If On a Summer’s Day a Prostitute by Moctezuma Johnson | Work in Progress

Chapter 3

I was in her pussy. She was sitting on top of me and grinding so hard that my hips were hyper extending. I was sucking on her tits and she was grinding on top of me. Her nipples were hard little darts in my mouth, scratching my tongue and the roof of my mouth. They were sour as rhubarb dipped in vinegar. She wore a headband. Black war paint darkened under her eyes. 

Black war paint? I thought they were in the Japanese garden and…how many beauty marks did she have under her armpit?

Continued from Previous
Excerpts

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While confused the love makers were still going at it hard. She was moaning and riding him, her war paint starting to streak. He lifted her arms up, thanks to the reader’s curiosity, and she growled. With the black war paint she was positively scary looking while growling. Her arms were up and–what? No beauty mark. He panned out and they weren’t even in a Japanese garden. They were in a sandy desert, high up on the final level of a mountainous step-pyramid, on an altar smeared with blood. He was wearing jaguar skin as he fucked her pussy hard holding her arms up and biting down on her nipples until he tasted blood.

She would be dead soon anyway, sacrificed to the blood-thirsty gods. So why not bite down on that nipple and taste her blood? 

This isn’t the right book. I think the tourist getting the guest house mom naked outdoors in the Japanese garden was so hot this kindle may have melted. Come to think of it I saw smoke. I thought it was just the author giving me that sensation. I sniffed deliberately and sure enough there was the smell of smoke in the air. 

My kindle was on fire. That’s the great smutpunk writing of Moctezuma Johnson. It can just set a kindle on fire. 

I was really frustrated. I was enjoying this Japanese MILF book. I was enjoying the minimalist sentences. The acutely high-powered attention to every last detail. He painted a picture like a Japanese scroll painting and I was rolling along in it, like a drop of water in the bubbling fountain in the koi pond. Suddenly I was yanked out of it and thrown onto the top of a step pyramid in the hostile pre-forest climate of meso-america. 

My kindle was short-circuiting, giving me the wrong book. I wanted to read the book I was enjoying. And I wanted my kindle to work right. I had paid a lot of money for this kindle.

Getting on my account I contacted “Maria” from amazon customer support. She assured me by chat support that she could reset my kindle. This happens all the time, Maria said. Sometimes they even revert. They’ll move in time. Nobody knows why. Not even the engineers.

Give it five minutes and it should be fine.

I went outside for a smoke. I had a little patio that looked down on the street. I could see out to my neighbor’s rooftop and a woman was there sunbathing. Her bikini was white. Her skin was golden brown, like French Fries done right. Her eyelashes were so long I could see them from here. I don’t mean like one fan. I mean I could make out each individual lash. Her round amazing breasts were tucked in a bikini so small it could have been more accurately called a pastie. She had a compact little body with slight shoulders yet very full breasts. She was gorgeous. Her tits were bursting out of that little top. I stared at her until I squashed out the smoke and went back inside.

The kindle flashed back on and If on a Summer’s Day a Prostitute opened back up to chapter 3

Japanese garden

He watched her moist inner lips moist with his seed, then an image superimposed with that one, like the letters were dissolving as one scene faded out a new one faded in. The kindle reset. The whole thing gone…was it off?

I reset the kindle by holding the power button. When it came back on it was describing her incredible breasts as the rays of the sun bounced off of them until the tall Ceiba tree blocked the warm light. 

Chapter 4

437 A.D. MesoAmerica (in what would later be called Guatemala). 

Great Jaguar Paw was in the pit surrounded in smoke. It had to be the hottest day of the year. It was humid too. Mist from the heavens hung on the Earth like moss from a tree. Great Jaguar Paw was naked. He was in a pit. He was surrounded by smoke. Birds chirped. Some were slow and melodic. Others chirped fast and angrily. A woodpecker pecked nearby. Great Jaguar Paw wanted to fidget, to get up out of the pit, to fall into his bed and lay there comfortably, but he new the entire city of Tikal rested on his willpower to stay in that cursed pit. The heat was horrible. The mothers could probably pound some corn into tortillas and cut meat from Great Jaguar Paw’s kingly limbs. He felt so hot. His limbs were cooking under the sun and the little oven he was sitting in waiting for his vision. Rope pierced through his tongue had blood trickling down into an incense censer. Smoke mixed with his burning blood, copal, and guano rose out and filled his nostrils. He was too hot. His brain was fading into brown. Colors were beginning to swirl in his peripheral vision. He looked up to the sky, but it was masked in haze. In the haze he saw clear patterns swirling. 

Then a naked woman in white appeared right at the foot of the chamber floor in which Great Jaguar Paw remained barely conscious and in a hot pit. He looked up at her. She was beautiful. She was an older woman with long black hair and a beautiful lanky body. Her hair hung down past her waist. It was like her hair was magical. It rolled in and out of the mist as Great Jaguar Paw tried to understand what he was looking at. 

She looked at him. Her eyes were pitch black. She bared her teeth, and crouched down. She crept towards him, slowly. She was stalking him. She growled like she was a rabid jaguar. The tattoos that swirled around her calves were moving. They were writhing serpents. Great Jaguar Paw tried to scream but nothing came out of his mouth. He was too tired. He wasn’t even sure if he was awake or dreaming. 

Another figure emerged from the mist. 

“Hun-Came?”

“Vucub-Came,” the figure answered. He had a staff and pointed it at the naked woman. She scattered away. 

“Thank you,” mumbled Great Jaguar Paw incoherently. “She was eating me.”

“Now is the time, King. It has been written in Xibalba, you have been chosen to…”

The mist encompassed the whole scene. Great Jaguar Paw, God of Death Vucub-Came, and the Woman with Slithering Tattoos all faded away to white.

“Hey,” I said into the air. “Not again! What the fuck is with this thing?” I looked down at my kindle and it had a frozen white screen. I swiped. I pressed the on off button. I pressed the home button. Nothing. 

Again I found myself in that little Amazon chat box. I couldn’t handle this by chat. Scrolling down I found you could ask Amazon to call you. I typed in my number and wondered how long this would take, if it would even fucking work. My cell started to ring. It was Amazon. A woman with a sweet voice named Swena helped me. I pined momentarily for Maria. I have no idea why. Maybe I just wanted to hear her voice. I always wonder what people sound like when I only know them through chat. Swena was incredibly nice. She said that when they reset them from the grand comptroller it doesn’t always take all the way. What were you reading, she asked. I told her how I was first reading a very seductive story by Mictezuma Jihnson about a traveler staying in a Japanese house getting it on with the sexy mother of the family while in a picturesque Japanese garden. That story was so hot. I mean ‘erotica’ hot, I said in a whisper, like ‘erotica’ was a bad word. 

“Oh,” Swena said. “I like…,” she whispered, “‘erotica.’ Perhaps I should read it. What was the title?”

“Well, that’s just it,” I said. “I’m not sure. The kindle heated up and started smoking. Suddenly the book shifted. I was no longer in the Japanese garden. I was in the desert. On a step pyramid. She was no longer a sultry Japanese woman, but a growling Mayan goddess or something. That’s why I contacted customer support. Is that a different book? Is that a Mictezuma Jihnson book or is that a different book by a different author?”

“That sounds pretty scary,” said Swena commiserating with my fear and frustration.

“It was. Thankfully Maria set it straight,” I said. “Well, so I thought.”

“Maria?”

“Yes, the name of the woman from chat customer service.”

“And you trust this ‘Maria’?” Swena asked. 

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you always trust people you’ve never met in the flesh. How can you be so sure ‘Maria’ was on your side. How do you know she wasn’t a paid spy by a competing author to pull you out of the world of Mictezuma Jihnson and into the world of this rival?”

“Well, she reset my kindle, so…”

“…She did, did she? Did you enjoy it?” She eyed be and I involuntarily shifted. She was not ashamed that she didn’t trust me. She left the discomfort hang in the air and I felt like I had to undo it before it tormented me.

“Well, I wanted to.” I said. “I got involved in the new story. No more reading about Japan. Now I was in a pit in the chamber on top of a step-pyramid. I was reading about a king in the middle of a temezcal vision quest.”

“That doesn’t sound like your typical erotica fare.”

“No it wasn’t. I don’t even think it was erotica, even though it was supposed to be the same book.”

“According to ‘Maria’?”

“Yes.” Then I added co-conspiratorially, “Who maybe I shouldn’t have trusted.”

“No. You shouldn’t have. But this vision quest sounds interesting.”

“It was. A naked woman in white was stalking the King in the Vision Quest pit like he was her pray. He was as good as dead until an old Mayan God of Death rescued him. The god was explaining that the underworld had told him that he was an important part of a cosmic plan. That he needed to….”

“…to what?” Swena wanted to know badly. She needed to know. She was yearning to know, desperately. 

“I don’t know,” I admitted. 

“It started smoking again?”

“Not this time. It faded to white. The scene was taking place on a hot, humid, smoky day. It was like the kindle got overwhelmed by the haze. It’s frozen with a white screen right now. That’s why I called.”

“Why didn’t you call ‘Maria’?” 

“I don’t even know Maria.”

“True.” I heard her typing fast on the keyboard. “Try it now.”

I looked at the kindle and it was no longer a white screen. It was all black.

“It’s all black.”

“Good,” Swena said. “Wait a few minutes and then turn it back on and you should be all set. All your old info should be saved.”

“So will it go to the story in Japan or the story on the pyramid.”

“It will go to the story you intended to read.”

“Which one was that?”

“It knows. These algorithms know exactly what you need.”

“Hmmn.” The conversation was winding down. I was going to miss Swena. 

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Sir?”

“No I think that’s it.”

“Would you mind if I looked into your kindle account to see what you were reading. It’s a little unprofessional without your permission.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thank you for your help, Swena. If only…nevermind.”

“Yes, if only.”

I hung up and walked outside. I remember the sunbather and looked out where she should be sunbathing. There was an empty tom collins glass with a straw, but the sexy woman in the bikini was gone. Then she came out with a kindle in her hand, shaking it. She slapped it. She looked quite annoyed. She must have felt me watching her because she looked up and then closed her arms around her massive breasts barely held in by that skimpy white bikini, looked right up at me, and walked back indoors. 

I couldn’t believe it. I wonder if she was reading the same thing that I was reading. It looked to me like she had the same problem.

Read Previous Installments of this Work in Progress

Excerpt of THROWING ROLLER-SKATES IN THE TRASH CHUTE

SMUTPUNK up the ass

Full Monty Dirty Nasty Filthy Asian Version

Lana, descending into the white man’s total dominance was buck naked and MILFily beautiful. She beside herself to please That Fucker so he would want her, so he’d leave Heather alone, so she’d find the worth she didn’t even know she was lacking until she met him and felt him.

Lana, descending into the white man’s total dominance was buck naked and MILFily beautiful. She beside herself to please That Fucker so he would want her, so he’d leave Heather alone, so she’d find the worth she didn’t even know she was lacking until she met him and felt him.

She was scouring her apartment for something that would help.

Her eyes scanned the room for something, anything, that would get this massive butt plug past her tight sphincter. Her Asian Wife Sphincter was a ring of rigid muscle surrounding and serving to guard and close off her darkest opening. It was as tight as a conservative Korean husband.

In reality it had loosened and relaxed considerably since that fucker had worked on it. She had to shove the huge plug into her ass so she could photograph it. It was a total pain in the ass, literally.

Her asshole was on fire. She really couldn’t succeed getting this thing inside of her. It was too much. Too Big.

Outside, Charlie watched Lana squat over it. Stand up. Finger her own asshole. Sigh. Squat again.

Finally Charlie knocked his greasy hand on the window.
Lana jumped when she realized that Charlie had seen the whole how ordeal of hers to get a buttplug in her. She was as wet as she was horrified. She felt as tiny as she her tits were massive. Her big juicy MILFie body was vibrating with desire from being put in her hot Asian place. She felt the demerit in the eyes of these young white men. Charlie was a cuckold. Lana understood her daughter better suddenly. Having Charlie getting off on watching her play the submissive role to that fucker was the thrill. It wasn’t just that fucker. It having a cuckold’s wanton eyes on you while your brown nipples got ridiculously hard.

Lana answered the door with her arm over her big breasts and the big ass butt plug in her hand.

“Do you have cocoa butter?” he said greedily, a hard on pushing into his waist and his skin greasy with desire. He was sweating because he was hot. Hot for Lana. Hot for being cuckolded. Hot for being in the
presence of an Alpha Male’s plan.

“Come in! Come in! I’m naked,” Lana said. Charlie the Wok came inside. The sphincter was normally in the state of contracting as Lana’s was now. That needed to change. And Fast!

Read the Full Thing

There’s an octopus attached to my face

a-poem-dirty-poem-by-moctezuma-clean5

She’s got this way about her

With her Giant Korean Booty

She’s from the South on the West Side

The poorest pet of the country

Her dad went fishing and never came back

She raised herself in many ways

And has daddy issues

These tiny octopuses are the rage in this little town called Mokpo

You grab them with chopsticks and bite while they’re still alive

They try to grab your tongue

They try to survive

Dipping them in soy sauce and chili, the ever famed gochujang

Stuns them

She is over 6 feet tall

And clings to me like this

For her very emotional survival

Uses her big ass too keep me at all costs

Like a giant octopus stuck to my face

Big Korean Ass Bullseye
Slut would gape for me or do anything I asked

WIP: If On A Summer’s Day a Prostitute by Moctezuma Johnson (installment 2)

If on a summer’s day a prostitute

A small maple tree bloomed. In months it would shed. Now it was magnolia and cherry blossoms. The mother collected fallen leaves gingerly and placed them carefully in wooden boxes. She poured her husband’s sake with two hands. He accepted it with one. She was as delicate as a cherry blossom. She walked the house gently like a full step would shatter the floor, causing a rift that would sink the mountain into the Earth’s core. She wore pretty robes that hugged her fresh young body. She had a wonderful figure. She was geisha and hentai rolled up into one obedient wife. She pranced on her toes. Her breasts were perky and full. She spoiled her son with sweet breads and chocolate sticks. Everything about her was perfect. I was simply a guest of the house, part of their guesthouse. She brought me fresh cut fruit and cooked fish that she cut open for me expertly with chopsticks by slicing the skeleton straight down the bone with one stick, while she held the stick’s twin demurely with her crinkled pinky finger. She was an amazing woman. She let me gaze at her, admire her small nose, smooth skin, ample breasts, and ripe bottom. Her legs were always neatly together when she sat and her knees rarely parted. Yet, for all this delicate apparent conservatism, there was something sexually alluring about her like all this self-control was practiced to cage a ravenous wanton beast. I was sure her husband got to enjoy pleasures I could only dream about. In fact, I could hear some of them after the sun went down. One night I got up to investigate the sound and found their wooden door cracked open. I stood there and watched through the crack in the wall as she massaged him. He moaned like they were making love but all she was doing was cupping his balls in her hand. No woman ever cupped my balls to orgasm but I think that’s what I witnessed through the crack that night in the moonlight. I had to abandon my spot for fear of getting caught. I went back to my room but couldn’t get the sight of her naked bosom out of my mind. I was in love. She had me in her hand. I was her guest, her customer, and her adorer.

1.

The kindle has started smoking from the sex scenes and it melts but still works. The whole thing hasn’t melted. Don’t let Mictezuma confuse you with his hyperbole. Also, what do you think about this second person bullshit? Ever read a story like this and liked it? You remember reading Half Asleep In Frog’s Pajamas, but that was probably the worst of all his books. Oh well. 

Anyways. 

The kindle hasn’t melted like a Dali clock. It just gives off a faint smell of burning rubber, like the semiconductors have burned out. If you look closely at the ugly boxy corners of the Amazon reading device, you find they are slightly brown and rounded. 

Unfortunately, when you scroll you are stuck in a new story. You can backtrack to the boarder story but when you return to the present, the next story, that next story is different. It’s no longer the hot Japanese boarder story. 

It’s no longer the sultry wife skittering about among the weeping willows and japanese maple trees in the well-manicured garden. No more demure woman for which who you and the protagonist have teamed up to yearn. 

Now it’s an empath dealing with a murder. Wtf? 

You get on the help tab on your Amazon account. In an anonymous orange and white text box, you tell them the kindle isn’t working correctly. This seems like too important of a job for a text box. You wanted to connect with someone. You wanted to speak with the Japanese mom, perhaps lay a hand on hers while speaking. You didn’t want to click a mouse and type on your computer’s keypad while hearing the construction from the street. 

It didn’t matter what you wanted. This is the modern world, so often devoid of connection but still quite efficient. A message appears on the text box saying they reset your kindle. 

You thank them and close the little window and excitedly go back to your kindle. the reader finds a third story, an episode from sexy blacksploitation story, but the next chapter is different again, a nature theme about butterflies, so the reader contacts the Indy publisher who says I’m sorry let me send you the final chapter. You want to know what happens to the boarder don’t you? Who? The Japanese boarder! Was he Japanese? Are you sure you have the right book? Yes, it’s the one by Mictezuma Jihnsin. Yes yes and so you lie down in bed and begin, ” if on a summer’s day a prostitute…”

She has two little birthmarks on her. One is right by her holes on her ass cheek, really close to her anus. The other is under her armpit where her skin is whiter from never seeing the sun. I rarely see it but when she lifts her arms up over her head when cock is buried in the flowering petals of her sweet pollinating pussy I can see it. Not that I have dared to touch my boarding mother. I just see it when I watch her from the doorway, seeing her husband straddle her face in such a way that he could dip his testicles in her supple little mouth. He pinned her arms back over her head and then used her mouth to lick his balls, perineum, and anus.

I could smell his ball sweat. I could smell her flowering pussy.

He got off her and turned her over to enter her from behind. Curious. There was no birthmark next to her anus.

I felt hands cup my balls. I turned and there she was in her little silk kimono. I looked at the woman with her husband, now moaning as she took his cock.

Twin sister, she said and led me out to the garden where we sat on a stone bench besides the cherry blossom tree. Her kimono was loose and I could see a meaty chunk of her left breast, the fuller one. If it slipped down anymore I would be able to see the luscious nipple of this spectacular goddess wife.

For the first time in my life, my shyness was eclipsed by bold hormones and I reached into her kimono and began to slide the silk off her breast. The breast stood out, leaving the kimono behind it. The cold air hit the nipple. The tip of it hardened. Her areola then bloomed too as Montgomery bumps formed in a delicate circular pattern around the flushed nipple. Cautiously, I stroked her hard nipple, I was unaware of how much her demure nub could take and started very slowly and softly. Then I increased speed and pressure little by little. As I ramped up the intensity, her squeezed my back and pushed me into her bosom. She moaned in a high pitch, like more of a short squeal. I sucked hungrily. I felt her soft nipple skin against my lips, the tip on my tongue and touching soft places on my palate. It was a delicious nipple. It tasted different than any Western woman’s nipple I had ever sucked on. 

Chapter 3

I was inside her, deep where I could feel her pussy membranes trembling. She was sitting on top of me and grinding so hard that my hips were hyper extending. I was sucking on her tits and she was grinding on top of me. Her nipples were hard little darts in my mouth, scratching my tongue and the roof of my mouth. They were sour as rhubarb dipped in vinegar. She wore a headband. Black war paint darkened under her eyes. 

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Black war paint? I thought they were in the Japanese garden and…how many beauty marks did she have under her armpit?