet Alien Relish I asked her to guest post because she was blowing my mind with these ideas that all the alpha males have gone with Joe DiMaggio and (Paul Simon is a prick by the way, unrelated) and that even Playboy — what? — has given up on nudity and fallen into the horrifying, sanitized, apathetic throes of censorship and handbag carrying pussy-men.
GUEST POST: CALLIE PRESS (tastefully airbrushed for your pleasure)
So I’m recovering from surgery and full of hydrocodone, which means I am tweeting endless insane DMs to MJ. As a result, when I ranted at least somewhat coherently on a subject, I got this DM in return:
Guest post for me please! Pretty please. Pretty no nudity in playboy and I carry a handbag please.
How can I refuse? That’s 3 pleases from MJ without even one mention of a gagging blowjob or a gaping ass fuck, so I know he really, really meant it. Besides, I’d do it for him if he asked me in any case, if I wasn’t totally absent-minded about things.
So this topic is Playboy removing nudity from the magazine. I know print is dying (I know it first hand, I used to make a living in the newspaper industry) and I guess they want to be more PC since Hef is finally aware he’s mortal. And I’m as feminist as anybody. All my life I’ve done what I wanted because that’s what men do and I didn’t care if someone said I couldn’t do something ‘because I’m a girl.’ I was never ashamed of enjoying sex even though it didn’t go over too well in my religious household or in the small towns we landed in once we left Detroit.
But won’t someone think of the CHILDREN? What kind of men are we making?
Hear me out. Yeah, porn is everywhere on the internet. And it’s trivial to hide looking at it, even if you have a prudish wife like in that atrocious and hysterically funny made-by-a-local-church movie “Fight” (trust me it’s HIGH LARIOUS). Or even if you just have a jealous wife like I can be sometimes. (I want all the attention by those who have a cock, it’s just how I’m made). And little girls and little boys both need some evidence that their dads have a pair, no matter what kind of a shrieking harpy their mother may be.
I found my dad’s playboys when I was probably 12, under the seat of his car. They were there, instead of in the house, because my mom has always been a…difficult person. And I looked at them and it didn’t traumatize me. I have older sisters; the anatomy wasn’t new, but the beauty of the anatomy was. And it made me think, wow, Dad likes women, and Mom can’t control him so much that he stops liking women.
It was a good thing to know. For a lot of men, sadly, it seems this is the closest they ever come to having a spine. For some men, as lame as it is, it’s the only sort of ‘rebellion’ or ‘alpha behavior’ they can ever manage to get away with. And did my Mom know he had Playboys? Of course she knew. Every woman knows. It’s like the only ‘boys will be boys’ thing that is really acceptable out of a man, at least after a few kids, for most women in this day and age. It’s that little spark of ‘bad boy’ that we can just knowingly smile about, even if we pretend to be offended. (Even if you are truly offended, actually.)
Not any more though. Now if you want to see a tasteful naked woman, you have to do it on the internet. Yeah, that happens, right? Kids can’t learn about males’ natural drives in such an innocent and healthy way. Hell, the first time my husband ever saw a naked woman was when he found his dad’s cache of playboys…how many grown men can say the same thing? A lot of you. Someday that will be none. They’ll only get what they see on the internet, which is of course in a frantic race to reach the bottom. Tomorrow’s men won’t learn by seeing lovingly shot, carefully airbrushed, tasteful nudity. Their first glimpse of a naked woman will probably be stumbling on gangbang sites or something that really can dehumanize women who like sex. There’s no personal context unless it’s like fifteen seconds of the hot wife and hubby on the couch saying the same things as the last fifty couples who sat on the couch.
What it’s going to do is just neuter most men even more than they already have been neutered. I’m not saying I want a world full of alpha males, but this is the kind of thing that puts the boot on the alphas’ necks and makes betas out of them. The good men who happen to be alphas are stuck pretending not to be. The actual alphas that are left ‘in the wild’ are going to be the sociopaths, and it’s going to make women even more susceptible to them than we already are.
I want men to have the chance to buy their ‘dirty magazines’ or whatever and let their wives and girlfriends know, maybe you can TAME me, but you can’t CASTRATE me. I’m glad my hubby still has his god damn Carmen Electra issue, even if it makes me so jealous I want to slap her. If he isn’t enjoying how women look, he sure as hell isn’t enjoying how I look.
Let the boys look, for fuck’s sake. It’s good for everybody.
$. Callie $