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?

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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

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?

WIP: If on a Summer’s Day a Prostitute | Moctezuma Johnson |#LPRTG

This book, tentatively titled If On a Summer’s Day a Prostitute, is like one of Joan Miro’s burnt canvasses. Learn more about this Work in Progress.

“Wine and head” by Namio Harukawa

Prologue

You’re so excited to read the new one by Mictezuma Jihnson. You’ve heard a lot about it. It’s been promoted on twitter by a thousand russian prostibots and it’s been shared in readers groups (you know the ones where authors like Mictezuma copy and paste the same links ad nauseum). Pins have made their way around various folders. Instagram accounts have been hashtagged from the tens to the thousands to get those invaluable likes. Influencers have gotten freebies and exponentially grown their own followers while promoting the heck out of this new one from the great MJ. ARCs have been given out. Special advanced copies have been given to subscribers and to patreons who have supported with $2 and higher per month. All of this has been done to create the buzz of the indie author. None of it does much, yet all of it does something. The Gestalt Philosophy is that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, and it may be. This is the modern world. This is modern publishing. You are a modern reader, as comfortable with paper against your thumb and forefinger as you are swiping pages across a small pixelated screen. You fancy yourself a good reader, thus you can hang with the heavyweights like MiJi, the nickname they’ve given this Mictezuma Jihnson. MiJi’s writing is an acquired taste like whiskey. He is not for everyone. They’ve described him as Bukowski on steroids, the Great K’iche’-Mayab Philosopher with the cooking skills of the Mediterranean and the cock prowess of an out of work pornstar drinking beer on his couch in just his tube socks pulled up to his knees like Jimmy Connors in the 70s. He’s more like Bukowski on Steroids laced with Viagra, but that’s a debate for another day. Today, you’re happy to have one of the first copies of this new book. According to the internets, it’s a good one. You are done with work. Kick your shoes of, and tell your kids you’re done for the night, to leave you alone. And turn down the volume on that damn tablet so I can read, you say. There are so many tocsins stealing your attention. Devices are attention whores, and you want to be whored out right by Mictezuma’s new book. 

You turn on your device and wait for it to appear, like a phantom out of thin air. You begin reading, mouthing the words silently, “If on a Summer’s Day a Prostitute…” and already your heart is beating a tick faster. That one illicit word has affected you. That MJ’s words do that do you every time.

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?

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Excerpt from Triangulum Stain 1 – Seeing the first Sentient Alien Dildo #Erotica #SciFi #LPRTG

Dildo-dildogeddon-slider-A-erotic-smutpunk-sci-fi-2

PROJECT HALCYON KERNEL
DISINFECTANT POOL #1Q CONSTRUCTION
CLASSIFIED CHEMICAL COMPOUNDS
DESIGNER: William Rock
TOXICITY LEVELS: Non-Deadly (UNVERIFIED)
VERIFICATION TO FOLLOWFive-Hive-FuckForceFive-FFF-MoctezumaJohson-TriangulumStain-SciFi-Erotica
COST: $1.2 Million
LOCATION: B1

PROJECT FREEZE
CODE NAME: Chicxulub’s breath
OBJECTIVE: Obliteration UFO landing site + perimeter
PURPOSE: Containment, Eradication
LOCATION: Top Secret (BL)

Officer Rick, Lefty, and Chloe all stare at this place. Nobody shows any fear, just a general ‘what the fuck is this’ lingers in the air. Doctor Rock is below, in a deeper level. Up here are only three military guys in uniform. One says, “Strip and get in!”

“Now?” says Officer Rick.
“Yes.”

“Why?” says Officer Rick.

“Authorization to speak denied.” The soldier holds the policeman’s gaze a moment. Then the soldier adds, “For protection.”

“Whose?”

“Yours. There is nothing harmful in the pool. When you are done, follow the sign for Disinfecting Pool #2. Leave your clothes in this room. Do not take them. We will be waiting there.” The three soldiers walk away.

“What the fuck?” says Lefty.

“What the fuck is right,” says Rick. “Well, I don’t think we have much of a choice, do we?”

Chloe takes her high heels off and dips a toe into the pool. “What the fuck happened to us back there? I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Lefty looks at her. “I’ve felt like I’ve been dreaming since the moment I saw you.”

“We are in some weird ass shit,” says Officer Rick.

“Yes, we are. That’s life, isn’t it? A series of weird ass shit all the time punching you in the gut.” Lefty squeezes Chloe’s waist then yanks his t-shirt off over his head. “Well, I’m going in. Join me, baby.” He slips off his jeans and boxers in one fluid motion and splashes into the bath.

Lefty sits down with a raging hard on sticking out of the water like a shark’s fin. “I guess it’s you, baby,” he says looking down at his erection. The water feels very smooth, even slick, on his skin. It smells strongly of bleach, but that smell masks something like rotten eggs. “Smells like bleach and eggs.”

Officer Rick scratches his head for a moment then says confidently, “That’s sulfur. It’s not harmful.”

Chloe peels off her blouse, revealing a massive rack held back from taking over the room by a simple-minded bra. She unclasps the bra hook and her breasts spring out: two sentinels of everything good in the world in this weird room with a smelly bath stinking of rotten eggs.

She takes her jeans off and splashes into the pool next to Lefty. Her smooth slit throbs. There is still some weird feeling inside of her, and the cum Lefty dumped on her face earlier was completely gone. Not even a slight remnant remained. Not so much as one crusty crystal.

Rick follows them in, leaving his police uniform hanging on a hook that is butterflied into the wall. Chloe looks at Rick. He, too, has a massive hard on. When he notices, Chloe sees his surprise. A confident smile comes over his face, “I haven’t been hard like since we had our second child. I was starting to think about going to the doctor.”

Lefty looks at the police officer’s hard rock. “No doctor needed, man.”

Rick puts out his hand to Lefty, “I’m Rick. Local police officer.”

“I’m Lefty. And this is Zamilda.”

“My name’s not Zamilda,” Chloe says as she steps into the pool and dips all but her head into it.

A buzzer sounds and the pool starts to drain very fast. The lights in the room go dim and the three get out and move through a well-lit hallway where there are three robes hanging. The put on the robes and then go into another room with a second pool. Men in suits emerge from behind them to grab the clothes they’d shed. The men in HAZMAT suits and gas masks hold flame-throwers and incinerate the discarded clothes. Lefty looks at Chloe out of the corner of his eye.

In the new room, there is no smell at all. It is like the three of them popped a vacuum seal to come in. They all climb into the new pool. Two hard cocks and a throbbing clit. They can no longer resist, and Lefty gives in. He puts his hand on his cock. It is hot and hard as ever in his hand. Rick glances at Lefty who gives him a look that makes Rick, thrilled with his new hard on, grab Chloe and push her over.
Rick caresses the smooth curves of Chloe’s princess-like ass. She’s the prettiest thing he’s seen in years and he feels lust coursing through him wildly. His belly is in knots, like he needs release. All the pent-up sexual frustration of not being able to get it up, of having kids and lacking time for lovemaking, and of having this gorgeous woman naked in front of him comes to a head and he pushes his hard-on into Chloe’s soft petals.
Rick’s body trembles as he can barely stand the excitement and sensation of hard cock in wet folds.

Lefty kisses Chloe deeply, just the sensation of her tongue against him almost makes him explode, but the sensation is gone as he finds her gorgeous head in his big, rough hands. An incredible feeling eclipses him as his cockhead is tickling the back of her throat for the second time in one day. He needs to know what her other holes are like. He is about to tell Rick to switch places with him and exchange this doll’s holes, but before he can, Rick pulls out of Chloe’s delicious flaps and shoots a load of jizz towards her ass. Before it lands on her, forming ropes of jizzy string, the cream stops in mid-air and becomes a kind of levitating jelly.

Doctor Rock watches all of this on the CCTV monitor from his secret room. His jaw almost hits the floor. He cannot believe his eyes, it is so absolutely incredible. His assistant, Maria Sower, also watches it in disbelief. She says, “It must be a gaseous compound, Doctor. It’s a deposition.”

Doctor Rock counters: “It’s liquid to solid. It’s like cum freezing into silicone. I don’t know what the fuck you call this.”

On the screen they watch Lefty still pumping his cock into Chloe’s mouth. Rick’s jizz has stopped in mid-air and jellied. Lefty notices the mid-air cum for the first time.

The room gets brighter, his heart starts racing, his eyes go wide, and he taps Chloe’s head. Lefty pulls his quivering cock out of her and the giant dick goes limp. She looks from his cock to his eyes and then turns around and sees the moving jelly. It metamorphoses in front of their eyes, taking shape: a lifelike dildo.

Chloe shrieks and her voice echoes out into a hallway. She jumps out of the pool and wraps her arms around herself. The dildo hovers above the pool. It doesn’t move.

Lefty and Rick get out of the pool, too, and lead her into the hallway where her scream still echoes about. Lefty keeps his eyes on the jelly, which is changing color and expanding. Then the door to the pool room closes. Lefty hears it hermetically seal off and they are locked out. This hallway leads to another elevator.

In the elevator, none of them says a word. Water drips off their bodies to the floor. The smell of rotten eggs stays with them. They just stare straight ahead. Lefty is trying to think of something, but he realizes he is trying to think. The memory of what he saw has his brain stuck in some kind of alien replay loop. Rick is visibly trembling. He clasps his hands but they still rattle. This is more than a God-fearing police officer can take in a day.

Lefty looks at Chloe, trying to understand. He has heard some strange stories about some weird women, but this is crazier. This is the craziest shit ever. Chloe’s upper lip trembles and she rubs her temple while biting her bottom lip with her two front teeth. “That’s not fucking normal! What the fuck?” She nearly yells, tears streaming down her eyes. “What the fuck was that?”

 

READ MORE of Attack of the Replicating Alien Dildos

Goldie’s Surrender Felicity Brandon (a long time friend and amazing writer!) #LPRTG

Goldie’s Surrender (An Adult Fairy Tale)

Guess who’s been sleeping in their bed?

#FairyTale  #SpankingRomance  #Menage  #BDSMRomance  #EroticRomance  #Fantasy

What if the fairy tale is real?

We all remember the story of Goldilocks, the young woman who stumbles across the three bears’ humble abode while wandering through the woods. You’d always thought the story was make-believe, designed to entertain small children, but what if I told you that you were wrong?

Goldie Locks is very real, a spoiled young woman living in a bubble of her father’s wealth and indulgence. It is this Goldie who makes her way into the forest, losing her way and eventually seeking sanctuary in the small cottage she finds there. But little does Goldie know who really lives in the deep, dark woods and what they will do when they find her asleep in their home…

In this intensely erotic tale, beautiful, headstrong Goldie is left blushing crimson as she is sternly punished and thoroughly claimed by the three strict, ruggedly handsome owners of the cottage in which she foolishly dared to trespass. To Goldie’s surprise, the bold dominance of her captors arouses her deeply, but will she run for her life when their shocking secret is finally revealed?

Note: Goldie’s Surrender includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, get the fuck off this site and don’t buy the book. What the hell were you doing here? 

 

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Teaser 1 – Featuring Spanking

 

“Why are you being spanked, little fawn?” Logan’s voice rings out from above me.

“I was selfish and reckless, sir,” I reply, repeating his earlier words back to him, and praying inwardly that they will suffice.

“Correct,” he answers me, just before the third swat strikes me. I feel the sting as it lands, warming the area in that dull ache I remember. “You will never. Ever. Put. Yourself. In. Danger. Again!” He accentuates each word with a new spank to my helpless backside, and I yelp, squirming at the sudden ferociousness of the onslaught.

“Are we clear, little fawn?” Logan roars from over me.

I pant in response, the arousal and embarrassment burgeoning inside of me. “Yes, sir,” I gasp. “I’m sorry.”

“Not yet,” he tells me as he spanks me again. “But you will be, Goldie. We are going to do what your Daddy should have done years ago. You will be punished soundly until you are contrite, and then you will be loved and comforted.”

 

Teaser 2 – A little more hardcore

For a moment we are barely an inch from each other, and then – in a heartbeat – he is on me. We land on the bed together, our limbs knotting briefly before his powerful legs move between mine, spreading them wide apart. What just happened, I wonder? One moment I was empowered, devouring his beautiful cock, and the next I am flat on my back with this giant between my legs.

“Now I have you, little girl,” he teases me.

I scowl at him, slapping his strong right tricep playfully. “Don’t call me girl,” I complain. “I hate that!”

He lowers his face towards me, the muscles of his arms taking the strain without complaint. “I know you do,” he replies with a smirk. “That’s why I say it!”

He is so close to me now that I can barely even take a breath. I am pinioned by his imposing, powerful body, yet it is the weight of his stare which seems to paralyse me.

“I am not, and never will be, your girl…” My voice is raspy, and my desire plain to hear, but still I continue with my snarky attitude.

“You’ll be whatever I tell you to be,” he says with a grin.

 

$.

About the author

Felicity Brandon is a #1 international bestseller of erotic spanking romance. She’s been reading and writing for many years, and loves to delve into the psychological intensity of sexual submission. She has written erotic titles in contemporary, historical and fantasy genres.

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Excerpt: Romance with the Alpha Male Billionaire by Emme Hor @horbooks | #LPRTG

emme-hor-wife-smutpunk-skates

 

Romance with the Alpha Male Billionaire

Romance on Roller-skates (Humor with Interracial Asian MILF)

That Fucker Part 2

 Copyright © 2016 by Emme Hor

 

 

Heather had her hair up in two pigtails dripping with cuteness. She wore sexy sunglasses with a purple tint. Her lips were stained bloody red thanks to the lollipop she was sucking on lewdly. Her white blouse was too small for her. Her tits popped out of it. Her ass cheeks were out every time her short black skirt caught the wind. Her heart panties were the only thing blocking a straight shot at seeing her slit and her asshole. The folds of her pretty ass cheeks, the actual juicy yellow meat, were there for all to see. Her long legs were smooth, tan, and sexy as hell in her white roller skates with pink wheels. She spun around and sucked on her lollipop and skated past the fountains of the KLCC toward As Syakirin Mosque. She would skate by all the devout Muslims, head in their mats, chanting, waving at the Imam as he sang the prayer, she would sing the song of her hot ass and skate down the hot pavement while the smell of rubber trees hung in the air.

Heather was the pure vision of smut. She was smut. Many Malay girls were smut. All that sexual repression led to one thing, sexual obsession.

Heather was together for months now with Charlie the Wok. Ever since she had broken free of That Fucker, her old psycho, alpha male, white Anglo Saxon asshole protestant boyfriend (WASAPB), she was unplugged of him and plugged into Charlie the Wok.

Why did they call him the Wok? He just had this greasy way about him, like he was deep fried. The poor bastard wasn’t even fat. He wasn’t a bean pole either. He was what the Korean ladies called greasy, what the Western women called cheesy.

Heather knew that Charlie loved her. I mean, hell. He’d pulled out a butt plug that another guy stuffed up her ass. He showed this butt-plug altruism before they were even fucking. That’s a nice guy. How many guys have pulled a butt plug out of your ass that he didn’t jam in there himself? Huh? That’s right, none.

Anyway, Heather skated (butt-plug free) toward the beautiful As-Syakirin Mosque. She passed the mosque, her skirt blowing up in the breeze like she were an Asian Marilyn Monroe, oops, that shouldn’t have happened. Didn’t mean to flash you my pink heart panties while roller-skating by, gentleman. Over 11,000 worshipers got a glimpse of hot Asian camel toe when they looked up from their prayers to see what that roller-skate on concrete sound was. A few devout worshippers kept their reverent heads to the ground and missed the glimpse of young pussy. Heather wasn’t interested in the mosque other than to give the pious a little flash. She was really thinking of going to the Citibank Headquarters nearby. That’s where that fucker worked. She wanted to strut, flaunt, and make the asshole miss her tight little bootylicious loveliness.

She skated on down the sidewalk, past the palm trees blowing in the gentle breeze and made her way to the massive skyscraper that was the Citibank Building. She knew that fucker would come out soon for lunch and simply skated back and forth on the wide corporate sidewalk. She was a great skater. She performed. She lifted her leg up and grabbed it to her chest and spun. She did twirls and jumps and waved her hands like she was a swan about to take off. Sure enough people stopped and watched. That fucker came out and she saw him and was filled with joy that she was being ogled lustily by all those office workers while he was powerless to have her. He didn’t show his frustrations, if he had any, he just watched her, the confident bastard that he was. She had to admit, white guys just had something that the Malays didn’t. At least over her. I mean what was she doing here anyway? She completed her spin and then made her way to the residential Damansara Heights district of the city and sat down for some fried rice with little fish on top with her Mama.

Heather’s Mama was an Asian MILF. She was bustier than Heather and equally bootylicious. Heather knew her mother was hot. When they walked down the street together they both got stared at but the Mama got looked at harder, dirtier, with the more lustful eyes. The men that wanted to fuck, looked at the Mama. Maybe it was her huge tits. Maybe it was she just smelled of sex. She literally have off and animalistic musk scent. Everyone noticed and said something. Heather’s dad was long gone and then left this single Asian MILF able to fuck whoever she pleased whenever.

“Leave that fucker alone,” Mama said to Heather. “You have a decent man now. Why can’t you be happy? So he’s a little greasy. So what?”

“I just can’t. I’m in some kind of haze. I want that fucker to know he’s lost me.”

“If you want him to know anything then he hasn’t lost you at all and he’ll know that, won’t he, ah?”

“Charlie is just too nice. I need a little challenge,” Heather admitted.

“Fried rice is greasy and everyone loves it.”

“I don’t want to date rice, Mama.” Heather took a last bite of her fried rice and brought the dish to the sink. “I’ve got to go back to work, Mama.”

 

For months Heather skated by Citibank Headquarters in sexy outfits and put on show. She didn’t do this every day, but she never missed a week without at least one roller-sexy-flash-panties show. That was her thing.

Charlie knew but thought it best to let this obsession run its course. He knew that his girlfriend had been scarred by that fucker. Hell, he was the guy that pulled the butt plug out of her ass that day and then took her home and made her his. He had been infatuated with her since she joined their office. She was the perfect woman, in his eyes, so he hoped that her hurt would wear off and she would be all his. He knew that she was still in some kind of rebound dance. He wanted the real Heather. Not the ambassador to Heather. He would just have to be patient.

Even though Heather was not totally Charlie’s emotionally, she was his physically and he loved it. Heather was the best he’d ever had in the sack. She was beautiful, tall, and sexy. She was submissive in bed and willing to do anything. The first time they made love he put his cock in her ass. She was the first girl that he’d ever introduced his cock to her ass before her pussy. It was an omen of how open she would be in the bedroom. She was pliable, flexible, and sluttable. It was fantastic!

As the months wore on the sex didn’t decrease much. Each weekend they still made love a lot. They spent all Saturday lying in bed making love. The only breaks were to eat and watch a little TV. On Sunday, Charlie thought it would be best if they got out of the house and little bit.

“Let’s get some exercise,” he said. “The sun is shining. It’s a beautiful day in KL again.”

That was his joke. Kuala Lumpur had consistently beautiful weather unless it was Monsoon Season. So his phrase was incredibly obvious and annoying but Charlie thought it was whimsical. Heather rolled her eyes but she did like skating so she was game.

The weather was fucking stupendous. It was sunny and hot but not stifling. The development of the capital was awesome with its tourist-packed monorails, skyscrapers, and towers. Although the modernization was pronounced, KL kept the old Victorian charm of the English imperialists. Yes, there’s charm in imperialism. Yes there is. Opium, gangbangs, pewter, and Victorian homes. That was what the British gave Malaysia.

The rest of this unbelievable city was built by the Chinese. Today, it was shared by Malays, Indians, Chinese, and Westerners. Heather, a Chindian-Malay, was mixed with everything but white, and maybe that’s why she had a thing for big, white dick. To be fair, some of these other races had big dicks, but she gravitated to the cruelty that only a white guy could provide her. Charlie the Wok was white, but didn’t possess that ubiquitous dominance. That Fucker did!

As they skated down a big hill toward KL’s Bukit Bintang downtown, she compared the two men in her head. That fucker wore a crisp white starched shirt. Charlie’s shirt was untucked. That Fucker had his brown hair parted and neat. Charlie’s was shaved close to his scalp, like he was an American GI. That Fucker was always clean shaven. Charlie was shadowed with two or three day old growth at all times. That fucker grabbed her by the hair when she went down on him, Charlie let her swallow his dick at her own pace. That fucker slapped her thick pussy lips and even pulled on them, Charlie nibbled gently on her clit and even tongued her asshole.

God I needed that fucker to pound me senseless one more time, to beat me with his massive white dick. Charlie’s wasn’t small, but that fucker’s cock was a beast and Heather wanted it in her pussy stretching her out deliciously. She wanted to suck his dick cutely while he tortured her nipples mercilessly.

Heather and Charlie came down the big hill at high speeds. There was a median and then the road forked. Charlie wanted to go right and veer off to the river, but Heather went ahead and veered towards downtown. The medium came up on them so quickly that Heather and Charlie got separated.

Heather shot into downtown at blistering speeds. If she could skate like this on roller-skates she could probably win a gold medal on ice skates. She was a blur of sexy.

That fucker was downtown waiting for her. He just knew she’d come. When he saw her speeding towards him he enjoyed the way she exaggerated her form, it made her ass look so full and bulbous, her legs looked so long and smooth, her breasts never looked bigger. That fucker thought that Indonesian girls, as he called all Malays, even Chindians, had big, fat asses. They had the thick of Muslim with the slender waist of a Chinese chick, he thought. Heaven. He watched Heather roll and licked his chops.

She was going too fast and he thought that she would fall. If she did, he would pounce.

Charlie meanwhile was on the quiet path besides the river thinking if he should turn around to get Heather or not. Surely, she would spin around and join him. Right?

Heather was speeding on the sidewalk, the sound of roller skates rolling over pavement loud in her ears while cars beeped, stared, sped up to follow her hot ass, and generally became mesmerized by the hot Asian chick in heart panties underneath yoga pants flying through the streets. She was the center of attention again and we knew it and she basked in it. She closed her eyes to feel her own sexiness. It was immaculate. She felt like a goddess. That’s when she hit the log lying across the road (only in Malaysia) at full speed and flipped over. She landed horribly with her head on the ground, her ass up on the log, her skates up over her head, wheels still spinning. As planned, that fucker, seized the moment. He appeared, with the blue sky and pristine white clouds enveloping him. He was the devil. Her devil. He was handsome and evil. He towered over her and in the background his company’s headquarters towered over him. She felt tiny.

Heather was bound by pain and surprise. He grabbed her yoga pants and panties and yanked them down in one motion. Her little rosebud was right there, puckered. It was expanding and contracting as Heather tried to catch her breath.

“Help me,” she muttered, but with the wind knocked out of her, there was little actual word that made it out. There was no air to engage her voice box.

In fact, her asshole was breathing better than her lungs. It was opening and closing, cutely.

The asshole was well lubricated with sweat and the morning’s moisturizer and already stretched partly open from the compromising position. That fucker could see the wrinkled rim of her asshole, it was perfectly symmetrical and had little geometrical lines from anus to butt cheek. It was a work of art that Picasso should have been painting. That fucker wanted to set up and easel and archive it for the MOMA but he wanted even more to take the massive black butt plug from his bag and jam it into Heather’s asshole. Heather saw the plug in his hand, with sunrays pouring out around it, since he held it in a way that cast a shadow on Heather’s pretty face and blocked the sun from her eyes. It was like the sun was a butt-plug from her vantage point. Just as she realized it was a beautiful sight, she then felt the giant solar plug destroy her anus.

It was like all of Kuala Lumpur was Heather’s asshole. Her soft tissue, the gatekeeper between external and internal stretched out like a balloon filled with helium. First it filled out for the plug, then the street, then Bukit Bintang, then KL, then Malaysia, then all of Asia, then the Earth and on and on until all of heaven and earth, space and time was asshole swallowing butt plug. The swell of her ego getting ogled by all those guys as she skated was now the swell of her asshole as it was the asshole of Malaysia, plugged and at the mercy of one mean motherfucking man. Her ex-boyfriend, that fucker.

That fucker had plugged her again. The handsome devil looked down on her from what appeared to be the clouds, smiling.

“You’re the devil,” she muttered.

“Ah, good, you’re getting your voice back.” He said. “All the better for me to hear you scream!” He lowered his pants and guided his cock, the big white dick she knew too well, the one she had been secretly yearning for for months, and jammed it right into her cunt.

“You’re always so tight when your ass is plugged,” he said as he started jackhammering down into her Chindian-Malay cunt.

Heather felt it, the plug expanded the walls of her rectum. The space that his cock wanted to occupy inside her was taken. Plugged. Heather was tall but not so thick and that fucker’s big cock and the plug were competing for the same pillowy real estate inside her honey-luscious cunt. Where cock wanted to go was taken by plug. The plug was creating the pussy of a virgin, even though Heather was nothing innocent. She was on her back, in a little office plaza cul-de-sac where she had wiped out and been forced to take her ex’s big, mean cock until his ball sack hammered the plug up her ass until it literally could go in no more (unless hospitalization was an option).

That fucker held her hips and pumped away while the big, black butt plug gripped her tight vaginal walls and massaged the underbelly of his thick white shaft until he was on the brink of cumming. He pulled his massive mushroom-headed club out of her cute quivering cunt, brought her leg toward him, kissed her juicy calve in cruel juxtaposition of abuse and love that sent her heart fluttering, and pushed her rollerbladed-foot to his dick. He rubbed the shaft of his cock on the wheels and moaned.

“You’re sick,” Heather said as he let her skates jerk him off. Her thick pussy lips were hanging out of her, begging for his cock to come back.

“I know,” he said. “And you fucking love every minute of it. Look at your fat cunt lips flapping in the wind desperately, whore!”

He pulled on her cunt lips roughly and let them smack back into her pubic skin with a pop. Heather felt like she was smacked with a glove.

When that delicious fucker pushed his victorious dick back into her throbbing pussy, it was utter nirvana for her. Heather saw the sun dim. She saw stars shoot. She felt like the sexiest roller-skater in the universe. There was that nasty feeling of being an utter slut mixed with the guilty pleasure of fucking an ex. It was a fantastic orgasm that shuttered down her spine and into her lips. Her voice came back and she screamed her own name, “Heather!” like she was reprimanding herself for being such a dirty little butt-plugged tramp. She pulled his dick deeper with her Kegel muscles and by lifting her hips. That fucker couldn’t take anymore. It was like fucking quicksand. Her muscles held him so tight he felt like his dick would rip off from the root. He stepped back and his cock popped out of her cunt. He stood over her and hosed her face down with his cum. She lapped some of it up savoring the taste of his superior cum on her tongue as he collapsed onto the log on his back. Most of his cum dripped from her flush cheeks, sexy chin, and full lips.

“You know, I thought you owned me, but look at you,” Heather said. Heather flipped herself up onto her skates adroitly, leaned down and kissed him victoriously on the lips. Now she was looking down at him, her long hair cascading down onto his chest with sunrays exploding geometrically out of her hair. She was gorgeous and she knew it. She kissed him, lips to lips and the cum transferred from her cummy lips to his. She wiggled her head and smeared his cum all over her face triumphantly.

She stood up and realized she still had jizz on her face. She leaned down and rubbed the leftover splooge on his shirt. She pulled up her yoga pants. Her ass was amazing, as was Heather’s entire body. She skated backwards slowly.

“What about the butt plug?” That fucker asked.

“I need it for something,” Heather said while picking up speed skating backwards.

Heather skated back to Charlie and the river while sunshine emanated from her crotch in psychedelic swirls. As she skated the movement of her legs massaged the plug incredibly. Her cunt was satisfied and now she was on the brink of an anal orgasm.

She found Charlie sitting on a bench at the bank of the Klang River staring into the muddy water.

“There you are, baby,” he said. He smiled.

She skated to him, pirouetted to a stop, and whispered in his ear, “Fuck my ass right now, right here.”

He looked around quick and felt like she was crazy but also knew there was no reasoning with a horny Malay with a juicy ass. She rolled in front of him and wiggled her stuffed ass like a sexy duck. Charlie pulled down her yoga pants smoothly and saw the plug jammed deep up her ass.

“Did he…?”

“Yes, it was amazing! Punish me now! Punish my ass!”

Charlie felt this nervous energy grip him by the gut. He gawked at his girl’s ass with another butt plug stuffed in it undeniably. He wasn’t so gentle with her this time. He got a firm hold of the base of the big, black butt plug and ripped it out of her ass.

Heather screamed. Her ass gaped like all of KL had been stuffed inside of it.

“Punish me,” she said breathlessly, “Make me pay for cuckolding you with that fucker.”

 

$.

 

continue reading by getting the next part at Emme’s page

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Option D: Lay on top of her and romantically kiss the back of her neck #Kink #LPRTG

too-in-love-to-be-religious-for-sex

Lay on top of her and romantically kiss the back of her neck 

You climb on top of her. “That feels so good honey. Gosh darn. If I wasn’t Allah’s honorable disciple I would let you ravage my pussy baby, but it’s best this way, it more romantic.” She really emphasized the word romantic disgustingly. “I could rape your ass at any time, hun. But I love you too much.” She giggled lovingly. You weren’t prudes. I mean, fuck. You were smart but just didn’t trust this world. You were different. You were raised in a different culture that demanded temperance. You were human and all sexed up and mostly expressed it through talking about it. You placed yourself so your dick was up her but crack, but you had on tighty whities and G-strung had on a g-string so you were all heavenly pure in that religious fanaticism kind of way that made your dick ultra-spiritually hard. Shit. You fit in G-strung’s crack perfectly and your pressure on her soft bulbous hardness felt insanely great. You could bake jizz cookies in her cunt oven you were so in love with her, but you would wait until it was god’s gracious goodness to gloriously, appropriately, and legally anally bake her chocolate cunt cookies. Instead of using your dick as a paddle in her cutely inappropriate cunt hole, you pressed your chest down onto her back without pushing too much weight onto her demure top half (how did this delicate torso hang onto that bad-ass booty of a bottom half, it was mathematically improbable), and buried your lips in her weave spread out over the nape of her neck like Hokkien noodles and kissed her tenderly until the hairs on her neck stood up. “Oh, honey, I love you. When we are married I will use my pussy like a washing machine over your cock. You’ll see. It will be the Kama Sutra’s Helicopter over the Congress of the Cow with a side of Splitting the Bamboo for you, baby.” You leaned forward and found her lips. You brushed some of her thick hair off her face and your tongues met and you French-kissed deeply. You were so on the verge of cumming. You could feel her engorged clit through the fabric between you. It was pulsing, trembling, a small sexual earthquake. She was humping the floor. You could just jizz so easily you thought of other things. You thought of pi, then of dirty toilets in the old train. Your orgasm subsided a tick, but it was still right there on the precipice. She climbed your tongue with an intense suction until she hung from the back of it, in your mouth, breathlessly. Then her hips stiffened. She went dead like a fish after it’s all flapped out. You increased the pressure of your cock in its undies in her ass crack and that released the cum-kracken. You spurted down her ass crack (in undies, of course. Safety first). “You’re the best,” she said and rocked until you fell off to the side of her and nuzzled up into her smelling her cocoa and coconut funk butter until you drifted off to sleep.

Unfortunately, not getting dick in pussy was making you go a bit mad. You couldn’t continue like this. You loved her but you needed sex. It was a biological fact. The more you thought about it the more you justified it to yourself. As you walked around town, every hot chick you saw was further proof that you would get yourself some ass by hook or by crook. You decided that she must feel the same way. In fact…

 

 

Choose your own SEXcapade © 2015 by Moctezuma Johnson

$. The Start $. || $. The End $

Teaser of Gallery of Various Smutpunk Art (300+ pieces) | #LPRTG #Erotica

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Gallery of Delicous, Uncut Smutpunk Covers (you’ll never find these on major retailers)

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Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like it’s a shame that this kind of talented artwork cannot be shared on the major retailers. Anyway, I can’t always fight the man. However, I can run my own site with autonomy and share this genius with you. Enjoy!

Dear Smutpunk,

Below is TEASER from the Gallery of Various Smutpunk Art from this site from 2015-2017. Browse through it as you wish and click to enlarge smaller images. Some of the covers are really precious but thanks to our conservative society cannot be shared in public places like facebook, amazon, and pinterest. So I ask that you join me in the exclusive VIP Smutpunk club where thankfully this site allows you the freedom and trust to see and read what you want 100% uncut. In the VIP Smutpunk club you can let your dick and/or tits hang out, smoke a joint or rolled unicorn spit for all I care, and touch yourself until you squirt bubbling pink hearts through the ceiling. I hope you feel at home. Enjoy! 

Rimmies,
MJ

Black Comedy by Moctezuma Johnson

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TriangulumStain-banner-advert-thai-literary-porn-mall2

 

PrettyMoctezumaQuote

Futadelic - The Power of Potion

Attack of the Replicating Dildos

Alien Wrestling Night

Alien Wrestling Night

 

She was tired of hubby’s rice dick. She was ready for something big and full. This cover got the book into the dungeon and I’ve just left it. Fuck it. I am what I am.

 

 

There are hundreds more to browse, from a little erotica to hardcore smutpunk literary porn.

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Hot Fireman – i overheard some chicks on the bus saying they need some

Hot Fireman – Requested by Dino-Sore Story that doesn’t yet exist. Our time loop sequencer is busted. My men are on it. 

I’m sorry. I’m told I was mistaken. It does exist and, in fact, here’s the link to get yours if you don’t already have it.

Overheard on the Bus in Flint and again in San Francisco (you know just to refresh your memory) 

Female Reader 1: Why do I have to read more dino porn?

Female Reader 2: I know, right? Give me Ripped Firemen.

Female Reader 1: Or RIPPED FIREMEN.

Female Reader 2: or ripped firemen!

 

Firefighter1

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c4efd8daf63ae46502ce6573b52c4135

And these are your Smutpunk Fireman

Cool Me Off ASAP | Heat Me Up More

Read the SMUTPUNK COLLAB featuring Dino-Sore from where this post emanated.