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Morning Confession, Afternoon Affair Bono thought those French chicks had the sweetest, snuggest twats. Outside they might sniff and pout and show insouciant disdain, but inside they were pure quim—sleek, slippery, wild, and wanton. And fresh from confession, they were especially vulnerable.
Baie, practically skipping through the church door, felt the warm glow of forgiveness kissing her skin, her soul, and everything in between. It was like just-laundered sheets, like a new purse, like a poem about kittens and ice cream cones and rainbows of ... whatever. There, slouched on the flower cart, was one of those mixed breeds from Siam. They all had those long, raspy tongues and indefatigable cocks. You fuck one of those dudes, it was an all afternoon affair. But not this afternoon—she had to get her nails done.
“Come with me, my honey sweetness. I’ll give you a ride like you’ve never been ridden before.” Bono observed a small hitch in Baie’s stride. She was tempted.
She was tempted. Her pussy hadn’t been truly filled in almost a week. But no—a girl without will power was... What was she? A girl!
Bono was sure he could smell her arousal. There was no catnip like cunt.
Baie turned. She tried to keep her expression this side of sneer, that side of leer. “Where?”
“The alley can be very comfortable...” Bono suggested, “... commodious enough if you like a good, hard, stand-up fuck, with just the right rasp upon your outstanding little ass. Then there’s this cart. Once we get rolling, my love, the rocking motion more than complements our yining and yanging, while at the same time counterpointing the lubricious and sexy seesaw squeak of your pussy song. Or there’s your place, or my place, or the moon.”
“The moon. That sounds exciting. But how would we get there?”
“Oh, kitten of my heart, have you not noticed how rocket-like my cock is? Come with me, my honey sweetness. I’ll give you a ride like you’ve never been ridden before.”
Baie smiled. “I think I’ve heard that line before.”
“Then you’ll come?”
“I already have, thank you.”
“You have?”
“Yes. Somewhere one side or the other of that seesaw squeak. Or maybe fuck smack in the center. Now I must be off to get my nails done. Good-bye.”
A Hard Bargain
The Jism Trail
Baie said, “I’m not much for alleys, and your place or mine taint my cup of tea, neither, but if you take me to Paris, I might let you fuck me.”
“Deal,” Bono said.
“You sure you know the way?”
“Simple as pie,” Bono declared. “A right at Nice, a left at Angoumois, and then a straight shot up the Jism Trail. Piece a fuckin’ cake.”
Dead Tree Scrolls
Baie sure knew how to make a blow job last. Bono was right on the edge for ever so long, and Baie kept him there until he was blind with one-eyed come-want, scrolls of foreskin wound tighter than petrified tree bark, libido stuffed seventy-six clowns’-worth into a trombone pie. He plodded gamely on, prick leaping to Baie’s ineluctable licks, scrotum bathed in Baie’s breathtaking breath, lust swallowed by lunacy swallowed by Baie.
Release remained always a half-step away.
“Are we there yet?” Bono gasped.
Cock-seep flavored Baie’s throaty chuckle. “I t’ought you said you knew d’way?”
“I do,” Bono protested. “I do, I do, I do. The only reason I ask is cuz that tree stump looks sorta familiar.”
“You wanna stop ‘n carve our ‘nitials in it f’ next time?” Baie purred.
Bono shook his head and pushed on, his swollen balls balanced ticklishly on Baie’s kitten-moist nose, and he leaned forward as he strode, the better to grant her long, lewd, feline tongue access to his anus.
story by Mat Twassel |
