collection of stories you shouldn't read at work
It was a favourite of mine.
A teen amature photographer is walking home from school, past his hot high school teacher’s house. Looks in the window, see’s her screwing one of the male teachers. Takes photos, blackmails his teacher into sex. His sister finds out, and wants in, she wants the hot male teacher. Hot hi-jinx ensues…
Cold open
Interior, sitting room, high end flat, London, England.
Time, indeterminate.
Rick standing next to Morty, laughing wryly, holding his flask, he has clearly been caught post spit take.
Morty "What?" in disbelief.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle sitting back in his recliner, smug. we cannot see his right arm.
Time indeterminate.
Rick and Morty have subtly switched places to match (ref 01a)
Rick is drinking actively from his flask.
Doyle "I had no idea the eastern european stock had such low class proclivities."
Time indeterminate
Camera angle reveals Doyle has a tied off needle in his until now hidden arm. Character positions (ref 02a)
Roll Title
Oops, this isn't erotica. This is so when this episode airs you can raise your fist to the heavens and say that fucking lesbian spoiled the best joke in the damn thing.
The attitude.
The shining edge of a blade at rest, surgically precise but more than willing to butcher if needed.
The figure.
The hard, long, lean muscles earned one step at a time.
The costume.
Form fitting sports bra and matching black boy shorts with hot pink trim.
The hair.
Green. Duh.
The confidence.
Nestled between the pert bosom heavily rests a P226: SIG Sauer semi automatic pistol.
It is a shockingly functional piece of pure masculine industrial design. Every possible aesthetic feature sacrificed to become a thing bent on purpose.
I used to think I was going to kill myself with it. Instead it set me free. It's name is "Little Freebie" because its so concealable.
It is there as a final option because we live in a world of finality.
In the end no amount of being pretty will stop a bullet and I can help no one dead.
I am pretty (shut up) but if you ever see little freebie, you know I'm done being pretty.
More tommorrow!
Lots of love!
Manicured fingers strained against too tight spandex jogging shorts, worming their way impatiently into smooth, yielding flesh . . .
"Touch James without my permission and I will cut those titular titties right off."
The surprise forced out of me, in order, the sound of a dying chipmunk, more pee than I'm willing to admit and finally, an eighth of an ounce of the dankest indica sativa hybrid I have ever had the honor of hiding in my snatch.
"You bitch! I thought you were Spoole perving out on me again!".
I petulantly over enunciated as I hastily pulled my shorts back up and dropped to my knees toward the toilette.
"Are you sure you want to come out of the gate ripping off Broad City?"
Elyse was wearing exactly the tee shirt that, according to James, he had been looking for
"Not ten minutes ago!".
lol
I had recommended against the pajama bottoms but what do I know about color theory, I went to The Corcoran school of art, Elyse.
It's a school where they teach you art, Elyse.
I know you are reading this Elyse, I'm coming for the pajamas.
I am a hermaphrodite who grew up thinking I was a boy. Adolescence was a confusing time for me to say the least. Being surrounded by all sorts of lovely people and never quite sure if my constant arrousal was from the right thing I developed symptoms like ADD. It got so that my schoolwork was a serious problem. I was just exhausted by trying to police my own thoughts while hiding my tiny erection.
Anyhow I got shipped off to Randolf Macon Academy, an Air Force prep school. First day of school, long wavy hair chopped off, uniforms that did nothing to support my tits and all I wanted was to find some friends. Fast forward to lunch and I sit down to eat with my tray.
Side note, the food they served was amazing southern banquot style and if I had stayed more than a semester I would be at least 100 lbs heavier. Not entirely a joke, I am getting aroused by the memory of their biscuits and gravy . . . oh and the syrup, I have yet to find its equal.
Part 1 – The Fappening
She choked but managed to swallow every drop, and then she opened her legs and welcomed my throbbing black cock in her slit. I thrust in and out as she moaned, the pleasure was making her whole body quiver. Then finally with one primal grunt I released a torrent of warm milky semen in her clenching cunt. Her whole body lifted as the liquid as the liquid of life now filled her.
Part 2 – Birth
Nine months later… Argh! She moaned. No longer was she being filled, she was now being emptied of the child she bore for so long. It came out with screams, kicking whiler her juices splattered all over the hospital sheets. She rasied her son above her head and declared it to be named Man Dingo. Due to her injuries she would be frozen until the technology to heal her was discovered. Her vaginal walls have been decimated due to the sheer size of her sons penis
Part 3 – The Awakening
The other night, a question was born in my mind. (I have no idea, who the hell fucked my head!!!)
The question was: Why we are born and what the hell we are doing on this planet?
After extensive thinking, I found the answer.
The answer is our life cycle.
Our life cycle is something like this:
We get birth… We grow up… We start eating… We go to school and get educated… We start working… We find the partner… We fuck… We work more… We get married… We fuck harder… We produce kids… We keep on eating… We keep on fucking… Our kids grow up… They do what we did…
That’s what we do in life. And that’s the way; the cycle of life goes on…
If you analyze the cycle of life or “Karma” of our life, you can find ONLY two main activities in life:
To preserve our health, we eat good To experience the ultimate joy of life, we fuck good By the way, both of the activities are co related. Without good health, you cannot have good fuck.
Possibly going down the rabbit hole
I’m in a weird situation. I was just backing my car out of the yard yesterday when a long-time neighbor of mine, Phyllis, waved at me. She stopped me for a little chat and told me that things had been a little rough for her and her husband Victor as he had tripped on one of the legs of their front porch swing and has had to use a walker since. I knew that it had been a few years since Phyllis had driven the car so I offered to give her a ride if she was heading to town to get groceries.
You might think that this doesn’t sound so weird, but believe me, this moment was exactly the one when I got the feeling that something was off, because the whole tone of Phyllis’s voice changed. She lowered her voice when she told me, as if she was telling me a big secret, that there’s no need for me to worry. She and Victor had found a means to get around. “You call it as it if was a taxi, but lemme tell you, honey, it sure ain’t one” were her exact words, if I remember correctly.
This isn't actually erotica, so please let me know if it doesn't belong here. But I think it's eroticaesque and you guys might enjoy it. I write these notes to be SO during our kinky nights. She reads them, and then we act them out.
Tonight's session is called "Kneel and Worship" (http://submissiveromance.com/ff-36-kneel-and-worship/)
Hello beautiful. It’s been a while since we had some fun so I hope you have some pent up excitement for tonights session
There are many things about you that I love such as your eyes, your lips, your hair, the way your breath feels on my skin, the way your mouth feels around my cock, and the way you dutifully perform tasks no matter how silly they may seem and how tied up you might be. I have a feeling that my thirst for many of these will be quenched tonight (at least for a few days).
I have this great idea you may, or may not, have read about earlier. The idea is, a cushion is attached to your ankle. With this pillow, you can kneel down anywhere, no matter where the night takes us. It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out why you would need to kneel … So the question then becomes: where will the night take us?
Part II: The Secret Shrine
Annie rapped at the wooden door rhythmically, giving the secret knock as the other three escapees waited nervously on the short stairway leading down to the cellar door. The door opened a fraction, revealing a segment of an old woman’s face in darkness. “Yes?” she asked mildly.
“Four lost souls, seeking the guiding Light,” Annie said carefully.
The old woman smiled in recognition. “Seek the Light within,” she said, and opened the door, taking Annie’s lantern as she did so. Lifting it high, she revealed a brick cellar with large casks lining the walls, a tap at the bottom of each. The old woman hung the lantern on a hook protruding from a ceiling beam, and waved the hesitant group inside.
The woman lead them over to one cask, seemingly identical to the rest, and bending down, turned the tap to the side as if it were a doorknob. Then with a tug and a little grunt of effort, she pulled open the whole front of the cask, which swung wide on hidden hinges like a great circular door.