‘Feeling Alone & Shell Shocked’ #LPRTG #smutpunk

I never feel like I fit in

I’m an outlier

Few people have the experiences I’ve lived through so it’s hard to relate

I’m like a soldier coming back from my own personal Vietnam that nobody else fought

Shell shocked

In a way nobody knew existed

So when my cock goes in your mouth

My hands around the back of your head

It’s the closest thing I’ll get to Peace

Pretty Good Blowjob

My wife gave me a prettty good blowjob today. I’m not sure why. She sucked until

She gagged. Then she got on her back, let me straddle her. She licked my balls while I shot a load onto her tits. It was a small thick load, the kind that can glue your urethra shut.

I fell asleep holding to her ripe mangoes and looking at the very cloudy sky. Damn it was peaceful until some asshat client called and broke the reverie.

“The Minotaur”, a golden showers adventure in fantasy-bestiality erotica




It is illegal to write bestiality stories that involve real animals.  But if the animals are fantasy creatures, such as a Minotaur, it’s all good.

I write custom erotica for money.  I will write about any (legal) sexual activity, any fetish, and any sex act, no matter how strange.  When it comes to writing about sex, I have no gag reflex.

What I have posted below is a story I wrote for a current client.  He wishes to remain anonymous and that his stories not be made public.  I honor that.  There’s a sacredness to helping explore someone’s fetishes.

However, with this story, he gave me permission to share it.  And, of course, I must share it with Moctezuma because, well, if anyone could appreciate a story about a Minotaur pissing all over a woman and then cumming in her face, it’s him.

Enjoy and visit my website!  I have other free crap available there!

Also, for those who prefer to have a sexy female voice read an abridged version of the story to them, DirtyBitPodcast has recorded it just for you.




“Nobody ever lives their life all the way up except bullfighters.” ~ Ernest Hemingway


El Matador de Toros


A matador de toros (lit. “killer of bulls”, from Latin mactator, killer, slayer, from mactare, to slay) is considered to be both an artist and an athlete, possessing great agility, grace, and co-ordination.

    ~ Wikipedia


Missing cows are not a news story.  Missing cows are not interesting.


Naomi’s editor believed she was the only one smart enough, despite her little experience as a reporter, to make the story interesting.


Naomi had worked as a gopher/intern for over a year on The Tribune, and finally managed to work on an occasional story.  It had been difficult for Naomi because she was extremely gorgeous.  Long dark hair, a slim figure with a good round ass and large breasts, Naomi looked more like a model than reporter, but she had the brain of someone who could write for the New York Times.  No one took her seriously, except for the city editor, Doug.  He gave her small assignments to help her learn how to write for The Tribune and ignored the office gossip that bubbled up.  Doug saw in Naomi the bravery and tenacity to interview anyone and be able to see through bullshit.  She was also clever enough to turn any boring story into 200 words of tripe into succulent menudo.


But missing cows?  This was going to take everything she was to make it urgent, make the story so vital that the public must know about it.


Naomi really, really wanted the cow thieves to be aliens.  Driving down empty dirt roads through endless farmland, Naomi decided that was the only way to spin her story about the missing cows.  Kidnapped by aliens.


Naomi actually did believe in aliens. Why not?  Life has crazy shit in it. Go to an aquarium and see how fucked up life can get.  She had also read everything she could about any mythological creature, still retaining her childlike hope that the world was magical and she would be the one to prove it.


One of the farms from which the cows were absconded was surrounded on three sides by corn fields.  The fourth side was dense woods.


As she parked by the red barn house with the huge satellite dish on the roof and metal lawn ornaments littering the ground, Naomi thought something was wrong.  Was this the right place? How did someone take cows away from such an isolated place without making any noise or being seen? The livestock were kept off to the left, near where Naomi parked.  Any truck that came up the same gravel road she did would have been heard.


Suddenly, three giant Labradors appeared  and surrounded Naomi’s car, jumping and barking at her.  No way anyone could get in this way without anyone noticing.


Naomi questioned the farmer and his wife, two older people who looked like former models for Norman Rockwell.  They reeked of cliche Americana.


They told her the cows just disappeared.  No tracks, no noise, nothing. Just gone one night.  


Naomi took a chance and asked if they have seen any strange lights in the sky.  The couple laughed at her and the woman said, “Dear, this isn’t an X-File.”

This wasn’t anything substantial enough to make into an article, but this had become slightly interesting.  It’s possible the farmer miscounted the cows, but what about the other farmers? How likely was it that they miscounted as well?  And how did the cows get out with no one noticing?



Most of all, why cows?


The second farm had a layout similar to the first, only with the right side along the thick woods.  The house looked like it was barely holding itself together. Naomi wasn’t sure what color it was as the paint was peeling off.  The farmer had the biggest belly she had ever seen and the skinniest legs. He had the definite shape of a flamingo, but a flamingo in overalls that looked like he’d been wearing since the Reagan administration.


His name was Butch and he told her exactly what happened to his missing cows.




“Did you see lights or hear—-“


“You don’t see lights or hear nothing,” he said, astounded by her ignorance.  “Because they got that cloaking device from Star Trek. Must be a younger generation.  In my daddy’s lifetime, them aliens just dissected the cow and left the remains, which was damn polite, even if we couldn’t use none of what was left.  But we respected them. We don’t know what they wanted all them genitals for, but it’s not us to judge. This new generation of alien, they don’t give a shit.  They’re selfish and probably making texts as they fly around. They’ll crash and get their fool asses killed and give themselves away and the government ain’t going to like that, because it’s a violation of the treaty.  But these new assholes, they took the whole damn cow. Motherfuckers, that ain’t right.” And so on for ten minutes. Then Butch seemed to realize that Naomi was a gorgeous woman with long dark hair and enormous, beautiful eyes and breasts.  He invited her in for coffee and to show her pictures of his mama.


Naomi declined politely and took off.


“The first one is too hot,” she murmured, driving and checking her Google map for the third farm.  “The second one is too cold. The third one better fucking be just right.”


The third farm also had a side along the woods, with a brand new freshly painted green house with white trim.  


A woman ran the farm and greeted Naomi in a red flannel shirt, jeans and work boots.  


Her explanation was just right:  “They wandered off and probably got lost in all the caves in the woods.  




This was different.  Naomi felt a thrill shiver through her.  If she could find the cows, or something of them, that would be a story.


The woman told her about a park near town and a path that ran out of it and into the woods.  Follow it, keep going once it ends, and you’ll find a cave soon enough.


“How many caves are there?”


The woman shrugged.  “Hard to say. Some say just one, others say a hundred.  People have tried mapping them out, but they get turned around and lost and just disappear.  A lot of people in the past twenty years went in those woods and never came out. There were searches, too, but no one found anything..  So be careful in there. Those woods are creepy. Everyone feels it. You’ll see.”


Tercio de Varas

The bull is released into the ring, where he is tested for ferocity by the matador…The matador confronts the bull with the [wooden sword], performing a series of passes and observing the behavior and quirks of the bull. ~ Wikipedia


He had only one memory of sunlight.  It was the day his mother brought him to the woods.  She cradled him, bent her head down to kiss his forehead.  He smelled her sweat, her unique scent, but there was a bitterness to it he could taste.  A tang that, in his mind, was shaped like something large and heavy. He saw the sun then, streaming around her golden hair.  He tried to lick her cheek, but she pulled away quickly, as if he would bite. She crouched down and placed him gently on the ground, and her shadow cast over him.  Her mouth moved and the sound that came from her was smooth and gentle. He would always remember it.


She seemed to stand there for hours, and perhaps she did, not knowing if she should stay or go.  When the sun went down beneath the trees, when seeing him was difficult, she ran off.


He had no idea who she was, only what she did for him.  She fed him and changed his diaper. But this afternoon, she left him naked.  


This baby creature that his mother found so hideous she must abandon it, had no real concept of what had happened.  He was the child of multiple curses violently flung upon his family. He knew none of his ancestors who had done the terrible deeds that created the form of his life.  He was an echo of a sound that no longer existed.


He didn’t understand that she expected he would die of exposure, being such a young thing in the woods.  But when a chipmunk came upon him, sniffing him curiously, his tiny hand grabbed its head and crushed it, and he ate the raw flesh thinking only that it wasn’t enough.  


As he grew older, he found bigger things to kill and eat: dogs, cats, birds (though they could make him sick), and ultimately people.  He avoided those who reminded him of the golden haired woman. In his mind, resemblance equated with relation.


But the others, the ones who came with large weapons, those tasted the best.


… … …


He first smelled her while still deep within the earth.  Her scent was strong and so similar to the golden haired woman that he believed for a moment she had returned.  


But, no.  This new female was just a little different.  It didn’t matter.


Smelling her gave him a furious erection.  


Slowly, each step silent and carefully executed, he followed the scent through the labyrinth.


… … …


Before going into the woods, Naomi went to Bass Pro Shop.


She bought the biggest flashlight available, a giant hunting knife (not knowing exactly why she would need it, but her instincts pushed the purchase), a fleece camo jacket with a hood, and “Performance Pants”, which were nothing more than very thick camo leggings.  She got a canteen, non-perishable food, and an “action camera” that shot both pics and HD video. At the last minute, Naomi bought a body camera, just in case. She wasn’t sure what that case would be, but she wanted to be prepared.


“Sure you don’t want a gun?” the young salesman said.  He couldn’t be more than eighteen and he looked genuinely concerned for her well being.


Naomi shook her head.  “I was at Mandalay Bay.”   


Naomi’s editor, Doug, went to cover the story with another reporter, and took Naomi along as an assistant.  All that happened to Naomi at Mandalay Bay was that she vomited and cried a lot, and talked to many people.


“Oh shit,” the salesman said.  “That’s intense. Did you see a lot of…”


Naomi nodded and inserted her credit card in the appropriate slot.  She couldn’t look at a gun without feeling physically ill.


… … …

Feeling the need to tell at least one person about exploring the woods, Naomi told Doug.  Doug attempted to dissuade her or accompany her, but Naomi refused. “This is my deal.”


“Aren’t there supposed to be Satan worshippers in those woods?”


“I’ll bring my crucifix.”


… … …


Naomi stood at the entrance to the woods.  It was nine in the morning, but the woods seemed so dark it could’ve been midnight.  The trees grew tall and thick, huddling together as if to keep warm. She smelled thick pine and her first step into the woods crackled.  Naomi had all of her supplies in a large backpack; she hitched it up on her shoulders, a gesture designed to make her feel stronger.


It was slow going.  The trees were so close together, Naomi had to squeeze through some.  The further she ventured, the more she thought this was a waste of her time.  Skinny and short, Naomi could barely fit. How could multiple enormous cows? This wasn’t even logical.  Why would the cows wander in here? It wasn’t exactly an inviting place.


Several times Naomi decided to turn back, but she was too curious and kept on.  After a half hour of climbing over piles of branches, twigs, and pinecones, she froze.  There was something in the air. It wasn’t rotten meat. It wasn’t the smell of a farm animal exactly.  It was something different. Something musky. Something enticing.


Naomi kept on.  And after fifteen minutes, she was rewarded for her dedication.  The woods thinned abruptly into a clearing and an enormous cave.


Automatically, Naomi took out her camera and began snapping pictures.  She looked closely at the ground. There were hoof prints in the ground, now cleared of the debris of trees.  Then she found a large dark stain. She knew what it was. Naomi brought along plastic bags and took a sample.  


Then, against the rock, next to the cave entrance, there was a yellow stain.  When she got closer to it, she could smell it: very aromatic urine, yet not the same as human urine, nor anything like a cat.  It covered at least ten feet by three feet of the rock. Naomi didn’t think a human male could piss that high.


Digging out her taser, Naomi put it in her back pocket.  She hooked her knife to her belt. Her camera slung over her shoulder, she turned the flashlight on the brightest setting and entered the cave.  She wasn’t afraid at all; she was unbearably excited and no idea why.


Naomi moved carefully through the cave.  It unusually made an abrupt left turn, and then a right turn, and Naomi found herself completely cut off from all light.  She cursed herself for not getting a night vision camera, but perhaps her flashlight would help.


The smell became stronger and stronger, and much more enticing.  She saw something on the cave wall on her right and turned her flashlight on it.  It was a crude drawing of an enormous bull, with an enormous erect cock. It was a good crude drawing of a bull.  It reminded her of the Lascaux Cave in France and its ancient elegant, simple drawings of bulls and horses that managed to capture the vitality of the animals.  Only, unlike those drawings, these were coarser, and appeared to be painted with blood.


Naomi snapped as many pictures as she could, using her flashlight awkwardly to help the exposure.  What she managed to capture would have to do. She continued on, finding more and more drawings, some of trees with rocks.  Drawings of the farmhouses she had visited, as well as trucks and corn. Then, in what she felt was the deepest, coldest part of the cave, drawings of women.  Women on all fours, with tails like a cow’s, the head of a cow, with large swaying breasts with milk dripping from the nipples.


Taking dozens of pictures wasn’t enough.  Naomi did not want to risk never seeing this again.  She dug out a reporter’s notebook and pencil and did a few drawings.  Just one didn’t seem enough. It became a sudden, manic compulsion to capture and own this image.


Naomi was so engrossed, she didn’t hear the creature, the artist who was responsible for this art, come up behind her.  He lifted her up from behind, flipped her, and put her easily on his shoulder. Naomi cried out, but didn’t scream. She was too shocked; as in a dream, she couldn’t make a sound.  The creature that had picked her up was and enormous naked man. Still gripping her flashlight, she shined it down his back and saw how utterly gorgeous his body was. The muscles in his back were almost perfect in definition, the shoulders broad and his waist tiny.  This was the source, Naomi abruptly realized: the source of the aroma she had picked up at the mouth of the cave and it nearly made her faint.


Slowly, her fear ebbed, and though she still believed she was in some kind of danger, she didn’t feel like her life was threatened.  


He carried her deeper into the caves to an enormous inner chamber that was lit with sunlight.  Remarkably, this chamber was close to the surface and a series of openings in the ceiling gave the place adequate light.


The creature abruptly threw Naomi on her back on a large bed made of cows hides and soft leaves.  


What she saw before her made her scream.  


The creature was a Minotaur.  His head as an enormous bull’s head, with curving, long horns ending in a sharp point.  He must have been ten feet tall and was all muscle. Naomi found her profoundly shocked and aroused by the red, pulsing, hard cock between his legs pointed at her.  It also was bigger than any cock she could dream of being.


The Minotaur began tearing at her clothes, ripping them as easily as tissue paper.  Naomi had the presence of mind to remember the stun gun in her back pocket. The knife would be easier to get to, but she had no desire to kill him.  As he went for her pants, she jammed it into his neck.


His roar echoed off the cave walls, and Naomi’s ears hurt.  She pulled it off him, expecting him to collapse, but he only snorted heavily several times and tore the front of her pants open.  Now she was topless, her large breasts swaying back and forth, and her pelvis exposed. He still didn’t have access to her pussy, so Naomi jammed the stun gun into the same spot again, then again, and again, and on the fifth time, he finally dropped.  


Naomi scurried back against the cave wall, and stared dumbstruck at the enormous creature.  She knew it wouldn’t be out for long. The best thing to do now was run, but she didn’t. She wasn’t sure why.  She felt terrified, and terribly excited. As if this was an fantastical roller coaster and she wanted to ride it again and again, despite the terror.  Or because of the terror.


So Naomi sat there, staring at the prone figure, until it raised its head.  


Then, shockingly, she realized the Minotaur was crying.  Looking back, Naomi would pinpoint this as the moment she fell in love.


The Minotaur sat up and looked at her, one hand to the shoulder she had stunned.  Naomi could see it was already bruised and swollen. There was also blood; she must have punctured him as well.


Naomi jumped and moved to the other side of the room where her backpack fell.  The feeling of her breasts swaying in the cold air was arousing and she desperately wanted to squeeze them.  She stared at the enormous cock, absolutely entranced with its beauty. It truly was beautiful, long and straight with impressive girth.  Naomi knew that fucking it would be and incredibly painful scenario, but deep down she was curious.


His eyes were like a cow’s eyes, large, round and dark.  He had long lashes, and Naomi could see tears clinging to them.  His chest, just like the rest of his body, was physically perfect.  


The only sound was his heavy breathing, a rhythmic snorting that sounded exhausted.


There were thousands of questions she wanted to ask, and all of them seemed inadequate to explain this incredible anomaly of nature, this mythical creature come to life.


Naomi said, “What’s your name?”


The Minotaur’s eyes became wider, this time with sudden happiness and pleasure.  He said nothing, but his breathing increased. He got to his feet and Naomi took a few steps back.  She was backing into a corner, and started moving along the wall, yet not toward the exit. Escape wasn’t something that occurred to Naomi.  


“Can you speak?  Do you understand me?  Are you the one who took those cows?”  


These questions, she realized, were dumb, but the last was self evident if she looked about the cave.  There were bones everywhere as well as cow hides.


Naomi continued her questions, not because she was expecting responses, but because the Minotaur looked more and more docile and pleased by hearing her voice.  She stopped asking questions and began telling him about herself, who she was, why she was here.


Naomi did the cliche thing of touching her chest and saying her name slowly.  The Minotaur grunted and crossed to her very quickly, though he wasn’t rushing her.  He reached out and put his hand on her left breast and grunted. His hand was enormous and it completely covered her breast.  


Now Naomi’s breathing increased.  Had he read her mind? Naomi felt so aroused, she thought she would piss herself–something that occasionally happened.  


Minotaur looked down at his cock and took hold of it.  Naomi looked down at it and felt light headed. His scent, his pheromones, were like taking shots.  It made her brave and careless. Any danger she felt the Minotaur posed was silly.


The Minotaur took his cock, stroked it a few times, and then aimed it at her pelvis, and began pissing all over her.  Naomi made a sound in her throat that could only be created through sexual arousal, and quickly got to her knees. She let the Minotaur’s piss shower her.  It drenched her hair, ran down her face and breasts, dripped off the points of her nipples. Her hands rubbed it in her cheeks and neck. Naomi not only felt incredibly aroused, she herself urinated through what was left of her pants.


The Minotaur knelt down before her, and pushed his enormous nose between her legs, sniffing and grunting, his face pushing against her thicket of pubic hair, her soaking wet pussy.  Naomi fell back against the wall and awkwardly sat back, straightening out her legs. The Minotaur pushed his nose harder and harder against her, rubbing her clit, either accidentally or with specific purpose that he knew through instinct alone.  It was too much for Naomi. She stopped pissing and pressing her palms on the floor, Naomi came very hard and fast, shaking and feeling her pussy squirting. The Minotaur withdrew his nose, and aimed his cock directly at her crotch, letting loose another long stream of hot, pheromone filled piss.   


Naomi wanted this to go on forever.



Tercio de Banderillas

In the next stage, the tercio de banderillas, each of the three banderilleros attempts to plant two banderillas, sharp barbed sticks, into the bull’s shoulders. These anger and agitate, but further weaken, the bull.  ~ Wikipedia


Doug had been writing for the Tribune for twenty years and it wasn’t until Naomi came along did he ever feel anything unprofessional for a co-worker.  He couldn’t smell her perfume as she brushed by him in the hall without getting a little hard. He was approaching the summit of forty and knew that he didn’t have the distinguished older man look that would win women her age.  He was much more fatherly looking, with thinning hair, a few extra pounds, and drab tastes in clothes. Numerous women commented through his life that his eyes were exquisitely sexy, so he always managed to look Naomi in the eyes when he talked to her.  So far, it lead to nothing.


It was risky taking Naomi to Las Vegas to cover the shooting, but she was despondent and desperate to do something.  As everyone in the office watched the news as it unfolded, Naomi cried silently and he gave her his handkerchief. She repeated over and over, I have to do something, and he made the decision to take her with him.  To maintain an aura of professionalism, and avoid anything that may look like sexual harassment, Doug also took Carl.  Carl and Naomi got along, almost too well, having a number of in-jokes between them.


Harshly, Doug preferred Carl accompany them because Doug felt more intelligent than Carl.  Carl was short with hair cut exactly like Jimmy Olsen’s. He always stood with his hands in his pockets and swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet.  Doug couldn’t figure out if Carl was good looking, and referred to him as Quantum Carl: he could be either attractive or ugly; you could calculate the probabilities of him being one or the other, but looking at him you would never know.


Luckily the drive to Vegas was only a few hours, and they spent a week interviewing survivors, donating blood, and talking to people walking along the strip.  Naomi produced an excellent piece talking to tourists.


Now Naomi was going hunting in the woods.  Doug believed she had a serious lead, but going alone was stupid, impulsive, and misguided and he loved her for it.  Yes, he realized, his palms laying flat on his desk and staring at the seam where the door met the wall. He was in love with her.


Doug told his secretary he was taking the day to do research.  Doug went straight home. He put on jeans, sweater and a down jacket, dug out all his old Eagle Scout stuff that he hadn’t been able to throw away all these years, and found a canteen, compass, and Swiss army knife.


Having had about a half hour to contemplate this, Doug called Carl.  It would be better to have help. Strength in numbers, additional witnesses, etc.  Carl was too happy to come along as he thought Naomi was being stupid. Rescuing her would make her see powerfully masculine, or so he believed.


Carl, quite smartly, realized that he and Doug might not be enough to fight off whatever might capture Naomi.  Satan worshippers was his favorite scenario, and in that case two against twenty would be ridiculous. So Carl called Becky, a full time movie critic and bubbly bouncy redhead with an hourglass figure, and someone he slept with a few times.  Becky was enthusiastic to go along, believing that the cows had been abducted by aliens and they were going to find a ufo. She showed up at the woods wearing a red Chanel jackets, black leggings and high heeled boots.


As Doug was walking out the door, he remembered one more thing: he got his .38 out of his bed stand and tucked it in his pants.


He had purchased it in Las Vegas, the day after arriving and seeing Mandalay Bay.


… … …


Naomi lay on the ground panting for several minutes.  She kept her eyes closed; she didn’t have the strength to look at the Minotaur because he was still very shocking and exhausting to contemplate.  


The Minotaur moved around the cave and Naomi couldn’t imagine what he was doing.  At one point, she heard him leave the cave, and she decided it would be fine to open her eyes.  The cave was empty, the only sound coming from the fire. She looked down at herself and removed what little shreds of clothing were on her body. The knife she buried in her backpack, as though hiding it from herself.


Naomi also spotted the stun gun on the other side of the room.  Either he wasn’t afraid, or he didn’t understand. Perhaps he couldn’t understand.  Naomi tried to reason it out. How would a half bull, half human think? He obviously had some human concepts—the fire, the skins, and, as Naomi stood up, on the other side of the room she saw a long piece of wood that had been carved to a flat surface, and upon it crude tools.  Obviously he was intelligent.


Naomi suddenly gasped: the Minotaur had done the cave paintings.  That made everything different.


Then there was an awful, echoing scream.  It sounded inhuman, something in agony, and then abruptly cut off.  Naomi began panting and her heart pounding made her shake. She crossed quickly to the bed, her feet almost hurting from the cold of the stone floor.  She snatched up the smallest of the hides and wrapped herself in it. It was stiff, but usable.


Then she heard it: the faraway sound of a body dragging along the ground.


Naomi figured it out before the Minotaur returned.  He entered dragging a dead cow. It was headless, and only half of the body with one leg attached.  The leg was what he used to drag it. The thing must weigh at least 500 pounds, but it was nothing to him.  He pulled it to the fire and began carving out meat and throwing the pieces directly onto the sticks.


Had he learned how to cook by watching other humans?  


His back was to her, and Naomi could see his shoulder where she had tasered him.  It was swollen, and hideously bruised. Naomi went to her backpack a few feet away, got an instant cold compress as well as bandages and anti-bacterial cream.  She didn’t want to sneak up on him as that could turn terrible very quickly.


“Hey,” she said softly.


The Minotaur turned and stared at her.  He seemed to have no interest in the meat anymore.  The look in his eyes was the most intense love she had ever seen.  It was so pure and absolute, Naomi believed it could only come from his absence of human culture.  Nothing had made him jaded.


Naomi pointed to her shoulder and said she wanted to help.  He looked confused, so she stepped forward and pointed to his wounded shoulder.  He fixed his eyes on the bandages in her hand, and gently took them. He smelled them and seemed intoxicated by them, rubbing them on his cheek.    


Suddenly he was on Naomi, tearing away the skin covering her, his arms around her, lifting her and suckling at her breasts.  She couldn’t help, but moan and say, “Oh fuck.”


The words made him more excited than anything.  He put her down on the bed and began licking her breasts with a very large, very warm tongue.  It was the width of a human hand. He licked the her breasts and nipples and Naomi felt helpless.  He licked her belly and ribs, and she found herself turning onto her side so he could reach her back.  He rolled her onto her stomach and made one long lick from her ass crack to the base of her skull. He returned to her ass, smelling it thoroughly, pulling it open and letting his tongue lick her over and over and over.  Naomi thought she was going mad, that this had to be a dream, that what she felt couldn’t possibly be real.


Pulling her up to her knees, but her face still pressed to the ground, the Minotaur flicked his tongue like a whip, pushing it between her labia, catching her clit, and licking all the way up to the small of her back.  He did this several times and Naomi couldn’t help but talk to him. She never, ever talked during sex, but knowing that he was aroused by her words made her aroused to say them.


Naomi told him how good he was, how beautiful, how miraculous.  He licked her pussy, and then inserted his tongue deep inside her.  Naomi bucked against his tongue, feeling it go deeper than most human cocks she ever knew.  She continued talking, her tone becoming gentle and loving. This was the most extreme sexual thing she had ever done; Naomi had never contemplated bestiality.  But was this bestiality? He was an artist and a builder. Those are not the characteristics of a beast.


She told him to fuck her.  She said it over and over and over.  Instinctively, the Minotaur must have understood.  He withdrew his tongue and positioned his hard cock at the entrance of her pussy.  It felt as wide as a Coke bottle, and Naomi felt a moment of terror—how could it fit inside her?


Then the Minotaur thrust himself in Naomi.  The pain made lights flash behind her wincing eyes.  He pushed deeper and deeper and deeper, and Naomi thought there must come a time when he couldn’t go further.  But her body was opening for the Minotaur, taking an endless amount of him. Finally, he went as far as possible, and he began fucking her.  It was slow at first, and he gripped her hips, possibly understanding that he needed to work her pussy open more.


Naomi reached back and felt his cock moving inside her, her fingers grazing the soft skin.  She said, “Harder. Fuck me harder. Harder.”


Again, this was such an instinctive concept, such a natural request, the Minotaur started fucking her harder and harder.  He thrust against her so hard she lost her balance and collapsed on the bed. The Minotaur took her by the waist, lifting her as he stood, and continued fucking her, several feet off the ground.  Naomi thought absurdly that she hung off his cock like a coat on a hook.


Naomi shrieked as she came, her hands clenching and then pressing against her face. She howled and the Minotaur snorted fast and loudly.  


When the Minotaur came, there was so much cum that after it filled Naomi, it squirted out the edges of her pussy and splashed on his stomach.  It ran down Naomi’s legs. Naomi reached for it, coating her hand generously, and licked it like she had dipped her hand in chocolate fondue.


Eventually, he pulled out although he was still coming.  He lowered Naomi to the ground, and she quickly flipped over and put her mouth on his cock, letting the cum stream over her face.  She could only lick his bright red, still hard cock. It would never fit in her small mouth.


After he emptied himself of cum, he let go another long, shower of urine, and Naomi crouched under it so she could wash her hair, face, and breasts with it.  She automatically began urinating with him.


It was during this moment that Doug, Carl, and Becky stumbled into the cavern.  They stared, shocked and dumb, by this scene. They asked one another if they were seeing it, too.  They were, but couldn’t believe it.


The sounds of the slaughtered cow, the smell of meat roasting on the fire, and Naomi’s orgasm led them to the cavern.


Doug called Naomi’s name, but she didn’t hear it or didn’t care that she did hear it.  


Doug pulled out his gun and fired at the Minotaur.  His aim was completely off. All it did was attract the Minotaur’s attention.  He stopped urinating. Naomi finally noticed the group and yelled at Doug to stop.  


Becky had brought along her father’s hand made $600 Bowie knife and pulled it out.  This was a poor choice. But wearing a red coat was a poorer one. The Minotaur got to her in two steps,  bending his head and goring her through the heart. She must have died instantly; the Minotaur shook his head and flung her from his horn to the ground.


Doug took another shot at the Minotaur and hit him in his left bicep.  It only pissed him off. The Minotaur dug the bullet out of his arm and charged Doug.  He grabbed Doug’s hand holding the gun. Drawing his arm back with little effort, the Minotaur pulled Doug’s arm from the socket.  He took the gun and crushed the barrel.


Having seen all of this, Carl took off in a blind panic into the caves.  The Minotaur followed.


Naomi ran to Doug with one of the skins and tried to stop the bleeding.  Blood pooled quickly around Doug until it looked like he was floating in it.  Within a few minutes, he was dead. His last words to Naomi were, “This is going to be a great article.  And I’m glad I got to see your breasts just once.”





Tercio de Muerte

In the final stage, the tercio de muerte (“the third of death”), the matador re-enters the ring alone with a small red cape, or muleta, and a sword. The matador uses his cape to attract the bull in a series of passes, which serve the dual purpose of wearing the animal down for the kill and creating an interesting display, or faena. He may also demonstrate his domination of the bull by caping and bringing it especially close to his body….The series [of passes] ends with a final series of passes in which the matador, using the cape, tries to maneuver the bull into a position to stab it between the shoulder blades and through the aorta or heart.

~ Wikipedia



Naomi covered Doug with the skin.  She went to Becky and took her jacket, and put it on.  The enormous hole and blood stain did nothing to Naomi; she was too numb with shock to react.  Becky was a bit larger than Naomi and the jacket was a bulky fit.


Naomi sat at the fire and stared into it.  She told herself this wasn’t real. This was a dream.  This had to be a dream. A nightmare. If she wanted to wake up, she needed to get to the surface.  Get out of the bowels of caves and find light.


She looked up at the light coming through the small holes in the ceiling.  The ceiling was too high and The walls too smooth to climb. The light was fading.  It was already close to sunset.


Getting into the tunnels would be easy, but finding her way out probably impossible.  But she had to try.


Yet, she remained sitting at the fire, holding her legs, smelling the piss and cum covering her.  It was terrible that Doug tried to kill the Minotaur, but the Minotaur shouldn’t have…Naomi beat her forehead against her knees, knowing that it was self defense.  


But what he did to Becky.  If Naomi had a gun, she could have killed him.  She should have brought one. But would that have done any good?  The Minotaur had one bullet in his arm and he didn’t seem to notice it.  And shooting him in the head? Trying to put a bullet through that bull’s hide and dense bone, Naomi assumed, would be impossible.


Then the astonishing thought:  the Minotaur was protecting her.  


He appeared in the cave opening at that moment and Naomi jumped.  She stood up and wiped her face, only then realizing that she had been crying.  


This was a moment of confrontation.  How could Naomi confront a creature who couldn’t speak?  Then she saw his bullet wound and melted. She hated seeing anyone in pain and bullet wounds made her deeply despondent.  


He stood near the door, and seemed to be experiencing the same moment of crisis.  Naomi walked toward him, and he stepped to the side. She stopped. He continued stepping to the side, staring at her, and moving along the wall.  She moved closer and he began fast snorting. He began to crouch, to lower his head, his sharp horns pointed toward her.


Naomi looked about and found the knife.  She picked it up, never taking her eyes from him.  


Was this really happening? Naomi wondered.  Has he turned on me, too?  I must defend myself, mustn’t I?


She took another step toward him, and his fear or fighting instincts increased.  His feet compulsively stomped on the floor. He crouched lower.


Abruptly, the Minotaur rushed her, and Naomi spun to the side.  One of his horns pierced her jacked and skin. Naomi felt blood running down her arm.  


His feet pawing the ground, he lowered his head once again, and Naomi gripped the knife.  A gun would have been better. But a knife? Could she really kill him with a knife? She’d have to plant it directly in his heart.


Another sudden charging, and Naomi ducked and dragged her knife across his calf.  The Minotaur didn’t scream in pain, but he did limp. Naomi saw how deep the cut was.  


It was deep and he was weakened.  Naomi couldn’t bear it. She had used the taser gun on him, yes, but that wouldn’t have killed him.  And that was before…


It was stunning to admit that Naomi had come to care about him.  


As he lowered his head again to charge her, Naomi realized she had been very stupid.  She quickly took off the red jacket and threw it on the ground between them. Naomi held up her hands in a gesture of surrender.  


The Minotaur straightened and his breathing slowed.


She took a few steps back.  He took a few steps forward.  A few more steps back and Naomi was where she had dropped the bandages.  She showed them to him and the Minotaur made a sound deep in him that sounded soft and loving.


Naomi started crying and shaking as he came forward to her, trusting, loving, his eyes wide and trusting.  


She let the Minotaur come to her, impale her upon his cock, drench her body in cum, lick her pussy and thighs and all the way to her small feet.  His large tongue seemed to grip them all at once.


Naomi decided this was one world that should never be written about.  And a magical world she would never leave.

Shrinkage | Part 1


Shrinkage | Part 1 | Commissioned with Love by friend of SMUTPUNK BustyShrink


If you want to shrink something,
You must first allow it to expand.
If you want to get rid of something,
You must first allow it to flourish.
If you want to take something,
You must first allow it to be given.
This is called the subtle perception
Of the way things are.

The soft overcomes the hard.
The slow overcomes the fast.
Let your workings remain a mystery.
Just show people the results.

–Tao Te Ching


Shrinkage: A Story about a Vindictive Ex-Wife and Dark Scientist with plans for Revenge

Two kids on a Suburban New Jersey street made sound effects of bombs, machine gun fire, and nuclear warning sirens as they pedaled at full speed. They stood on their bikes like kids do when they want to go fast. The occasional squeak of brakes mixed the rolling sound of the rubber on road. There was a clunk that interrupted the whooping sound when one bike smacked into something. One kid was on a blue bike the other on a red and cream colored bike. The kids both kept riding. As they rode the bikes now, the tires left blood red trails on the pavement. Neither of the young boys even noticed as they kept to their game of dodging obstacles both real and imaginary. They had a grand old time, never noticing the decapitated head rolling around like a stray football, rolling irregularly as the oblong sphere thunked its way clumsily down the asphalt. The severed head smacked into a curb and came to a dead stop. The boys biked on sweating. The day was hot, too hazy and humid for this time of the fall.

In the house, Ken was tied to a…
…see this is a weird way to write a story with the reader already knowing what will happen. How then can any author create suspense? Can author deliberately mislead, like this? Ken was tied to the back of a Ferrari speeding down the highway. Ken was tied to his desk while masked intruders forced his secretary to her knees. Ken was tied for the lead in his office golf game. You already know none of these to be true. You know, since you created and requested it, that Ken was tied to a small Barbie chair. He was about one foot big and barely fit on the chair. His ex-wife Barbara sat at her regular-sized dining room table drinking wine from a normal-sized glass. She was halfway into the bottle and getting chattier. “Kenny Kenny Ken,” she said. She was getting drunk. For years she had felt alone, misunderstood, and deeply sexually unsatisfied. Ken made her feel unfuckable. That was cruel. He made her feel alone, the deep loneliness many married couples unfortunately experience. The loneliness of having someone right there yet feel more solitary than when unescorted through this cruel life, like their frequency just didn’t pick up yours, was unbearable as the lightness of being.

Ken’s ass, naked and toned, didn’t fit on the kids chair. There were two sizes of things, three if you counted the regular adult stuff. There were adult chairs full sized and one in which Barb tucked her firm ass. There was a kids chair which Ken was on, although he was too big for it. There was also a Barbie chair that Barb planned to make his perfect chair.

Barbara had started shrinking Ken post sex while he sucked on her tits in the stifling heat. After he’d come over and fucked her in the ass in his weekly sexual humiliation of ex-wife in exchange for alimony she seized his post-coital haziness and squirted him right in the face with her magic milk. Steam rose. A paper bag crumpled. She laughed when she squirted him.

It was a hot languid day, too hot for October. It was too hot to be humiliated. Too muggy to be pissed on. It was too humid to drip with shame.

She squirted him repeatedly with her breast milk.

“What is happening to me,” Ken said. He screamed out but all Barb did was laugh. Then she squirted him again. Each time she squirted him, steam rose from his head and he shrunk about one percent of his total size. She leaned over and squeezed his shrunk body between her big breasts. “Is this what you wanted? Tits?” She squirted him again. “Is this why you came back and fucked me, you dirty man? Are you just fucking helpless in the face of big tits?”


“Is that why you fucked that floral whore?” Barb taunted him while steam rose from his head and his body shrunk another one percent. “Have you no will power in the face of tits?”

Squirt. He was now small enough to lift up like a child. She put toy handcuffs on his wrists and lifted him roughly like an angry mother.

“Wine!” she said.

She brought Ken to the dining room where she had a kids chair and Barbie chair set up. She took a long gulp of red wine, then added, “Will you jizz just being in between my massive breasts, baby?”

“You had this pre-planned?” Ken said, the full fear of being at his humiliated ex-wife’s mercy unfolding like a butterfly knife in a small intestine.

Ken was in between regular- and kid-sized. The toy handcuffs kept his hands behind his back bound to the chair. Still, Bimbo Barbara had his head stuck between her massive breasts. He was about one fifth of his normal size. Her breasts could crush his small bones. His ex-wife, let him out of her cleavage. She loved her new massive bimbo tits. She stared at them happily. They gave her power and swag. She looked at her shrinking ex-husband and laughed. “You can’t fucking control yourself, can you?” she mocked. She grabbed his hard cock between her big fingers. “You’re fucking hard even though I could crush you, you pathetic little man.”

“No, yes. No.” Ken pleaded. “I just love you. I have always loved you. That’s why I’m hard!” Ken desperately tried to appease her.

She regarded him a moment and then aimed a nipple at his cock. “Disgusting. Don’t you dare fucking patronize me, Kenny!”


She hit his cock with a spray of titty-milk and steam rose from the little member’s head and it shrunk.

She finished the glass of wine. She menacingly held it out in front of him a minute. The flickering candle light reflected off the curve of the wine glass. Ken could see his ex-wife’s body in the reflection of the glass. He was so small now that his head could probably fit in the fluted wine vase now. She put down the glass and with her free hand turned him to face an even smaller toy rocking chair from part of the barbie dream house. It was on the table in front of her and next to the half-empty wine bottle. His heart sank. Why couldn’t he have pried a few extra hundreds of thousand dollars from his stack of millions for her and avoided this. He knew that a few more squirts of breast milk from his increasingly drunk ex-wife and he would be no bigger than a regular barbie doll. His ex-wife still had her blouse open and both new balloon tits hanging out distressingly over both the bra and blouse, like an Imperial Battle Cruiser hovering over an x-wing fighter. She was like a villain robbing a train and waving the gun around while talking about corrupt governments. Those magic man shrinking udders were menacing as any gunman.

“LI-AR,” Barbara screamed. She was starting to slur a bit. Spit rattled out of her mouth and sprayed over him as she screamed. Her voice came out so loud that Ken was knocked unconscious for a moment. While he was out cold on the chair, Barbara squeezed her threatening nipples gravely and bathed him in more glorious white titty milk. She smiled slightly as she heard the sound of a paper bag being crushed and watched his body shrink one more time.

She moved him from the small kids chair which was now way too big for him to the tiny doll’s chair and bound him. He started to come to again while she was tying him up with dental floss and ranting about his shortcomings.

“Why don’t you just shut your fucking mouth, Ken? Don’t you think you’ve fucked things up enough with that mouth, Kenny Ken?” Her long black hair was in a tight, bitchy ponytail that fell down her back along her spine. “You couldn’t keep that mouth off her cunt. Bad mouth!” She aimed her nipple at his mouth. “You know what that mouth didn’t do…ever? It never made me cum. Nope “ She had an improbably skinny waist for monumental tits like hers. Even a Barbie doll would be jealous of her. “Stupid fucking mouth!”

Speaking of Barbie, Ken woke up and found himself tied to a Barbie chair with dental floss nearly as thick as his fingers. It was a white rocking chair made of oak and painted. There was a pink cushion on it. At first he barely could fit in it, but after a few extra squirts of her tit milk deluge, Ken’s ass fit right into the rocking toy chair. The chair was about four inches high. He was bound and stuck. He stared up at his evil wife’s big nipple. Her nipple was now nearly the size of his entire head. His pulse raced from his tiny heart. Each Montgomery bump around Barb’s Areola was bigger than a normal sized nipple. It was disgusting. He felt nauseous. Ken remembered foods he hated as a kid. Her colossal nipple was gross as calf liver.

Months ago, Barbara caught him eating out their florist, a young attractive little thing with metallic blue hair. That led to the divorce. It wasn’t the cheating. It was that he had become such a lazy, selfish husband and lover with her. Ken made her feel like such a useless piece of shit. He didn’t talk to her, didn’t fuck her, didn’t make her feel special. She was just a maid and someone to listen to him go on and on about his acquisitions and successes at work. She no longer felt womanly. The eating out was too fuckng much. He’d replaced her sexually. And it wasn’t fair. She always knew she’d get revenge. She never knew it would be this milky sweet.

“I can explain, Barbara, I can.” Ken rocked in his tiny chair. He turned away, afraid he was going to get another squirt of his ex-wife’s breast milk but she spared him this time. His white button down office shirt was soaked with her milk. He sat in a pool of her milk. The white liquid dripped from the tiny chair placed on the heavy dark oak dining room table in their old marital house where they had once eaten many meals together, where they had once fucked like animals in the passionate old days that were long gone, where they had once carefully calculated their mortgage way back when Ken wasn’t rolling in money. Now Barbara lived in this house. She sat and stared at her tiny ex-husband. He sat on a milk-stained pink cushion. She brought out her huge finger, with large manicured nail. She placed the tip of her forefinger on the tip of his head and stopped him from rocking.

“You stay still,” she said.

At this point, a man came into the room. If Ken was his normal size he would have seen who it was, but at this size things so big came in out of focus until they came closer. As the man got closer tiny Ken in a Barbie chair could see that he wore no clothes underneath the lab coat and that this man had a bazooka for a cock.

He was wearing a white lab coat. Ken recognized the man.

Ken started to feel really hot, right on his skin. It was like the pores in his flesh were opening. Up and down his arms his tiny little hairs stood up as this man in lab coat walked up to his giant ex wife and bent down tenderly to kiss her on the neck. “Hello, baby,” the man said in a sexy baritone voice.

Barbara closed her eyes, her long lashes sloping out in thick mascara’d ski jumps, as her new man put his full red lips onto her porcelain white skin. Maybe it was his new size, maybe it was the open pores, but Ken seemed incredibly sensitive, like he could smell his ex-wife’s arousal. It smelled like orange blossoms and coconut juice.

When bazooka man was done kissing Ken’s ex-wife in the vulnerable nape of the neck, he fixed his eyes on Ken. Ken could smell Barb’s sweat. He saw here pores, big and open. Pulsing. The sweat carried pheromones with it, a delicious, intoxicating smell that Ken had never smelled from his wife before. This was the smell of Bimbo Barb not Tomboy Barbara. Andy’s kiss on Ken’s ex-wife brought out the aroma. Andy looked deep into Ken’s eyes, like he was processing the effect of the eleven and a half inch man. “How are we doing down there, little man?” he said. “I see the titty milk has operated as advertised. Mwuuhahahha!” He laughed the cliche cackle of a megalomaniac.

The man was Ken’s Chief Scientist, Andrew.

Spring 1993
Barbara stopped the car in the Parking Lot right by the NJ Transit stop. “Go get the roses for me.” Ken opened the car door obediently. “Don’t just get out. Give me a kiss first,” Barbara said. She wore a tight t-shirt that hugged her flat chest. She was bossy and boyish, but Ken did as told and gave her a peck on the lips reluctantly before going into the flower shop. “I wish you actually cared about kissing me.”

He was in there a long time. Barbara turned on the radio. She turned off the radio. She redid her lipstick. This was before cell phones. Now she would have been able to update her status, but in those days. Nothing. She fiddled with the rearview mirror. “God you’re gorgeous!” she said to herself. Then she made a face. She didn’t love the way she looked. She was too masculine. Her jaw line too hard. Her breasts too flat. Her positive reinforcement was waning with the wait.

“What the fuck is taking him so long?” she said out loud. She beeped the horn. She waited. She beeped again. “Goddamn Ken,” she said and got out of the car.

She went to the florist window. She didn’t see him inside. There were tons of Latin American weeds growing all over the place. It was a jungle inside. She walked in and Enya was playing. She passed the baby Ceiba trees, the lianas, the birds of paradise, the hydrangea. They were all plants growing around a loud, bubbling fountain. It was noisy. There were jungle sounds. There were fucking birds inside! She heard some other noises like heavy breathing. The cut flowers were in two refrigerators on the far wall across from a counter and a cash register. They were big monstrosities in those days, cash registers. There was no clerk. No Ken. There was a door to a back room.

Barbara walked into the back room. Cut flowers were everywhere in stacks of petals, thorns, stems, and colors. Enya was way louder back here. Long stem roses with big thorns on the stems were stacked up. There were thousands of them. The young florist was lying on a bed of roses with tons of little cuts in her back and hips. The hot coed looked down her massive tits. Ken was on his knees between her sprawled open legs. Her bush was a jungle and Ken had his tongue deep inside the young coed’s inner lips tasting her tropical rainforest.

Barbara gasped. The coed moaned and clamped her knees down on Ken. She started riding his face wildly while she slapped his head with a long stem red rose, throwing red petals off into the air and wandering down to the floor. The petals helicoptered beautifully in the air in little pendulums and sine waves.

Barbara slammed the car door, trembling. She was jealous, but not about Ken. It was that she wanted to be eaten out wildly. She wanted massive fucking tits. She wanted to be so womanly men would throw away mariages over her. She wanted…


Read Part 2 of Shrinkage! Be sure to be a part of MJ’s Mailing List for updates. Oh, and be sure you’re a VIP smutpunk

Supermodel Cumshot Gif




A supermodel with long black hair
to her ass crack
is on stage
ass gaped
and the Prince of Bahranistan
is there
spreading her gorgeous
supermodelly ass cheeks
her spectacular
arrogant anus
her terrifically
tightly wrapped cunt lips
he’s gaping her in such a way
that if we stopped and clicked imgflip.com
we could make her gaping supermodelly ass
into a cum dripping anal gape gif
with a long-tail keyword sure to get hits
but we would never stoop to such click-bait
russian troll farm lows
just for a dripping anal creampie.

New Releases – 2017 – Smutpunk by Moctezuma Johnson & Emme Hor #SmutStreet


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Futa Boxing Gym – Conquering Ines

All Ines wanted to do was kiss Keiko but instead she had to kick this bitch’s yellow ass!


1948, Japan – Episode 2 Futa Boxing Gym

The Magic Jump Rope heals all ills…but it’s Minae finds it’s frayed and she may be the only one who can fix it!


The Futa Dicksicle Stand

Cool Down From the Summer Heat. That’s Carly’s plan until she finds out what kind of payment Futa Dicksicle accepts.Futa-Dicksicle-Stand-web

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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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The Cuckold and the Bull

The motherfucking guy

big as a truck

with thick biceps

and big strong hands

grabbed my wife by the hair

fistful of ponytail

he pushed her down onto bulging cock

big motherfucking cock

the kind that hisses when it comes out of pants

as she half-shrieks half-moans

the kind that makes wrinkles form over her brow

when she takes it into her throat

the kind that makes drool leak out the sides of her mouth

when she bobs up and down on it

to pleasure him

while I watch



She’s straddling him

kissing him tenderly

while his cock takes a break

i lick my wife’s asshole

preparing her

for round two