TITLE    : Readymade Porn
STORYID  : readymade-porn
SUMMARY  : Going straight for the orgasm with readymade porn.
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2009-03-28
CATEGORY : group-sex-stories
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |porn|erotica|weather|anal|analingus|bdsm|gay|incest|shemale|


Let's face it, even the hottest erotica (my own, for example) gets tedious after a while and can be, at times, despite the grunts and groans and sweaty pawings and pokings, downright boring. There are only so many sexual things that one person can do to another, after all and so many combinations of lovers. Writers and readers, at some point, begin to wonder the same thing: why bother?



In The American Claimant, Mark Twain wrote, "No weather will be found in this book. This is an attempt to pull a book through without the weather. . . . This weather will be found over in the back part of the book, out of the way. See Appendix. The reader is requested to turn over and help himself from time to time as he goes along."



This article is meant to accomplish much the same purpose with regard to some of the more popular forms of sexual "weather." To take some of the pain out of the pleasure of erotic fiction (and to promote my own work shamelessly), yours truly, The Great and Wonderful Cal Y. Pygia, has decided to share with you a series of sexually explicit and exciting descriptions of some of the sexual acts that are most common to the genre. Skip the unnecessary and boring dialogue, scene descriptions, characterization, plot development, and associated junk and go straight for the orgasm with these gems:



ANAL INTERCOURSE



She positioned herself on her elbows and knees, legs spread wide, to provide easy access to the tiny, puckered anus between her satin-smooth buttocks, and I took my place, on my knees, behind her, the jostling mattress dipping and rolling beneath us.



Although smaller than a woman's ass, Mona's bottom was fuller than a man's backside and every bit as smooth, soft, and inviting as any female's derriere. Just the sight of the round, sleek orbs and the small, tight opening that led into her innermost depths brought my cock fully erect again and made my balls ache. There was nothing more tempting, I thought, than a pair of lovely buttocks; although mere muscle and fat overlaid with skin, they seemed not only to invite, but also to demand, to be both penetrated and fucked. I had every intention of obeying their silent command. It would be a true joy to shove my cock through Mona's tight anal opening and deep into her bowels.



Taking my cock in hand, I guided the massive organ between the silk-smooth cheeks of Mona's magnificent derriere. It was heavenly to feel the smooth, cushioned flesh slide past both sides of my prick as I introduced my organ into her cleavage, the already parted globes spreading further to admit my hard, swollen manhood.



My penis met the stout resistance of her anal sphincter. Gripping my member more firmly, I pointed the tip of my prick into the dimple between Mona's ass cheeks and pressed forward, resolutely, with my hips. My glans pushed through the opening, followed by an inch of my rigid cock. I continued to push, forcing another inch of my stiff prick through her asshole, and another, and another, until I had buried my erection inside her impaled buttocks to the very root, and my balls were crushed between my pubes and her perineum and scrotum. It felt wonderful to have conquered her ass, to have invaded the sanctuary of her rectum, and to have usurped from her the last vestiges of her own autonomy, making her fully and completely a woman.



Her head hanging, Mona moaned as, reaching forward and below her, I cupped her breasts in my hands, squeezing them hard, as if they were melons, while I ground my pubes against her bare, cock-skewered ass.



Then, as I withdrew, drawing my erection back through her speared anus until only the glans remained within the tight ring of muscle, I released one of her tits and gripped her genitals, squeezing both her diminutive cock and balls repeatedly.



Mona squirmed, and I slapped her ass. Immediately, she stilled herself.



Inwardly, I chuckled. At just nineteen, Mona was little more than a girl, although she'd frightened me badly enough only a few hours ago, accusing me of sexually harassing her at work to the point that I was afraid she might be setting me up for a lawsuit. A sudden pang of doubt and fear stabbed me as I realized that, even now, she might be doing just such a thing. She could claim that I'd raped her. No, I told myself. It was obvious that she was enjoying herself; it was evident that she liked to have a cock in her mouth or up her ass, to be used and dominated. She might act the self-assured, no-nonsense, ball-busting bitch at work, but she was glad enough to be on the receiving end of a man's cock at home, where a person's true character was most evident.



I had no intention of disappointing her. As a manager--and a man--I knew well how to take charge, and I did so now.



I slammed my hard cock full force into her bouncing buns, shoving the thick column all the way inside her rectum until my groin collided with her buttocks, flattening them beneath me, and my balls ground hard against her perineum and scrotum.



Again, Mona moaned. Her whimper excited me, and I pulled out, all the way out, this time, my cock sliding free of her gaping asshole. The sight of her round anus, stretched to many times its normal size, and the knowledge that it was I--and my thick, hard cock--that was responsible for this transformation of her asshole into a cunt--was erotic in the extreme. No female, not even a genetic female, is truly a woman until she's been fucked by a man, and Mona was no exception. In fucking her in her beautiful transsexual ass, I would be making of her a true and complete woman.



My prick slipped easily back through her wide-stretched, circular opening and plunged deep into her bowels. After ramming it home, I withdrew, again letting my bloated cock slide all the way out of her tunnel of love. It was fun to see my prick slide effortlessly all the way into her ass or to pull all the way out, and, several times, I repeated this action, watching my organ vanish and reappear as I worked it in and out and back and forth within her entrails, my toil punctuated by Mona's moans and groans, whimpers, gasps, and cries.



Reaching beneath her, I found her genitals again, and was surprised to find her erect. Her small cock had stiffened so that it ran parallel to her lower belly, pointing upward, and her balls, small in the contracted pouch of her silk-smooth scrotum, had risen to rest below the base of her blood-engorged cock. I chuckled at the thought that, ready as she might be to play the man and to penetrate a cunt or an asshole, there was no partner for her by which she might accomplish such a feat, and her cock, erect or not, must remain idle and redundant while mine filled her again and again. Despite her male equipment, she was, and would always be, a she and, as such, the receptacle, rather than the instrument, of invasion and occupation, the conquered rather than the conqueror.



Nevertheless, now that she was hard, there was no sense, I told myself, in letting a perfectly good, if smallish, erection go to waste, and seizing her little penis between my thumb on one side and my index and middle fingers on the other side, I pumped the flesh of her cock back and forth upon the slender, straining shaft, eliciting more moans and gasps from the beautiful shemale whose ass I was riding fast and hard.



I slammed my meat home again, crushing her sleek, soft-firm buttocks before my driving pubes and feeling the circle of her anus all along my plummeting member. My hips buffeted her bottom, and I ground my groin hard against her impaled buttocks before wrenching my cock back through her asshole, the sphincter of her ass dragging against my retreating prick, as if seeking to resist its departure just as, following my initial penetration of her ass, the sphincter had seemed to resist my organ's invasion.



Back and forth, with greater and greater passion, force, and speed, I worked my cock inside Mona's anal opening, ramming and jamming, lunging and plunging, stabbing and jabbing her buttocks, her asshole, and her rectum with my thick, hard manhood while, her frame shaking, her breasts bouncing, her buttocks flattening and recoiling, and her cock and balls joggling, the mattress beneath our bucking bodies dipping and rocking, I fucked Mona with all the strength, energy, stamina, and brutality that my lust-enflamed soul could muster--which was considerable. The more she bounced and flounced, the harder I thrust and lunged, and the more Mona moaned and groaned. She began to toss her impaled buttocks back, to meet my assault, and her ass and my groin, her perineum and scrotum and my balls, colliding again and again, made the loud slapping sounds of flesh smacking flesh.



In my mind, I compared--or, perhaps I should say, I contrasted--her asshole as it had looked prior to my assault, tiny and tight, with how it looked now that I had ravished it, gaping wide open, and the mental images of her anus relit my dying lust, renewed my will, and gave me the strength to prolong my attack. I rammed my cock into her impaled bottom with as much savage fury as I'd used in the delivery of any previous stroke, and my effort was rewarded with a cry from Mona, followed by a tremulous whimper.



I rammed my cock through her anus, into her bowels, withdrew the rigid fleshly pole; and drove it home again, with greater force, as if, with my penis, I meant to disembowel the ass it fucked.



Of course, Mona was up to the challenge of having me jam my cock into her ass and wrench it free so that I might plunge into her bowels again--and again---and again--and, although it seemed impossible that her little anus, even stretched to many times it normal size, could tolerate my continued assault, she weathered the attack until the moment that orgasm seized me, my belly heaved, my legs quaked and shuddered, my cock convulsed, lurching frantically within the depths of her bowels, and, my breath coming in quick, hot gasps and my heart pounding like machine-gun fire, my thick viscid semen spewed into the chamber of her lower intestine, spraying the walls of her rectum with repeated volleys and jets until, the reservoir of my seed spent at last, my penis softened, dwindling, and withdrew from Mona's round, wide-stretched anus, trailing white fluid down the cleavage between her buttocks, over her perineum, and down the back side of her scrotum.



(Source: Beefy Buns)



ANALINGUS



Bowing low, leaning toward his buttocks, and clamping a hand upon either of his hips for balance, she pushed her cheeks and chin into the deep cleavage of his bottom, probing his anus with the tip of her tongue. She could taste nothing, thank God! His asshole was clean. She licked at the tight, tiny muscle, circling its circle with her moist, pink tongue, pausing to lap greedily at it before, stiffening the oral member, she penetrated the anal opening, jabbing the tip of her wet, slick tongue in and out rapidly. Unintentionally, she made wet, slurping sounds as she licked and probed his asshole. He groaned, his sphincter fluttering.



(Source: New)



BONDAGE AND DISCIPLINE



As Tommy thought these miserable thoughts, he heard the dreaded, telltale whooshing sound of the cane as it cut through the air; a moment later, the bamboo's impact furrowed the flesh of his buttocks and sent an intense agony through his loins. He shrieked, straining against the cuffs that bound his wrists and thighs, and Matthew was rewarded by the sight of the naked anguish on his face in the mirror that stood before the punishment bench. Tommy's eyes were wide. His mouth gaped. Tears rolled down his face. Pain was evident in his every feature.



Matthew smiled as he raised the cane again, thinking that Tommy's ordeal had only just begun. He delivered six more lashes, hard and fast, and a series of parallel lines appeared on Tommy's ass cheeks, one below the next. Tommy lurched in his restraints upon the receipt of each of these vicious blows, screeching and wailing as his face again and again contorted from the fiery agony that burned within his lacerated and bleeding buttocks. His tears ran steadily, as he sobbed. However, he gave no voice to his suffering, and he didn't ask for mercy from Matthew, because he knew that Matthew was merciless and that to beg for compassion or kindness from him would only arouse his ire further and result in a more severe and prolonged punishment. Matthew could excuse his shrieks and sobs and moans; he would not excuse any verbal pleas for leniency.



Tommy waited for the next lash--or series of lashes--to fall upon his upturned buttocks. None came. Still, he waited, tense and expectant, certain that the caning was not complete and sure that Matthew would strike him at least another dozen times. However, not further rain of blows fell. He could not see Matthew in the mirror, but that didn't mean he'd left the room. He may have merely stepped away from the area of the chamber that was reflected in the oversize looking-glass. Could it be, Tommy wondered, that Matthew had spent his anger in so brief a flogging? It seemed doubtful, but was it unthinkable? Tommy continued to wait. The room was quiet. Had Matthew left him here, draped over the punishment bench, to endure the aftermath of the caning? Already, the stinging of his lacerated buttocks was becoming a more generalized sensation of soreness that would soon blossom into a feeling that was part heat and part pain, each sensation aggravating the other and making both more unpleasant than either would be by itself. Maybe Matthew wanted Tommy to experience this torment for a longer time than usual--or maybe he meant to resume the caning after Tommy had had time to appreciate fully the effects of the preliminary beating!



A quarter of an hour later, Tommy had just begun to hope that Matthew had vented his rage sooner than he'd expected and had left him shackled to the punishment bench in the awkward and uncomfortable position of having his knees spread wide apart, with his buttocks elevated and his waist bent over the bench's crossbar, his wrists and thighs manacled, to consider his latest punishment as he felt the stinging wounds that Matthew had inflicted upon his bottom, and to commiserate with himself about his plight, when Matthew announced either his continued presence or his return to the chamber by showering Tommy's defenseless, bare buttocks with a hard rain of a dozen more fast and furious strokes of the cane. Tommy's reactions were instantaneous: he screamed, howled, and bawled; he lurched and strained in his restraints; his face twisted into a grimace expressive of the distress he felt in his fiery, stinging buttocks; tears washed his face; and he was reduced, at last, to a whimpering, sobbing, mewling wretch, pleading for the punishment to end.



Matthew grinned as he lashed Tommy's bleeding, red and purple ass with the bamboo cane, cutting new marks in the sore and sensitive flesh and crossing previous lines with fresh stripes. The cane whined as it cut the air--and the flesh of Tommy's sleek ass cheeks. Tommy shrieked in anguish, muttering pleas for a cessation of the punishment. More slashing strokes of the cane crashed into his bottom, furrowing his buttocks and streaking them with blood from new lacerations. Matthew beat him with the cane until Tommy's ass was a bloody mess, covered in blood and bruises and adorned with welts and swollen ridges of red and purple flesh, and Matthew's arm was exhausted. Tommy screeched and wept and begged for mercy.



Finally, Matthew set aside the cane. He wiped the blood from Tommy's ass with a soft, fuzzy towel. Then, he applied an antiseptic that burned, enflaming the pain that his strokes of the cane had caused, and gently patted his bottom, announcing, "Your ass is purple, black, and blue, and crisscrossed with welts and lacerations. I suppose you've learned your lesson."



(Source: Nothing At All: Alternative Version)



BUKKAKE



Now, everything's better by far, just as Jenny predicted, with all three of her brothers involved in our weekly sessions. When we're through with her, she's quite a mess, believe me. This is what happens, every time, with but little variation:



As Jenny kneels, naked, in the center of a circle formed by her three brothers, we-- admiring our sister's beautiful, upturned face and smiling eyes, her splendid breasts, the dandelion fuzz of her downy pubes, her smooth, sleek thighs, her sculpted back, and her round, firm-soft derriere--stroke and pump our cocks in our fists, envisioning the spurts of our ejaculate into her hair and face and bosom.



Usually, one of us reaches orgasm before the others do, although, on occasion, two or even all three of us reach the point of no return simultaneously, showering Jenny's face and form with blast after blast of our pearly semen, flooding her face and inundating her tits.



Semen may squirt from one cock in a series of individual spurts while, from another, sperm may spray in multiple locations, splattering Jenny's hair, her forehead, and her nose and cheeks, all at the same time. While some of the semen remains where it falls, in shiny pools or glistening, pearly beads, other ejaculate runs down Jenny's face, forming southbound rivulets that course and meander down her cheeks, chin, and throat, to drip, slowly, as if succumbing to the force of gravity only with the greatest reluctance, onto her boobs or the cleavage between those white, round mounds. Our drops of semen looks like melted pearls, adorning her hair, her face, her breasts, and, sometimes, even her belly or pubes.



Often, if only as a reflexive action, upon feeling the first of our semen missiles, Jenny's beautiful face will scrunch up, her eyes and mouth closing tightly and her smooth brow knitting, as additional volleys of sperm, from one, two, or (rarely) all three cocks, firing in a series or in unison, wet her face, great globules and streamers of semen glistening upon her semen-bedecked and sperm-bejeweled countenance. 



Often, she will open her eyes during our bombardment, heedless of the semen that lies upon her lids or in her lashes or adjacent to the inner or outer corners of her eyes, and look up at us, smiling--her crescent blue eyes and the bow of her smiling mouth are unbelievably erotic, igniting more lust within her bukkake brothers' hearts, minds, and loins, producing additional spurts of cum. By the time that Danny, Kev, and I have emptied our loads onto her wet, shining, smiling, upturned face, her visage streams with semen, the syrupy fluid streaking and coating her features as well as her flesh, either lying in pools, hanging from her eyebrows and chin, or meandering slowly down her brow, cheeks, nose, jaw, neck, and bosom.



She often parts her sperm-smeared lips to let us admire the pool of lustrous white sperm that she's collected within the pink interior of her mouth. Then, she swallows our seed to make room for more. Gathering them with her fingertips, she deposits additional gobs of our salty semen inside her mouth to savor before ingesting them. She then licks the remnants of our seed from each of our still-standing cocks and the taut, risen pouches of our contracted scrota. Licking her lips, she smiles at each of us, sometimes taking our pricks into her mouth, one by one, as she handles and fondles the cocks of the other two. A lovelier sight doesn't exist than one's sister, cum-faced, with a cock in her mouth and an additional one in each hand.



(Source: Bukkake Brothers)



CUNNILINGUS



Taking her hand, Anya led her naked guest to her bed. The demon laid upon her back, her thighs spread wide, and Buffy knelt on the mattress, resting her upper body upon her elbows, the hard nipples of her breasts brushing the bed's satin sheets. She lowered her head, her blonde hair spilling over Anya's thighs, like a sprinkle of soft silk. Anya moaned, squirming. Buffy slipped her hands under Anya's buttocks, feeling the weight of her sleek ass cheeks pressing down upon her palms. She kissed the demon's labia, tasting the dew that had gathered on the petals of Anya's sex. Then, she licked the demon's soft, thick pussy lips before slipping the tip of her moist, pink tongue into the folds of Anya's cunt to lick the hard, smooth button of her swollen clitoris. Again, Anya moaned, twisting upon the bed.

<hr pg="2" />Buffy's lips, nose, and chin were wet with Anya's cunt juices. A river seemed to have sprung up inside the demon's pussy, and it overflowed with a constant stream of fluid. Buffy lapped the flood, rubbed her nose in it, drank deeply of it, and still more of the nectar gushed from Anya's quivering loins. Grasping Anya's tits, Buffy squeezed them in her hands; she kneaded, lightly pinched, and tweaked their stiff nipples with her thumbs and fingers. Mostly, though, she concentrated on the smooth, hard nub of Anya's wet, pink clit, lavishing loving attention upon this bud of her femininity, this blossom from which her sexuality bloomed and flourished. Her tongue licked the firm button of flesh while she kissed and nuzzled the slick, glistening labia that continually drooled the juices from the demon's overflowing cunt. Although Buffy knew that a pussy was meant for a dick, that it was vestibule to the womb, in which babies were conceived and developed and were brought forth into the world, it seemed, just now, to have no other purpose than to be licked, bathed, and washed with another woman's tongue; to be kissed with another woman's lips; and to be rubbed and caressed and fondled by another woman's fingertips. Any other use of such a holy place seemed impious and wrong. It seemed self-evident that a pussy was intended solely as a means by which women could worship their femininity, giving pleasure to and receiving bliss from one another.



As she licked and sucked Anya's pussy, Buffy made occasional slurping sounds that would normally have embarrassed her. However, in the context of their lovemaking, these rude sounds were merely titillating, making the sight of her tongue probing and licking Anya's watery, pink cunt all the more exciting. With renewed vigor, Buffy stroked and bathed Anya's lust-hardened clit. The demon cried out, writhing, as orgasm swept through her, clutching at Buffy's hair. "Willow! Oh! Eat my cunt, you lesbian slut!"



(Source: Buffy the Shemale Vampire Slayer, Chapter 4)



DAISY CHAIN



Buffy's buttocks flexed as she drove her hips forward, sliding her thick, hard cock through the tight ring of Willow's anus. The witch's ass cheeks were incredibly smooth and soft, but firm, against the rigid column of flesh. If this is what it felt like to fuck someone in the ass, Buffy couldn't imagine why any boy would want to fuck a girl's cunt. The grip of Willow's sphincter around her organ was snug. No girl's pussy, even a virgin's, was this tight! Despite the nagging guilt and shame that plagued her about having sex with another girl--and her best friend since high school, at that--Buffy found the thought of fucking Willow's ass extremely exciting--exhilarating enough, in fact, that it made her balls ache with the need to spill their seed. Buffy fed another inch of her manhood into her friend's ass, and another, and another, until, at last, she'd buried her cock inside Willow's rectum, and only her balls remained outside, pressed firmly against the witch's flattened buttocks.



"Uh!" Willow moaned, her fingers playing with her clitoris. "It feels wonderful to be so full of your wonderful cock!"



Buffy remained still, her hips shoved firmly against Willow's bottom, her cock crammed completely up the witch's ass. The feel of her friend's smooth asshole, snug around the base of her prick, was a sensation that she wanted to savor and remember with clarity, in detail. She ground her groin harder against Willow's backside, feeling the smooth flesh flatten still more as she rolled the cradle of her hips back and forth across the silky mounds. Her hands came up, around Willow's ribs, and cupped the witch's tiny tits. The redhead's nipples were plump and firm, like berries, and the satin-smooth areolas were puffy. Willow's cunt was wet, too. Her juices trickled down her perineum, anointing Buffy's thighs. Willow was aroused, to put it mildly. She really wanted Buffy's cock in her ass, whether as a result of a secret spell that Baphomet had cast or because of a wantonness that the witch had successfully concealed from her closest friends since her earliest days. Either way, Willow wanted it bad; she was horny as hell.



Baphomet positioned himself behind the Slayer. Crouching, he inserted the tip of his monstrous cock between the silken cheeks of Buffy's buttocks, relishing the feel of the soft flesh as the inward-curving slopes slid past his thick, rigid prick. Buffy started, gasping. She'd been so caught up in her reveries that she'd forgotten the devil's presence. She hadn't expected him to join Willow and her. She'd thought that he was more interested in watching as he stroked his erection than he was in forming a threesome. She struggled, trying to wrest her own prick from Willow's ass and prevent the devil from impaling her on his. Her resistance was futile. Although she was stronger than any ten men, he also had supernatural strength, and he was more than twice her size. With a single shove forward of his hips, he drove his prick through Buffy's anus and deep into her rectum, skewering her on his cock the way she had skewered Willow on her own penis. Although she'd been broken in, so to speak, by the demon who had earlier sodomized her, Baphomet's cock was huge, even in comparison with the prodigious member of his minion. The demon's cock had seemed far too big for Buffy to accommodate, and it had caused her both discomfort and pain. Baphomet's organ was over twice as large--the size of the thick end of a baseball bat. Willow's pussy had been barely able to house the monster-cock. Buffy's anus was way too small. She could feel the muscle tear as he'd rammed his penis past her sphincter. Blood trickled down the cleavage of her ass, onto her perineum and labia, before splattering the stone floor. Buffy shrieked, unable to repress the anguish and terror that gripped her when the huge prick spread her asshole to many times its normal size. In response to her scream, Baphomet jostled his hips hard against her flattened buttocks, jiggling the immense member inside her rectum.



(Source: Buffy the Shemale Vampire Slayer, Chapter 12)



DILDO OR BUTT PLUG USE



I never should have worn the butt plug--if "worn" is the right word--in the first place, especially not to work, but I couldn't help myself.



Okay, I guess I could have helped myself; nobody forced me to insert a plug up my ass. It's just that, ever since Hermie left me for (of all things) a genetic girl, I've felt lonely--and horny. I guess my self-esteem was at an ebb, too--I mean, losing a guy to a genetic girl does nothing for a shemale's ego. I thought a cock up my ass, even a fake one, might take my mind off my distress. After all, what girl doesn't feel better when she's "full." It's reassuring. It's comforting. It's like sucking one's thumb, only much better.



I'd lubricated my anus and my rectum liberally with K-Y, crouched over the toilet, willed my sphincter to relax, and slowly, but resolutely, eased the butt plug into my ass until it was fully inserted. Immediately upon experiencing the familiar sensation of having my impaled bottom stuffed with cock, artificial though it was, I felt a good deal better about my situation and myself. The feeling of being filled, I guess you could say, was fulfilling. I'd also enjoy the knowledge that no one else but me knows that, beneath my skirt and panties, I had a thick, hard latex prick shoved up my ass. It made my cock swell as much as the butt plug's pressure against my prostate, and it made my nipples stiffen beneath the fabric of my blouse. . . .



It was while I was standing at the bus stop that I realized that I may have made a mistake by including not only a faux pearl necklace, matching earrings, and a silver bracelet among my accessories but also the butt plug I'd inserted in my ass. I'd used a lot of lubricant--too much, it seemed. Despite its bulbous head, much of the butt plug had somehow managed to slide back through my sphincter. In a few moments, it would have slid completely free of my rectum and would fall into my panties. There, it might make an unsightly--and unnatural--bulge that would certainly startle my fellow travelers. 



Fortunately, there was a way of out of my dilemma. I quickly clamped my buttocks together, to prevent the dildo from sliding all the way out of my ass, and sat down on the bench that the bus company had so thoughtfully provided for its waiting riders. The butt plug slid home again, the thick, bulbous end spreading my asshole wide as it was shoved upward through my lubricated anus. I breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing my ass cheeks. As soon as I got to work, I'd take go to the ladies' room, enter a stall, and remove the butt plug until I'd wiped away the excess lubricant. Then, I'd reinsert the butt plug, with no one the wiser. . . .



On my way up, in the elevator, the butt plug had begun to slip again. Fortunately, I'd been alone in the car. I'd pressed my buttocks back, against the rear wall of the lift, sending the dildo home again. So far, it had remained fully lodged up my ass, but that situation could change at any moment. "I need to use the powder room first," I told Brenda.



She frowned, shaking her head. "I wouldn't if I were you."



Mr. Andrews must be pissed, I thought. But why would he be mad at me? I hadn't done anything. I supposed I could see what he wanted before excusing myself to visit the ladies' room. "Okay, Brenda," I replied. "Thanks."



Mr. Andrews' office was only fifty feet from the reception area, down a hallway to the left. I hurried as quickly as I could. Thank goodness, the butt plug didn't slip. Please, God, I prayed, let it stay put until I can get to the ladies' room. It felt wonderful to be stuffed with the artificial cock, and the secret that, beneath my skirt and panties, it occupied my rectum was thrilling, too, but I was beginning to wish I hadn't come to work with a latex plug up my butt. My constant fear was that the damned thing would ease out of my rectum. What would Mr. Andrews think if he saw the outline of a dildo-shaped butt plug in the seat of my mini-skirt? What would my fellow employees think? How utterly humiliating such an experience would be!



(Source: Step Into My Office)



EJACULATION



A surge rushed through his cock, and he felt his molten seed erupt, spewing into his sister's bowels, the fecundating fluid finding no egg to fertilize, but only the spacious, vacant cavity of her rectum. Other pulses occurred as additional semen spurted into her bowels. Porter remained stationary until he'd emptied his full load. Even then, he remained within his sister's ass, his penis slowly shrinking, softening, and dwindling, until, at last, the flaccid, semen-smeared penis passed as if it were a small, soft turd, streaking her huge, gaping anus, the cleavage of her parted buttocks, her neglected labia, and the tops of the backs of her thighs with its slick, thick remnants.



Afterward, they rested beside one another, caressing breasts and chest, vulva and testes-filled scrotum, pubes and bellies, Amanda trailing a fingertip over the semen that she'd let dry into brittle flakes upon her face to feel the sleek texture of the tiny chips. Occasionally, she would wet a finger, moisten a flake, and insert the fragment of her brother's dehydrated seed into her mouth, to suck its salt and savor its musky scent. Once or twice, she shared a morsel with Porter, who enjoyed the fruit of his loins as if the flakes of semen were salted nuts, which, in a way, he supposed they were.



(Source: Cock Crazy)



EXHIBITIONISM



I'm a shemale. I'm also an exhibitionist. And a news hound. These interests, as I've learned, don't always go together--or maybe they do. Let me explain.



Since becoming a woman in every detail but my genitals (which remain, as they always shall, defiantly masculine), I've delighted in "accidentally" exposing myself to men and women alike. It's much easier for a shemale to expose herself than it is for a guy, because society tolerates a great deal more display of feminine charms than it does of their male counterparts. Sure, men can show all but their cocks, balls, and asses and while, technically, women (and shemales) are also prohibited from displaying their genitals and buttocks in public, most men and women respond to a glimpse of either with a wink and a nod, so to speak, if not a blind eye.



Like a lot of genetic girls, I started by going braless. I especially like to do so during the summer months, when I can get a little too close to the spray of a fountain or a sprinkler. I wear a flimsy, white cotton top, and the cold water makes my nipples stiffen and swell so that, as "pokies," they are quite noticeable to anyone who happens to be within twenty feet of them. The men always notice; the women frequently do. I love the lingering looks, the open stares, and the way that men sometimes unconsciously lick their lips. I even enjoy the disapproving scowls of old ladies with faces (and, no doubt, tits) like dried-up prunes. In the winter, of course, there's no need for a fountain, sprinkler, or other water-delivery system. The cold alone is enough to make my nipples erect. Of course, since I seldom wear a coat and have nothing to cover my bosom but a thin silk blouse, it's not just my breasts that are cold. Still, it's worth a little discomfort to see the widened eyes, the dropping jaws, and the sometimes-furrowed brows of my audience. Hopefully, I give men something to masturbate to and encourage young women to go braless like me. In the old days, going braless might have been about equality; now, it's just about sex--well, sex and power. 



In San Diego, at least, showing one's ass is easy. When I go to the beach, I just wear a hot-pink thong bikini that's decorated with glittery sequins. It attracts a lot of attention to my full, firm, feminine fanny, and it's fun to watch the double-takes I get from men (and women) when I sashay past them. Believe me, heads do turn! When I see my tan ass cheeks in a mirror or storefront window along the boardwalk, I admire their sleek, round fullness as much as anyone else. Why shouldn't I? Hormones and implants and electrolysis have set me back a fortune (although these procedures were well worth every penny). When I wear my thong, I always hear whistles from admiring men (and, sometimes, from women, too.) Another way I manage to display my butt is to wear a mini-skirt without panties. 



Then, I ride one of the long escalators to the second story of one of the local malls. I let my wrist brush against the side of my skirt, making sure to lift the hemline enough in the process to offer anyone behind me a good view of my ass cheeks. I usually do this several times, pretending to rub a sore spot on my hip or to scratch a persistent itch, letting only the lower halves of my buttocks show the first time, then half of them the next time, and maybe all of them the third time. Sometimes, I get so turned on that my cock stiffens and swells, and the men and women in front of me may get to see more than they'd bargained for when they'd entered the shopping center--a buxom young woman with shapely legs and a bulge in her crotch! Sometimes, I ride the down escalator back to the first floor so I can ride the up escalator again, and repeat the show a second--or a third--time. Usually, I don't, though, because my doing so could give security personnel enough time to catch me in the act in the unlikely event that a witness to one of my earlier shows bothered to seek out a guard and make a complaint (although, I confess, the chance of getting caught is also quite exciting!)



Showing one's breasts is more difficult--in the United States, at least. In Europe, South America, and other places, going topless isn't scandalous. It's accepted. Only in certain places, like New York or San Francisco, or on a nude beach, can a girl, genetic or otherwise, show her breasts in public without the risk of creating a disturbance or getting arrested. In the Big Apple, women can now legally join men in baring their chests; in California, ladies can breast-feed their babies in public; at the few nude beaches, women, like men, can dispose of their clothes altogether. For an exhibitionist like me, the problem with such places is that the ability to strut my stuff legally lessens the excitement of exposing myself to someone. When the law allows me to flaunt myself in public, the thrill is minimal to non-existent. However, when I can flash my tits, ass, or genitals at an unsuspecting guy or gal, the excitement is tremendous. There has to be an element of the forbidden and an element of the shocking for an exhibitionist to get off by exposing herself. I mean, if enjoying the display of one's body were as easy as doffing my clothes, I could have orgasms just by being a topless dancer, right?



To "accidentally" expose my breasts, I don't wear a bra and I leave my blouse unbuttoned below the level of my nipples. The blouse is extra large and loose fitting, the better to reveal my bosom. I usually ride the bus when I want to show off my tits, because there are a lot of passengers on board, especially during rush hour. I always sit in the last, bench-style seat, which extends all the way across the back of the bus. It's easy to contrive a reason to bend way over in my seat. For example, I'll drop a coin, a handkerchief, or a lipstick. Or we'll hit a bump in the road, and I'll lunge forward, making sure I double over. Usually, I take the bus to the mall, because a shopping center offers many opportunities to show off one's breasts--or even to get naked.



I always go to the ladies' room--several times--when I visit the mall. Standing at one of the sinks, I unbutton my blouse completely and use a wet paper towel to wash my breasts. A lot of women have walked in on me as I perform these ablutions; seldom do any walk out before I'm finished. In fact, they will usually sidle up to the sink next to mine and busily wash their hands--for several minutes--while I bathe my breasts, darting quick, sidelong glances at my naked bosom as they do so. Some try to initiate a conversation. "Did you spill something?" they'll ask. I just look at them and smile. Others are even more direct. They will stare openly at me; after a few moments, they will offer a compliment, saying "You have lovely breasts." I'm honored by their praise, of course, but I don't encourage them except to smile or say "thanks." I don't have anything against genetic girls, but I prefer guys and, frankly, most women who come on to me in the ladies' room are likely to be lesbians. If they are, they're interested in women who have cunts, not cocks and balls, between their legs. I definitely enjoy their stares and their comments, though. If the bolder lesbians persist beyond their initial compliment, I usually just say, "I'm flattered by your interest, but I'm not into other women myself." They get the message.



Trying on clothes is a great way to get completely naked. Some stores' dressing rooms are equipped with curtains, rather than doors, and these changing booths provide an extra thrill, since another customer or a sales clerk could easily see me undressing or undressed--especially if I "mistakenly" leave a sizeable part in the curtain, as, naturally, I am careful always to do. (I face away from the curtain or stand sideways, so my ass, or both my tits and my ass, can be displayed without my also revealing my genitals.) On more than one occasion, a young woman has stared at me, her eyes wide and her mouth agape, before muttering an apology. I always smile understandingly and say, "No harm done." Most women never suspect that my show is deliberate.



Only the most naive man or woman would suppose that dressing rooms are not kept under constant surveillance by a security guard seated behind a bank of closed-circuit TV monitors in a back room. The rest of us know better, and this knowledge makes stripping for a hidden camera sexy and fun for an exhibitionist like me. I imagine some fat fucker in a cum-stained T-shirt, with his tongue out as he salivates like one of Pavlov's dogs, masturbating while he watches me show him my tits, my ass, and my cock and balls. In my mind's-eye, I see him pumping his fist up and down on his stiff, swollen cock, faster and faster and harder and harder, as he thinks about kissing me, squeezing my tits, flicking my nipples, and thrusting his prick into my girlish ass. 

<hr pg="3" />When he ejaculates, spewing his thick, warm, white seed all over the monitor, he probably imagines he's deep inside my rectum. In removing my blouse and stepping out of my skirt, I can feel his eyes on me, even though he's watching me from afar, over a closed circuit. Sometimes, confident that he can't report me without revealing the store's surveillance, I cup a breast in my hands, caress and squeeze it, tweak and pinch its nipple, and circle its areola with one hand while I masturbate with my other hand, working the taut flesh back and forth and up and down upon the stiff, standing shaft of my trembling prick, pausing now and then to rub and squeeze my balls through the tight pouch of my risen scrotum. I'll continue, sometimes, until I shoot, spewing semen against the door or one of the walls of, best of all, the full-length mirror in which I watch myself being watched.



Another way to show off is to rip one's clothes. Whenever I decide to do this, I wear an old, inexpensive dress--something expendable. Instead of taking the bus, I drive, making sure I close the car door on my dress as I exit the vehicle. The fabric tears, and I act surprised and embarrassed to have shown the world my breasts, cock, balls, and ass. Usually, I hesitate, as if I don't know what to do, before trying to dash back inside my car. Of course, I make sure I've locked the doors, so I can't get back inside immediately. Then, I must find my purse, which I've not only dropped but flung away from me when my dress ripped from my body, struggle to open it, frantically look for my keys (taking a long time to find them), and, after another long delay, finally succeed in unlocking the door and getting into the car. I drive off, still naked, leaving my ripped dress behind me, on the parking lot pavement, a souvenir for anyone who may be interested in acquiring one by which to remember me.



Last night, I decided to employ the stratagem that I just described. I needed a consolation for having to forego the watching of a report on the damage that a series of hurricanes did as they cut a swath of terrifying death and destruction through Florida, Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Virginia. I had to work late, but, afterward, I visited a highway rest stop on my way home and changed into a special outfit.



Then, I visited a mall near my house. I pulled up and parked. I had on a faded, old sundress. To ensure that it ripped away easily, I had pulled out many of the threads along the seams. Swiveling in my seat, I placed my high-heeled shoes onto the pavement, and, as I stood, I closed the door firmly upon my dress. As I stepped away from my parked car, I heard a loud, satisfying ripping sound, and my dress fell away from me, exposing my pert breasts, my shapely legs, my compact buttocks, and my dainty cock and balls. Then, I went through the usual pantomime of locating my purse, retrieving my car keys, and unlocking the door. By the time I had gotten back inside my car, a crowd of men and women were staring, shocked, at me.



It was only as I drove off, leaving my tattered dress on the pavement as another potential souvenir, that I saw the TV camera and Mike Walling, a local reporter, who was interviewing members of the crowd.



Oh God! I thought, panicking. Had I been caught on TV?



At first, the thought that my whole, sordid little routine might have been caught on film was horrifying. If so, everyone in town--hell, everyone within the viewing distance of the local TV station (which is to say, everyone in Southern California) would see me get out of my car, apparently catch my dress in the door, and be stripped bare, showing my tits, ass, and male genitals! My secret would be known! Everyone who knew me would know the truth about me--that I wasn't the woman I appeared to be--that I was, in reality, a man with breasts--a chick with a dick--a shemale! Wherever I went, whether to work, to a party, out to dinner, or shopping, friends and strangers alike would know that, despite my beautiful, made-up face, my long tresses, my petite frame, my bouncing breasts, my sleek, tapering legs, and my womanly ass, I had a penis and testicles!



As I drove home, the idea became less horrifying--and more exciting. It was a relief, actually, to no longer have to hide the truth about myself to family members, friends, and acquaintances. At last, I could be who I am, I thought. I could be myself--my true self. I could be me.



Of course, there was a good chance that I hadn't been caught on tape, after all, I reminded myself. Mike had been interviewing the people at the mall about something--a local event, most likely. It was true that my little show had gone down in front of the men and women who'd gathered around the reporter, but that didn't mean that the camera had been pointed my way. It was unlikely, I thought, that the cameraman had had me in his viewfinder. Rather, his attention, like Mike's, would have been focused on the men and women that Mike was interviewing. Still, that didn't necessarily mean that I hadn't been filmed as part of the scene's background, I told myself, surprised to find a note of hope, rather than despair, in the thought. I'd gone from dreading to be seen in the film clip to hoping that I was part of the show. I shook my head as I drove my car into my drive way. Once an exhibitionist, always an exhibitionist, I thought.



Well, one way or another, I would know, soon enough, whether I'd been caught on film. As I said, I'm a news buff, and although I hadn't been able to watch the eleven o'clock news, I'd taped it so that I'd be able to view the program later. I was tired, and, before my little mishap at the mall, I'd planned to retire early tonight and watch the news tomorrow, but, now, things being what they were, I decided that sooner was better than later.



I took off my clothes, made myself a drink, sat on the couch, turned on the TV set, and started the VCR. A few commercials played. Then, there was a long report on the devastating destruction that the hurricane had wrought. In moving through Virginia, the damned thing had spawned thirty tornadoes, each of these smaller, but even more intense, whirlwinds contributing to the millions upon millions of dollars in storm damage. Everywhere, there were ruined houses and stores. Traffic signs fluttered in heavy winds, and telephone poles and power lines lay atop smashed cars and mounds of debris. At marinas, ships were thrown together, piers were smashed into splinters, and streets were flooded with three, four, and five feet of water. Cars, trucks, boats, and even rooftops floated through the downtown streets as torrential rains continued to fall, driven before continuous gusts of heavy winds.



More commercials followed these scenes of destruction, and then I sat up, expectant, as, on my TV screen, I saw the mall I'd visited earlier tonight. There was Mike Walling, interviewing an elderly man and his wife, asking them what they thought about "the hurricane and tornadoes that had visited such unprecedented destruction on the Southern and Atlantic coast states."



The old man smiled. "I'm glad it wasn't us they hit."



His wife nodded her agreement. "Suddenly, an occasional earthquake doesn't seem so bad, does it?"



Mike moved his microphone elsewhere, asking a young man "What about you? What are your thoughts concerning this terrible calamity?"



But I didn't hear his reply. I saw myself arrive; I parked my car, got out, took a step, and my dress ripped completely off me. True, I was in the background, behind the assembled crowd that Mike was interviewing, but the camera showed me clearly enough. Anyone who knew me would recognize me. Anyone I knew would now know that I am a woman with a man's genitals, a chick with a dick or, depending upon how they chose to think of me, a man with tits and a womanly ass. Again, I was horrified at the thought that my secret had been revealed to the world. I had outed myself!



Then, calmness returned as I realized that maybe this is what I'd wanted all along. Maybe I had wanted the world to know my secret. I hit the "Pause" button, freezing my transsexual image on my TV screen as I considered a startling idea. Maybe that was what had motivated me to exhibit myself, piecemeal, as it were, showing now my nipples, now my breasts, now my womanly buttocks, and, finally, my cock and balls along with everything else. Maybe, all this time, in exhibiting my charms, I had wanted the world to know that I was neither male nor female, but shemale--a sexy, hot creature that transcended sex and gender. Instead of being horrified, I became excited. My cock swelled, rising as it stiffened, and my balls bunched up inside my tightening scrotum. I took my rigid penis in my fist and began to masturbate as, with my free hand, I played with first one, and then my other, tit.



My secret was out--and I was glad.



As my hips bucked and thrashed, my penis convulsing in my fist, and my semen spurted fast and thick from my balls, I moaned, watching my frozen image on the TV screen--this was me, my true self, revealed for all the world to see. My seed continued to spurt from my trembling, lurching penis, and my nipples ached.



Soon, my telephone would begin to ring. Mom and Dad would call, offering their support. Friends would call, asking for an explanation. Others would call with words of praise of condemnation. But, for the moment, at least, I was alone with myself, alone with my thoughts, alone with the truth of who and what I was.



Shuddering from the most intense orgasm of my life, I thought of the millions of viewers who had seen me. I grinned, no longer horrified at the knowledge that others knew the truth about me, but delighted. Knowing that others knew my secret was wonderful and sexy.



Best of all, I had it on tape.



When I'd shot the last of my seed, I pressed the "Rewind" button. An exhibitionist-become-a-voyeur, I watched my outing of myself again and again, ejaculating every time. 



(Source: Film At Eleven)



FELLATIO



"Suck my cock," I instructed him.



He repositioned himself upon the bed. I closed my eyes and made my mind a tabula rasa, a blank slate, that I might know nothing and feel nothing but the sensations that Dean's lips and tongue and inner cheeks created as he nursed at my prick. His head bobbed up and down, and the ring of his rounded lips slid back and forth upon my stiff, swollen shaft. My cock strained within his oral embrace; my balls, risen within the tightened pouch of my scrotum, seemed to sing, an angelic choir, within my soul. . . .



He paused in his ministrations long enough to reply, "My mouth is a cunt."



I found the thought he'd thus expressed erotic in the extreme, and I let his words echo within my mind as he continued to kiss and lick and devour my manhood with the true zeal and gusto of a man who enjoys sex with other men and not only loves, but also truly worships, cock.



(Source: Rainbow Boys)



FOREPLAY



He and his date sat in the back seat of his brother's car, with Brad and Stephanie up front, which was fine with Dave, for he and Jenny had neither the obstacles of bucket seats nor the stick shift and console between them to contend with; they just had each other.



Jenny's warm, affectionate nature had emboldened Dave, who, nevertheless, found himself intimidated by her beauty, as the loveliness of girls always intimidated him. Despite the fact that Jenny had scooted across the bench seat as soon as Brad had parked the car, sliding close, so that she sat shoulder to shoulder, rib to rib, and hip to hip against Dave, and rested her soft curves and trim weight against his firmer, more angular frame, she still had to initiate the action between them, which made Dave feel foolish and boyish--but only for a few awkward moments. Once her dainty hand lit upon the column of his thigh, as a bird might light upon a branch, lust welled within him, his cock stirring, and he forgot to be awed by her beauty.



They turned toward one another, Jenny's hand gliding up the polyester fabric of his slacks, feeling like a warm current, to cup the mound of his balls and his swelling cock. She gave his genitals a gentle, friendly squeeze, as if she were making their acquaintance.



He returned her favor, letting his own palm glide along the silken flesh of her thigh. Her hand stopped him before he reached the silk panties she wore beneath her mini-skirt.



Their faces were close, mere inches apart, and she stared deeply into his eyes. He wasn't certain of the emotions they reflected. Did he see, in her gaze, love, passion, invitation--or were these feelings simply his own, projected onto her?



Her lips met his, and, before he knew it, they were kissing.



At first, the kiss was just a nuzzling of their lips; in a few moments, their lips parted, and their tongues penetrated one another's mouth, probing and swirling the wet, liquid interior. Jenny's hand squeezed his thick, hard cock, leaving him no doubt of her intentions, and Dave located her nearer breast, cupping the soft-firm mound beneath the halter top, and noticed that she, too, in her girly way, was erect and ready. Although small, her nipples were hard points beneath the thin fabric.



Dave slid his hand along Jenny's thigh again. As before, she allowed him to caress the length of her upper leg--until he got close to her panties. Then, her smooth hand intervened.



(Source: Boy Meets Girl)



GROUP SEX



If she beat him, it would have to be on his own terms--she would have to survive a gangbang--by demons.



Four demons surrounded Buffy. They were naked, with long cocks and huge balls. Buffy glared up at them as she examined their odd bodies. Like everything in this demon dimension, their physiques seemed to be perverse mockeries of all that was normal and natural. One was blue, another red, the third green, and the fourth orange. They weren't painted; these colors were the result of their own warped pigmentation. One had scales. Another had armor plate. The third was equipped with bony ridges. The last was arrayed with thorny spikes. As they stood round the Slayer, they manipulated their penises with clawed fists, coiled tentacles, talon-equipped paws, or the pronged tips of leathery wings.



Within minutes, the green demon had reached orgasm. He groaned loud and long, shaking his cock in Buffy's face. The hideous phallus, like the rest of his body, was equipped with bony ridges. The bony bands formed a spiral around the stiff, hard prick. His foul, olive-colored semen spurted from the tip of his prick, splattering against Buffy's face. A streamer unfurled in her hair. Another jet of the fetid seed spewed over Buffy's nose, coursing slowly down the bridge, past the corner of her mouth, and off her chin, dripping onto her bare breasts. A fourth squirt burst against the Slayer's forehead.



She started to wipe the fluid from her face with the back of her hand, but Baphomet forbade her from doing so. "Leave it! Bathe his cock with your tongue!" the devil commanded.



Buffy swallowed her disgust, extended her tongue and licked the semen from the demon's prick. The stuff was foul, bitter, vile. She gagged.



"All of it," Baphomet ordered.



Pausing to gag and retch, Buffy managed, at last, to lick up every last drop of the demon's sickening seed. Never had she tasted anything so appalling. She never wanted to taste anything as nasty again.



While she'd been licking the green demon's olive-colored semen from his cock, the red demon reached the point of no return. Moaning, he emptied his load of thick, viscid, crimson semen into Buffy's face. Like the olive-colored semen with which it mingled, the red was as thick and as sticky as syrup. It festooned the Slayer's hair, brow, and cheeks. A strand of the horrible stuff stretched across her left eye, from brow to cheek. The demon rammed its scaly penis between Buffy's lips, smearing them with the seed that seeped and oozed from the tip of its member. Buffy closed her eyes against the tears of humiliation and rage that welled within them, hating these demons, hating Anya, and, most of all, hating herself. She felt as if she were no better than a slut or a whore, although she knew, at the same time, that she had not chosen to participate in these vile acts; they'd been, as it were, thrust upon her. The crimson sperm tasted as hideous as the first demon's olive-colored seed, but Buffy choked it down.



As she was licking away the residue of the red demon's crimson semen, the blue, armor-plated fiend began to pump the flesh upon its cock furiously back and forth in its coiled tentacle, and a stream of sapphire semen gushed from its glans, splattering Buffy's lips and chin. The thick gunk trickled down her throat and breasts. The Slayer's face was streaked, smeared, and coated with olive-colored, crimson, and sapphire semen. It was quite colorful, in a grotesque fashion. More than anything, it was humiliating. Buffy kept her eyes and her mouth tightly shut, although, after each demon had ejaculated in her face, she was compelled to lick the excess scum from the brute's member, and the demons usually fucked her face, as their cocks remained stiff and swollen for some time after they'd climaxed before resuming their original flaccid state. She licked the cum from the red demon's scarlet cock and balls. It was as vile and nasty as its predecessors', tasting the way, Buffy imagined, vomit might taste. Like everything else in this hellish place, it was weird. The texture was not smooth; it was lumpy, like tapioca or oatmeal, the huge sperm within the semen giving it a coarse, unpleasant consistency. Buffy let a mouthful of the bitter seminal porridge dribble over her lower lip, down her chin, and onto her bosom. Three down, she thought, and one to go.



The orange demon had been masturbating frantically as he watched his brethren ejaculate in the Slayer's beautiful face. His eyes flicked from Buffy's cum-covered face, semen-smeared bosom, and stiff, standing cock. The female breasts and the male cock and balls seemed to excite him. Buffy had her eyes closed, but she'd seen that the spiny-skinned demon's cock, fortunately, was not bristling with spikes the way that the rest of his body was. For that, she was thankful, because a face full of those tiny barbs would be painful, and they might also be disfiguring. The orange demon began to moan, announcing that ecstasy was imminent. Buffy closed her eyes more tightly; she didn't want the imp's vile semen in her eyes. She felt a warm blast against her nostrils, another against her lips and chin, a third against her left cheek, a fourth against her right eye, and a fifth against her forehead. In addition, she felt a stinging sensation with each load of cum that splattered against her flesh. The thing's sperm were tiny spines, and the sharp missiles stung as they pierced her skin. Horrified, Buffy's eyes snapped wide, and her lower jaw dropped--just in time to receive the last couple of spurts of seed from the demon's stiff, swollen cock. The tiny needles of his sperm shot into her mouth, and she felt them, sharp-pointed missiles, pierce her tongue and the roof of her mouth. Quickly, she snapped her jaws shut, taking a volley of the pointed sperm in her lower lip. She'd managed to shut her eyes again before any of the tiny spears of semen had punctured her eyeballs.



Buffy's hair, brow, eyes, nose, cheeks, lips, and chin were awash in the demons' multi-colored semen. Gobs of blue, globs of orange, green lathers, and crimson froth decorated her features. Strands of sapphire, ribbons of ginger, olive-colored streamers, and pink banners bedecked and adorned the Slayer's pretty face; drops had dripped from her jaw and chin to her breasts, and she wore the bright globules like melted beads.



The Slayer felt humiliated, disgraced, mortified. Never would she have allowed anyone, man or demon, to abase her in such a manner, spewing their seed into her face while she knelt before them like a whore, had it not been necessary to rescue Willow from these fiends. She knew this as surely as she knew her own name, but the knowledge did not prevent her from feeling like a slut.

<hr pg="4" />"You are a mess," Baphomet called to her, chuckling, "but a colorful mess."



Buffy shot him a defiant glance, observing, in the process, that the giant demon, still seated upon his stone throne, with Willow upon his lap, was humping the witch. His cock was still huge and thick as a baseball bat. Willow winced with each thrust of his member into her tight, delicate pussy.



"Lean forward," the devil commanded Buffy. "Position yourself on your elbows and knees, legs well spread, with your ass in the air."



Buffy hesitated.



Baphomet dug his claws more firmly into Willow's tiny breasts, and the witch cried out in pain. "Do it! Now!" the devil ordered.



The Slayer obeyed, positioning herself as she'd been directed to do. She felt helpless in such a posture, her bare ass and the crescent curve of her cunt exposed from behind, her breasts, cock, and balls dangling beneath her in the front, the four demons' hideous cum trickling down her face and her bosom, a spectacle for Baphomet to enjoy and for poor Willow to witness as the devil continued to thrust his enormous cock into her pussy.



The next demon entered the throne room. He was tall, with a magnificent body--wide shoulders, deep chest, tight abs, sinewy thighs and calves, strong arms, a powerful back, and tight, compact buttocks. His arms ended not in hands, but in suction cups. His balls were huge, dangling within the wrinkled pouch of his scrotum almost to his knees and swaying with his every step. His two-pronged cock was erect. It jutted from his groin, stiff and swollen with lust. A second, smaller shaft--about the size of an average human penis--branched off the underside of the main shaft, which was massive, angling so that, if Buffy were in the missionary position, on her back, as the larger shaft entered her cunt, the smaller would impale her anus. With a flutter of dread in the pit of her stomach, Buffy realized that, in her present position, the larger cock would penetrate her asshole, while the smaller member slid into her pussy. She wasn't sure that her anus--or, for that matter, her rectum--would be able to accommodate such a huge organ. The monstrous cock might rip her entrails apart. Baphomet's words echoed in her mind: "You have sex with my guards. If you survive that, you have sex with me. If you survive that, you and the witch are free to go." Suddenly, the devil's conditions took on truly ominous significance.



After allowing Buffy a look at his bizarre genitals and the suction cups he possessed in lieu of hands, the demon took his place, kneeling behind the Slayer on the cold, hard, stone floor. She felt the thick glans of the longer penis slide past the inward-curving slopes of her sleek buttocks. The tip of the rubbery dome that topped the prick encountered Buffy's asshole. The tiny, puckered anus offered fierce resistance. Initially, despite his enormous strength, the fiend was unable to penetrate the Slayer's asshole. Like the rest of her, her anal sphincter was well toned and exceedingly strong.



The demon fastened his suction cups upon Buffy's breasts. She could feel them clutching her tits in their close-fitting, rubbery grasp. It felt almost as if her tits had simply become larger, acquiring more tissue--until the cups began to suck and squeeze her breasts. The sensations of the squeezing and the tickling, nursing sensations made Buffy weak in the knees and the stomach, and she moaned with intense pleasure, her nipples stiffening and swelling inside the suckling cups. Much to Buffy's annoyance and mortification, her cock, always erect, stiffened and swelled further.



Another inch of the demon's erection slid past Buffy's smooth, soft buttocks, as the fiend redoubled his effort to penetrate the Slayer's asshole. She felt the pressure build against her anus. The tiny opening widened before the tremendous force; Buffy felt her asshole spread, opening to admit the invading organ. She grit her teeth, closing her eyes, as deep feelings of revulsion and shame overcame her, and tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.



"Are you enjoying your friend's discomfort?" Baphomet asked Willow as he jammed his cock more deeply into her snug cunt.



Willow said nothing.



The devil tightened his claws in her breasts. Willow squealed. "Answer me, witch--or is it 'bitch'?"



"No," Willow replied.



Baphomet laughed. "You will."



The pressure building against Buffy's asshole, already tremendous, increased still more. Her anus spread further. Abruptly, the stout defense gave way, and the Slayer felt several inches of the huge organ slide past the circle of her anus. She gasped. At first, as the demon had tried to penetrate her, Buffy had felt discomfort; now that his cock was lodged within her buttocks, she felt pain and, with it, uncharacteristically, fear. She was terrified that the cock would prove too large for her ass to accommodate and that it would split her in half or shred her entrails. Moreover, the dreadful feeling of helplessness again swept over her, as did the rage and the sense of condemnation. Whore! Slut! Bitch! These words screamed themselves inside her head, and, she'd learned, there was no denying them, even when she knew that she was not a voluntary participant in these shameful, brutal acts; to rescue Willow, she had no choice but to allow the demons to use and abuse her in any way that they wished, no matter how degrading.



Her impaled asshole began to spasm, fluttering frantically about the thick, hard cock, as if in a desperate, but vain, effort to dislodge the invading member. The demon grinned, delighting in the flurry of sensations that the rapidly contracting and expanding ring of muscle produced along the shaft of his cock. Wonderful tendrils of pleasure and sparks of passion shot through his balls, and his own anus fluttered in response to hers. When the paroxysms subsided, the demon brutally shoved several more inches of his prick into Buffy's bowels. The Slayer gasped.



"Are you enjoying the show yet?" Baphomet asked Willow.



"Enjoy seeing my best friend abused by one of your fucking demons? Never!"



Baphomet chuckled. His eight-inch-long, forked tongue licked the witch's neck, leaving a trail of drool in its wake. He jiggled her breasts in his cupped hands and shoved and jerked his prick back and forth inside her cunt a few times. Willow's pussy streamed with her warm, thick juices. She hated herself for the natural responses her vagina made to being fucked. She was a lesbian. She loved women, not men--and certainly not a devil that had a huge, grotesque prick and heavy balls--and, unknown as yet to Buffy, who, unlike Willow, hadn't seen Baphomet's chest--a pair of beautiful, womanly breasts.



On the floor, the Slayer moaned, tears spilling from her closed eyes. The demon had slammed even more of its cock through her asshole, and, now, its second prick--or, rather, the smaller shaft that branched off from the underside of the larger one--brushed the lips of her cunt. Another inch of the upper shaft penetrated the Slayer's bottom; then, the smaller shaft slid past the petal-soft lips of Buffy's pussy. More tears, of pain and shame, spilled from her eyes.



The tickling, flicking sensations that assaulted Buffy's nipples sent delicious waves of pleasure through her breasts, clitoris, and balls. The suction cups that the demon had affixed to her tits were equipped with tongue-like appendages. Wet and flexible, these accessories licked and lapped the swollen buds of the Slayer's nipples. More and more waves of pleasure swept through her, even as she felt mortified and ashamed because of the cock buried in her ass and the other one that continued to seek access to her cunt.



Something wet also licked the Slayer's cock and balls. Buffy opened her eyes. A bright orange streamer of semen stretched from her left eyebrow to the bridge of her nose, partly obscuring her sight. She brushed it away with a fingertip. Looking down, past her dangling breasts, she spied the odd demon that Baphomet had identified earlier as his former consort, Baubo. The creature's back was toward Buffy, so she couldn't see the pretty face with the wide, mascara-framed eyes, the pert nose, and the bowed lips beneath the headless figure's coiffed hair. All Buffy could see was the demon's hair, which fell to its waist, and the smooth, shapely legs below its cute, dimpled buttocks. It was obvious, however, that Baubo was either sucking Buffy's cock or had inserted the Slayer's penis inside the cleft in its chin that was actually the entrance to its vagina. In any case, Buffy thought, it was damned disconcerting to see a human-like form that had neither neck, upper body, nor arms. Baubo, despite her pretty face, the cute labia-cleft in her chin, her lovely legs, her beautiful buttocks, and her stylish hair, remained but a caricature and a mockery of real women--no doubt, precisely as Baphomet intended her to be, looking like an armless, female version of Humpty Dumpty.



The demon with the double-pronged dick jammed more of the larger branch of his cock into Buffy's asshole, and she shuddered, biting back a scream of pain and fear, not willing to admit her helplessness and her terror. The second, smaller branch of the fiend's cock slid deep into Buffy's pussy, and she felt her cunt juices rise in response, lubricating her pussy. Her asshole was not lubricated, however, and it was not meant to be fucked. As a consequence, the massive organ that filled it beyond its capacity was painful, as was every deeper thrust that it made into her rectum. Buffy was thankful, in an ironic, perverse way, that the clutching, stroking, licking sensations of the suction cups on her breasts and Baubo's mouth and tongue on her cock and balls took the edge off the discomfort and pain that being impaled by a huge cock in her ass and a lesser one in her cunt caused her to suffer. The mixture of pain and pleasure was, she realized, titillating, despite the incongruity of the two opposing sensations and the conflicting feelings, both physical and psychological, that their simultaneous experience stirred inside her. Buffy knew that she was being abused emotionally as well as sexually, but she almost no longer cared; she would rather give in to the confusion, become friends with the chaos, and enjoy the mixed feelings of pain, pleasure, guilt, fear, revulsion, self-contempt, and sexual passion. She'd like to abandon herself to these delicious, conflicting, tormenting sensations and emotions, letting them overwhelm her and possess her. The pain of the cock-thrusts into her cunt and ass were not contradicted, but complemented, by the tickling sensations in her nipples and breasts and the waves of pleasure that dashed along her cock and exploded in her balls. Bitch! Slut! Whore! She no longer minded the words that shouted themselves in her mind. In fact, she rather liked being called such vile names. They were sexy.



Buffy's cock slipped out of Baubo's mouth, and she licked the smooth skin of the stiff, elongated shaft with her tongue. Baubo had no hands, but, even so, she was a superb cock sucker. More than once, she brought the Slayer to the brink of orgasm, then backed off, letting Buffy's sexual passion abate before she mounted another oral assault upon the young woman's perpetually hard prick, pausing to lap at the taut skin of the scrotum that surrounded Buffy's risen testicles. The suction cups also intensified and then lessened the nuzzling-licking-squeezing-nursing-caressing-pumping actions that they performed upon Buffy's cupped breasts, sending waves of pleasure undulating through her bosom and her cunt. These wonderful, delightful sensations both detracted from and enhanced the discomfort and pain that Buffy experienced as the demon's monster cock lunged and plunged through the impaled anus between Buffy's bouncing buttocks.



The demon's balls pressed firmly against Buffy's upper thighs, its matted pubic hair rasping against the cleavage between her buttocks, as both prongs of its cock shoved into their respective orifices, all the way to the root. She could feel the stiff columns touching one another through the thin walls that separated her pussy and her rectum; they slid back and forth against one another as the demon double-fucked her with its two-pronged prick, adding both to its own sensations and to Buffy's as well. Back and forth, with greater rapidity and force each time, the demon rammed his pricks through Buffy's asshole and cunt, the former remaining dry while the latter released a flood of her warm, rich cunt juices. Buffy had never had a cock up her ass at the same time that she was being fucked in the cunt, and the flood of sensations, confounded even more by the welter of sensations that she felt in her nipples, areolas, breasts, clitoris, cock, and balls, overwhelmed her. She gasped, moaned, and, finally, screamed.



"Buffy!" Willow cried in alarm.



Baphomet laughed, thrusting his cock into the witch. "She's not hurt," he explained. "She's in the throes of ecstasy."



Buffy had always thought the use of fireworks to represent orgasm was an exaggerated metaphor, but, now, in the grip of the greatest orgasm she'd ever experienced, the Slayer realized that, if anything, the metaphor was a pale visualization of the event. As her semen burst from her convulsing cock, into Baubo's hungry maw, Buffy's heart stammered, her breath came in gasps, her thighs shuddered, and her asshole trembled violently about the cock that penetrated her. She felt as if she'd died and come back to life a thousand times within the few seconds that it took for her to release the reservoir of sperm she ejaculated. At the same time, as Buffy reached orgasm, the suction cups fell from her breasts, and she felt the demon's hips press hard against her rear; a shudder ran through the fiend, and he howled, jerking his double-pronged dick from the Slayer's asshole and cunt to let the shafts spew his warm, viscid seed over her back, her ass cheeks, her perineum, her labia, and the backs of her thighs so that Buffy was kneeling in a pool of the thick fluid.



Baubo continued to lick Buffy's semen from the Slayer's still-stiff cock and the double-dicked demon wiped the dregs of his oozing semen over the Slayer's cum-covered buttocks until Baphomet ordered them to desist. Reluctantly, upon their master's command, the lesser demons withdrew, leaving Buffy with a sore, gaping asshole, dripping, like most of the rest of her, with cum. Although she was aware that the demons had left, she remained in place, upon her elbows and knees, legs spread wide, with her ass in the air, showing her cavernous, well-reamed anus, her eyes upon the semen-covered floor.



Willow didn't like the change that had come over her friend. Buffy had always been aggressive and confident, defiant and courageous. On her elbows and knees, in a pool of demon scum, her face and breasts, back, thighs, buttocks, and pussy bedecked, bejeweled, and garlanded in loops and beads and splatters of demon semen, she didn't look anything like the self-assured, kick-ass Slayer that Willow had known since their early high school days. She looked defeated, humbled, humiliated.



"Look at me," Baphomet commanded.



Obediently, Buffy raised her head, her hollow, empty eyes gazing upon the magnificent devil seated upon the stone throne, his huge cock stuffing Willow's cunt. Buffy wanted to look away, to avert her eyes. Baphomet's gaze was fiery and intense, like glowing coals. They seemed to burn into Buffy's heart and soul. However, to look away would be to invite the devil's wrath, for he had told her to look at him, and he had not given her permission to look away.



"You have acquitted yourself well--so far," the devil informed Buffy, "but one match remains. If you survive it, you will pit yourself against me in a final contest. If you win, you may take Willow and return to your homeland. If you lose, you will join the witch as my consort and live here, with me, forever. Do you understand?"



Buffy nodded, not trusting her voice. She was afraid her words might waver or that she might cry.



Baphomet shoved Willow, and the witch stumbled away from him, tripping on one of the stairs that led up to the throne, and slid through a pool of demon semen, coming to a stop a few feet from Buffy. The devil stood, and Buffy saw its round, firm, high tits. Baphomet, like her, was a hermaphrodite--well, not quite. He was even more of a travesty of human sexuality than she was, for, despite her cock and balls, she had retained her cunt as well as her breasts, whereas the devil who now stood before her, cock erect, had no pussy. Instead, Baphomet had only the sexual accoutrements of the male sex, except for the beautiful, womanly breasts that adorned his chest. He was like Buffy--in her present, transformed state--but he was also different from her. Besides, Buffy's hermaphroditic state was the result of her having been bitten by a Feral demon; Baphomet's was self-induced, chosen. A spark of Buffy's inner fire flared. Her hesitant gaze became a glare. Baphomet grinned. The contest was far from over.



The next demon to challenge Buffy had a feminine form. Actually, she looked like a human female, and a beautiful one at that. She had lustrous black hair, wide blue eyes, a thin, pert nose, and full, sensuous lips. Her neck was long and graceful, and her breasts were full, high, round, and firm. Her abdomen was slightly concave, and her hips were girlishly narrow. Her pubes were trimmed neatly, and the cleft of her sex showed at the nadir of her groin. Her legs were long, slender, and shapely. Her buttocks were full and soft, yet firm, and sleek. The only characteristic that gave her away as being a demon, as far as Buffy could determine, was the lizard-like tail that grew from the small of her back and ended at the tops of her calves. It swished back and forth in a wary, rather than a friendly, manner. The woman-thing approached Buffy. When it was close, it lay down on the semen-smeared floor, parting its legs wide, and waited.



"Lick her cunt," Baphomet instructed Buffy. "Eat her pussy."



The Slayer hesitated. Unlike Willow, Buffy wasn't a lesbian. The only other woman with whom she'd had sex was Anya. However, since the Feral demon's bite had bestowed both a penis and a pair of testicles upon her, Buffy hadn't been as repulsed by the idea of making love to another woman as she would have been before. This creature was no woman, though, no matter how much, excluding the lizard's tail, it might resemble one. It was a loathsome, disgusting demon--unlike Anya, whom Buffy knew and regarded as a friend--at least before Willow's abduction as a result of Anya's spell, this one, despite her beguiling beauty, was all fiend.



"Remember our agreement," Baphomet said. "You have sex with my guards. If you survive that, you have sex with me. If you survive that, you and the witch are free to go."



Reluctantly, Buffy knelt before the sacrilegious altar of the demon-woman's cunt. The creature responded by rolling backward, extending its legs over its shoulders, and presenting its buttocks and cunt to the Slayer.



Grimacing, Buffy leaned forward, placing the tip of her moist, pink tongue against the bud of the demon's erect clitoris. Already, the fiend's cunt was wet. Buffy lapped at the hooded clit, and the demon moaned, writhing its hips. Buffy licked harder. The clitoris stirred, stiffening more. It lengthened.



"Kiss it," Baphomet commanded. 



Buffy obeyed the devil's command, kissing the demon's clitoris. She stoked the still-lengthening shaft with her tongue. It was wet with the imp's juices. Despite herself, Buffy was becoming excited. Her nipples stiffened and swelled, and her cock pulsed. She supposed it was the extra testosterone that her testicles produced in addition to the meager supply that her pituitary gland furnished that made her so hot and horny, so turned on by a cunt in her face and her licking another woman's--or, rather, another female's--clit. She bent closer to the demon's sopping pussy, inserting the tip of her nose into the wet, slick crevice, and lifted her head slowly, trailing her nose through the smooth furrow. Next, she licked the groove, tasting the demon's warm juices. Her face shone with the demon-pussy's lubricant.

<hr pg="5" />Willow, lying upon the stone floor, where Baphomet had flung her, watched, wide eyed, as her best friend licked and nuzzled and stroked and petted and kissed the demon's clit, labia, and cunt. Buffy was obviously enjoying herself, and the sight of the blonde-haired honey relishing a flooded pussy enflamed Willow's lesbian passions. She'd give anything to be in the female demon's place. She thought about touching herself, but Willow didn't want release. She wanted the sexual tension inside her to mount. She wanted to feel hornier. Already, her pussy was swamped with her juices. If she were to start masturbating, she'd reach orgasm in an instant. Then, although she'd obtain relief, the wonderful feeling of being aroused would dissipate. Besides, she was more interested in watching Buffy eat pussy than she was in masturbating.



As she licked the demon's wet, slick pussy, Buffy's own cunt became soaked, and her juices trickled, then streamed, down her smooth thighs. A drop of Cowper's fluid, or pre-cum, formed a clear bead at the slit atop the glans of her rigid, upright penis. Her balls were high in her tight, risen scrotum, and they ached painfully, in need of orgasm's release, despite the fact that, just minutes ago, she'd ejaculated a generous reserve of her molten seed.



As Buffy continued to lick and lap and kiss the female demon's genitals, Willow studied the Slayer's asshole. With Buffy bent well forward at the waist, lapping cunt, her buttocks were spread above the crescent of her parted pussy, and the witch could see that the Slayer's anus remained as gaping as it had been when the double-dicked demon had fucked her fore and aft with his two-pronged phallus. Her asshole was huge--the size of a ping pong ball. The wide-stretched circle allowed Willow actually to look down, into her friend's ass and see the smooth, pink walls of Buffy's rectum. It was hard to believe that Buffy had survived having been fucked in her tight, fine ass by as enormous a prick as her demon lover had possessed. The power, the force, and the strength of the demon made Willow recall the times when, before she'd discovered the true nature of her sexuality, she and Oz had fucked. Even as a high school boy, between the times when full-moon madness transformed him into a werewolf, Oz had had terrific strength and stamina but, although he'd never fucked Willow in the butt, the witch didn't think that he'd have been able to ream her asshole the way the demon had reamed Buffy's, nor did Willow think that she could have taken such a pounding. If she and Tara hadn't made such fantastic lovers, Willow might, even now, consider returning to Boys' Town. However, her relationship with Tara had proven to Willow, once and for all, that her allegiance was with other women, socially, politically, emotionally, and sexually. Still, it had been highly erotic to see Buffy take a cock in both her cunt and her ass, just as it was thrilling to consider the results of her having been assaulted anally. The Slayer's gaping asshole was exciting as hell.



The wet, slurping sounds that Buffy made as she licked the demon's cunt were also titillating. Buffy stroked the fiend's hooded clitoris with the tip of her tongue, nuzzled it with her lips, and bit gently at it with her teeth. The demon writhed, and her hips thrashed. Her legs flexed and bent. Her cunt was a river, an ocean.



As Buffy drank the demon's cunt juices, she noticed that there was something else, besides the lizard-like tail, that marked the creature as a fiend. The imp's clitoris had lengthened to the size of a man's cock! It was seven inches long and as big around as a plump sausage. It differed only from an uncut cock in that there was no slit at its tip--no glans meatus, were the correct anatomical term to be used--and there was no glans as such--no purple-blue dome, or cock head. There were also no balls. The more Buffy continued to lick and stroke the damned thing, the longer and thicker and firmer it became.



Willow crawled toward the couple. She wanted that demon-clitoris in her cunt.



Baphomet said nothing, allowing the witch to join the others. While Buffy had licked the demon's pussy, the devil had masturbated, ejaculating great, thick gobs of viscid semen from his enormous prick. Now, he wiped the fluid onto his breasts, as if it were a lotion. The semen frothed under his rotating palms.



Willow reached the Slayer and her demon lover. "Buffy," she rasped, her voice hoarse with pent-up desire.



"Willow!" Buffy turned her shining, wet face toward her friend, and smiled.



Willow grinned. "You really know how to turn a gal on," she confided, nodding toward the supine demon. "My pussy's drenched from watching you service her."



"Want some?" Buffy asked.



"Yours or the demon's?"



Buffy arched an eyebrow.



"The demon's?" Willow interpreted.



"Of course," Buffy said. "You're Gay Girl, not me."



"You could have fooled me, Buff, the way you were, like, chowing down on demon muff."



Moving out of Willow's way, Buffy frowned at her friend. "Don't be a smart ass. You know I had no choice."



Willow straddled the demon, guiding the now-nine-inch clitoris through her labia and into the warm, wet interior of her cunt. "Oooh! This is wonderful!" she cried as she gyrated her hips. Lifting her haunches, the redhead let herself drop back down upon the penis-size clitoris. "Uh!" She repeated the motion again and again, with increasing force and rapidity. "Uh! Uh! Uh!" The demon-clit felt similar to Oz's cock, when he'd used it to fuck her, years ago, except that, since it was a huge clitoris instead of a dick that lunged into her pussy, it was, emotionally, much more pleasurable for the lesbian witch.



The demon seemed to enjoy the act as much as Willow. Its tail swooped between its legs and arched over Willow's back. The tip, finding the witch's anus, slipped through the ring of muscle, penetrating the redhead's ass. As Willow rode its clit-cock, the demon worked her tail deeper and deeper into her rectum. As the tail progressed into Willow's bowel, it thickened rather than narrowed, since it tapered from the thicker part that grew out of the imp's back to the slender tip at the other end. Willow's asshole widened more and more as additional inches of the thickening tail insinuated itself into the witch's backside.



(Source: Buffy the Shemale Vampire Slayer, Chapter 9)



INCEST



I beheld the beauty of my sister's nakedness stretched out before me on the bed we would share this night. I hadn't realized the extent of my studies or of my knowledge of this forbidden act until these details concerning the history and religious aspects of family sex ran through my mind at this moment (of all moments). The realization that incest, even between siblings, had not been everywhere prohibited by all peoples at all times and had seemingly even been approved and enjoined by God on at least some occasions emboldened me, and I slipped my thick, hard cock through my sister's wet, slippery labia and into the velvet-soft, saturated tissues of her bright-pink cunt.



"Yes!" June prompted me at once. "Fuck me, darling brother! I want it fast and hard!"



I entered her to my balls, paused a moment, luxuriating in the warm, wet feel of her depths, and then withdrew the column of thick, hard flesh upon which I'd impaled her. When only the tip of my erection remained within the lips of her cunt, I drove my member forward again, plunging into her sopping depths, Again and again, with as great a force and speed as I could manage, I fucked my sister. Within minutes, I felt the telltale signs of orgasm, and, as ecstasy seized me, I jerked my cock free of June's pussy and spewed my thick, white semen over her belly, breasts, and face. So intense was my orgasm that I ejaculated several streamers of semen onto the pillow and headboard as well as upon my sister's lovely face and golden hair.



I remained within the embrace of her liquid sex until my penis wilted, becoming flaccid again. My labored breathing slowed. My racing pulse and fluttering heart decelerated. My muscles relaxed. Sperm oozed from my shriveled prick. As I regained my strength, conflicting emotions asserted themselves. I felt wonderfully satisfied and content. At the same time, though, on a deeper, perhaps primeval, level, I felt guilty and ashamed. I had fucked my own sister! I told myself. Despite my rationalizations of the act, I was haunted by the sense that I had committed a forbidden act. I had crossed a line. I had done that which was forbidden.



"That was wonderful," June said.



Apparently, my lovely sister, awash in my semen, did not share my sense of wrongdoing and guilt.



"Yes," I said lamely, "it was."



(Source: Brotherly Love)



MASOCHISM



Gary had taken his clothes off in front of another man. He'd allowed another man to spank him with his hand, to paddle him, and to beat his ass with two belts. He'd let another man turn his ass from pink to red to purple. He'd drunk another man's piss. He'd sucked another man's cock and swallowed his ejaculate. He'd allowed himself to be reduced to tears, humiliated beyond belief, and physically and emotionally abused. Why? What had possessed him to acquiesce to such maltreatment? More importantly, what was the matter with him that he'd permitted such mistreatment to begin with? Where was his self-respect, his self-esteem? No man who cared about himself would do the things he'd done.



Why had Gary?



He was submissive--but what did that mean? He liked to please. He hated to say no. He wanted to be popular. All his life, he'd wanted others to like and to accept him. He was acquiescent, compliant, obedient--in a word, submissive. Although these words defined him perfectly, Gary had long pretended otherwise, claiming that he was rebellious, insubordinate, resistant, and, if not dominant, assertive. His behavior today, in this motel room, with Russ, showed which of these two versions of himself was true. Gary was a wimp. He'd done everything that Russ had ordered him to do. He'd proven himself to be Russ' servant, Russ' slut, Russ' bitch. Although he'd tried to reject it, the truth was, as he'd found out, that he was a dependent personality, unable to think or feel or judge for himself. His sense of self, like his sense of self-worth, depended upon other people--people who were only too happy to use him for their own purposes and pleasures, as Russ had done and would continue to do, if Gary allowed it, which, of course, was so likely as to be a foregone conclusion.



It was said of actors and actresses in general that they lacked a true self. Therefore, they were able, as it were, to become any character. People with fully developed identities, it was said, had much more difficulty in pretending to be other individuals. Ray Bradbury had written a short story that seemed to support this idea. In his story, an extraterrestrial shape shifter took whatever form people wanted him to adopt, becoming a son to a childless couple, a brother to an only child, or a child who'd been slain in an accident. The problem for him was that everyone he met wanted him to be someone other than himself, and, in trying to please everyone at once, he overstressed his vital organs and died. The moral of the story was not lost on Gary, but he'd found a solution. Although a person couldn't please everyone, he could, at least sometimes, please one person. For the present--and, Gary hoped, from now on--this one person would be Russ. By satisfying and pleasing Russ, Gary could find acceptance, an identity, security, and, eventually, maybe even a semblance of love.



But there was another reason that Gary had allowed Russ to use him. Gary regarded himself as a loser. He was a nobody and a nothing. He was so worthless that he deserved to be punished, and, since he was infinitely unworthy, he deserved endless punishment, the crueler the better. Through suffering for others, he might, someday, become worthy by providing a worthwhile service, as had, for example, the whipping boys of the middle ages. It was unseemly that a prince should be spanked or beaten, for he was of royal blood. Therefore, when it was considered necessary that a wayward heir to the throne be disciplined for misbehavior, it was not his ass, but that of his stand-in, the whipping boy's, to be flogged. Gary saw himself as serving a like function for men who were, by virtue of their dominance and aggressiveness, his superiors.



By serving and servicing Russ' needs and desires, by fulfilling his every whim, Gary would be sacrificing himself in the interest of Russ' emotional and spiritual health and happiness. As a result, by making himself useful in this manner, his own otherwise miserable existence would become worthwhile; he would, over time, perhaps thereby redeem himself. That which was unworthy might become worthy. Of course, the spankings would continue, even when he had become worthy, for they alone, along with the other services, such as fellatio and his imbibing the golden nectar of Russ' bladder, would continue to make him worthy. Russ was providing an even greater service to Gary than Gary was providing for him, for it was Russ' use and abuse of him that bestowed upon the worthless Gary whatever worthiness he was thereby given and by Russ' use and abuse of him that Gary continued to maintain such worthiness.



These revelations did not come to Gary immediately. They were insights born of hours of reflection concerning why he took pleasure in being used by another man and why he felt joy at being abused by another man. However, once Gary had attained this wisdom, all the many spankings he'd received during the set that Russ had bestowed upon him during their first session had been well worth it. Now, for the first time in his life, thanks to the help of his mentor, Gary had come to understand who he was and why he was as he was. A great, perplexing mystery had been resolved, and the pieces of his personality had, as it were, come together, completing a whole of his fractured psyche. By the stripes that Russ had inflicted upon Gary's satin-smooth buttocks, Russ had healed him. He had made Gary whole.



By their fourth session, Gary understood these facts, intuitively if not yet completely consciously, and, when Russ demanded that Gary submit to the receipt of anal intercourse, Gary willingly acquiesced to being penetrated in this manner by his mentor's rigid cock, just as Russ had earlier predicted to himself that Gary would do.



Gary positioned himself on his elbows and knees atop the bed, with Russ behind him. The mattress dipped and swayed as Russ, also on his knees, positioned himself between Gary's widespread legs. Then, Gary felt a thickness between his buttocks, followed by a firm pressure against his anus. The pressure increased, and Gary's asshole began to spread. His ass' sphincter opened, and Russ' ramrod-stiff cock shoved deep into Gary's rectum.



Gary's asshole fluttered frantically about Russ' invading member. Russ' prick remained lodged inside Gary's asshole, and Russ felt the ring of muscle grip and squeeze his penis repeatedly, seemingly frantically. Russ waited until the spasms of Gary's anus subsided. Then, he drew his hips back, tugging his thick, hard cock back through Gary's asshole until only the glans remained within Gary's anus. After a few moments' pause, Russ plunged his cock back through Gary's asshole, again sending his erect organ deep into Gary's bowel.



Gary frowned, grimacing. He'd never had a prick up his ass, and the feeling of having his behind crammed full of cock was both exciting and uncomfortable, both in the physical and the emotional sense. In having drunk Russ' piss and sucked his cock, Gary had demonstrated his submissiveness, but, in being fucked in his ass, he was being unmanned. He was losing his masculinity. He could no longer think of himself as virile. He was just a slut, just a bitch, just a whore. Part of him cringed at what was happening to him--at what he was allowing to happen to him--but another, larger part of him wanted to be fucked in the ass.



Russ jerked his organ back down Gary's bowel and slammed it home again, driving it deep into the tender, soft tunnel of Gary's rectum. As he continued to fuck Gary, increasing both the force and the intensity of his thrusts with each renewed assault on Gary's bottom, Russ thought of how his prick would look sliding back and forth inside Gary's ass, as viewed from various angles. From beneath and slightly behind them, a viewer could see Russ' pumping ass; his cock, extending straight out in front of him, but half buried inside Gary's ass; and Gary's own prick, jutting straight out from his balls, just before the short stretch of Gary's perineum, which separated cock from cock.



Seen from a slightly different perspective--below and slightly in front of them--the focus would be upon Gary's erection and balls before following the upward curving perineum to Russ' penis, jammed through the lower cheeks of Gary's ass.



If one were located behind them both, such an observer might see nothing of Russ but his lower buttocks and his balls, shoved as far into Gary's bottom as possible, Russ' dick completely lost to view inside Gary's ass, and Gary's erect cock pointing down between his full, dangling balls.



Other angles would reveal other sides of their cocks, balls, buttocks, and legs, showing, for example, Russ crouched over Gary, almost standing, his hands clutching the top edge of the bed's headboard, his ass atop Gary's ass; his legs, bent at the knees, with his thighs and calves straddling Gary's upper legs; his balls filling the cleavage at the lower halves of Gary's impaled buttocks; Gary's semi-erect cock and loose balls pointing between Gary's thighs.



Yet another view of the couple might show Gary's face close up, his brow furrowed in a frown, his eyes pleading, the tip of his tongue, pink and moist, protruding from the corner of his mouth, his ass, seen from above, a tight Valentine-shaped heart split from behind by Russ' erection, perhaps with Russ' hands resting upon the sides of Gary's impaled buttocks.



To Russ, the sexiest thing about anal intercourse was the juxtaposition of two thick, hard cocks, one buried inside a man's firm, tight ass, the other pointed forward or upward, useless and redundant. Seeing a cock wedged tightly inside a guy's asshole while the skewered partner's own cock dangled uselessly between his thighs, possibly having spewed its seed, was one of the most beautiful sights that Russ had ever seen or wanted to see and, thinking about this vision now, as he fucked Gary's ass, kept Russ' cock thick and hard.



Russ slammed into Gary's ass, flattening his cheeks before each assault. As Russ withdrew his penis, preparing to launch it again into Gary's depths, Gary's buttocks bounced back to their normal fullness. Russ' penis vanished through the wide-stretched anus of Gary's ass, deep into Gary's rectum, and then, slowly, reemerged to strike again. The constant ramming of his ass brought Gary to orgasm, and his prick spurted semen onto his stomach, pubes, and thighs. Great gobs of the thick, white fluid were splattered everywhere across his chest and thighs. It also ran in thick white ribbons down his erection. Light shone upon the semen streamers; they looked like melted pearls.



Russ threw back his head, shutting his eyes tightly, and gasped as an intense orgasm swept over and through him. He seemed to be spurting out through his convulsing cock, along with his thick, warm seed. Jet after jet of his viscid, white seed spewed from his lurching straining cock, flooding Gary's ass. Russ jerked his hips backward, removing his still-erupting prick from Gary's gaping, semen-smeared asshole, and Russ' sperm continued to splash and splatter Gary's ass, branding him, as it were, with the very essence of Russ' virility and manhood.

<hr pg="6" />Russ, spent and exhausted, fell forward, collapsing atop Gary, and Gary felt his weight upon him, felt Russ' heart beating between his shoulder blades, felt Russ' hot breath upon his neck, felt Russ' dwindling cock loll against the backs of his semen-smeared thighs.



After it was over, Russ drove Gary home.



Russ held up his cell phone. "When I call you, be ready," he commanded.



"I will," Gary promised. He started to open the door and exit Russ' car, but Russ caught his arm. Gary turned toward him, a quizzical look on his face.



"I own you," Russ said. "you're nothing without me."



Gary nodded. "I know."



"You may go--until I call."



"Yes, sir."



Gary got out of the car, and Russ drove off, without saying goodbye or glancing back. He drove to his own home, went to his basement, and nailed two more pegs into the wall among those upon which paddles, whips, and various other spanking implements hung. 



This pair of pegs would support the bamboo cane that Russ would next use on Gary's poor ass. A cane was the cruelest implement of all. Its every lash would leave an agonizing gash behind that swept a debilitating fiery pain throughout Gary's ass, bowels, groin, and belly.



Russ would give Gary a week off, a week to heal, and then, with the bruises and lacerations on Gary's ass faded to scars, Russ would make a telephone call. Gary would be ready; he would answer the summons; he would come. Then, the cane would earn its place among the other instruments in Russ' collection, and Russ would place it there, with reverence and care, upon the pair of pegs he'd just installed for that very purpose, at which time, Russ' collection would finally be complete. 



(Source: First Timer: The Aftermath)



MASTURBATION



My cock had become small and limp. I squeezed it in my fist, mercilessly and relentlessly, until the blood collected again in its spongy tissues and the recalcitrant organ again bloated and stretched, standing erect and ready for action, although the only action it would enjoy would be that which was supplied to it by Rosy Palm and her sisters, the Four Fingers.



While the others enjoyed themselves--and each other--Nathan masturbated, like me. I watched him stroke his cock while I stroked my own dick. Like the rest of him, his prick and balls were beautiful, manly, and sexy--totally tubular! I watched as his penis stiffened and swelled, standing upright like mine, the pink glans ripening to deep purple as his balls rose inside his contracting scrotum. I wanted to take it in my hand, in my mouth, up my ass. I wanted him to pound me, to fuck my face or my butt, as hard and fast as he could pump his hips. I wanted his semen on my face and lips and teeth and tongue. I wanted his sperm deep in my bowels. I wanted to fuck him, too, and spew my own hot seed over his brow and nose and eyelids and cheeks and lips and chin and chest and belly and pubes. I wanted to spurt my semen inside his ass, along the furrow of his buttocks, against his perineum, and across his firm-smooth ass cheeks. I wanted to be mastered by him--and to master him. None of my wishes came true, of course, any more than they ever did. Instead, he ignored me, as he and his kind always did and always have.



Watching Nathan and Jimmy and Barry and Clay and Tony the Newcomer had has one effect on me, though: my limp, soft dick had become thick and hard again--like a metal, rather than a fleshly, rod. The sights and sounds of them making love as they sucked or were sucked, fucked or were fucked, or masturbated had also brought me close to orgasm. If I couldn't actually join the guys, I could at least get close to one and, since it was Tony who was unattached, he might as well be the one with whom I got cozy, I thought, especially since the look on his handsome face indicated that he, like me, was close to the point of no return. Maybe we could come together!



I stood, crossed the room, and pointed my dick right into his face. He pretended he didn't know that I was there, bit, of course he did. How could he not know? I mean, sure, his eyes were closed, but the tip of my prick was touching his forehead. He had to know. He just acted as if he were none the wiser. They all did, always.



His brow furrowed as he concentrated on the urgent, rising tide of pleasure welling within his groin--I felt the same, overwhelming sensations of pleasure rising within my body--and within my soul. The flood of ecstasy filled me--filled us, for Tony was feeling the same irresistible, overpowering sensations within his balls and loins and chest and brain that had ignited themselves in mine, and his twisted features, gasping breath, clenched teeth, and urgent moans told me he was as close to orgasm as I was--maybe even in the throes of passion, as I was--then, suddenly, all thoughts were lost as I felt the rush of orgasm become ejaculation, my passion seeming to spurt and spurt from my pulsating penis along with the warm, thick streamers of semen that splattered against Tony's enraptured face. My sperm shot in volleys against his flawless features. I looked down at his face, beatific in ecstasy, and saw that my semen dribbled from his chin, onto his chest and coursed down his sexy, six-pack abs, toward his own stiff-standing, ejaculating cock.



(Source: Totally Tubular)



SADISM



Russ clutched the ping pong paddle's handle. The short wood grip felt good. He flexed his fist around the smooth pine shaft. He laid the blade of the paddle on Gary's red-and-purple ass. Russ' hand had done its usual expert job in transforming a creamy white ass into a pretty display of pink, red, purple, and black and blue patches. Gary's bottom looked much better this way, although, in its own way, it was quite attractive even before the initial spanking, although a bit pale. Russ had done all that he could accomplish with his hand. To further beautify Gary's ass cheeks, he'd need to resort to the paddle he now held in hand. With it, Russ could add a spattering of light bruises. The constellations of contusions would highlight the broader discolorations. They'd look superb in the mirror, should Gary wish to inspect Russ' handiwork, as Russ had no doubt he would. They always did.



Gary had come further along in surrendering himself to Russ' superior will than he probably realized. Just by being here with him today, in this motel room, lying across Russ' lap, naked, with his defenseless ass at Russ' mercy, Gary had reached a point of no return. Even if he never saw Russ again (which was so unlikely as to be unthinkable), Gary would remember the spanking he'd already received and the ones that were yet to come during their first session together. Allowing oneself to be spanked by another man changed a man irreversibly, for it was the first step in surrendering one's autonomy--and one's masculinity. Of course, Gary would return. Once he accepted his role--his nature--as a nobody and a nothing, he'd delight in serving--and servicing--Russ. Like women, most submissive men, once they'd been broken, were eager sluts.



It was easy to break a man, Russ thought. It was much easier than breaking a wild horse. All that one had to do was to give him what he wanted, which was security. Submissive men, Russ had found, more often than not tended to be dependent men. They were anxious about themselves, about others--about everything, really. For whatever reason, they were not equipped to be assertive. They lacked self-confidence and self-esteem, although, outwardly, they might seem to be both secure and content about themselves. They sought from other, aggressive and dominant men, the power and strength and confidence that they themselves lacked. They didn't seem to understand that such characteristics could not be acquired by submitting to spankings, sucking cock, or taking another man's prick up their asses. They believed that by submitting their wills and their bodies to men who were stronger and more virile than they were, they could somehow share in their masters' strength and manliness. These fallacious beliefs were fine with Russ; he wasn't about to disabuse guys like Gary of the errors of their thinking. He was going to enjoy them, as he was enjoying Gary now.



Gripping the handle of the paddle firmly, Russ lifted the instrument high over his head. He trained his eye on the center of Gary's ass, at the middle of the cleavage that separated his firm, but soft, smooth buttocks. His arm flashed down. The paddle's blade struck Gary's ass a tremendous blow, flattening the sleek mounds beneath its impact. Against the muscles of Gary's backside, the paddle made a loud CRACK! that sounded almost like a gunshot. Gary's legs kicked hard, and his chest and shoulders rocked upward. Crying out, he threw a hand behind him, to protect his ass, but the action was pure reflex and had come far too late to spare him the pain that exploded through his buttocks.



"Move your hand," Russ ordered.



Gary rubbed the injured area.



"Now," Russ commanded, "or the next ones will be worse."



Reluctantly, Gary removed his hand, tucking his arm back under his chest.



Russ smiled. Every time Gary obeyed, he was that much closer to total subservience. To reward Gary's obedience, Russ made the next couple of swats much lighter, but they still elicited a cry of startled pain from his victim.



Russ paused, massaging Gary's ass. His buttocks were bright red, with swirls of purple and black and blue blotches. The colors alone kept Russ hard. He was proud of his handiwork. He rarely spoke to someone he spanked during the spanking itself. Lectures came before or after, not during, a spanking session. However, he decided, it wouldn't hurt to ask a simple question. "Are you enjoying your spanking?" he asked.



Gary ignored him.



Russ brought the paddle's blade down savagely upon Gary's upturned buttocks. 



"Ow!"



"Answer me, bitch," Russ ordered.



"Yes," Gary admitted.



Russ smacked his ass with the paddle, and Gary lunged forward, crying out. "For your sake, I hope you answered truthfully," he said, "because there's plenty more to enjoy." He punctuated his words with another swing of the paddle, and Gary yelped.



Once more, Russ paused to admire his handiwork. A nice pattern of light bruises was beginning to emerge upon Gary's battered buttocks. The undersides were decorated with small blotches of bruised flesh, and the skin on either side of the cleavage was adorned with larger contusions. In one or two areas, however, Gary's bottom was becoming too dark with the trapped blood of broken capillaries. It was time to take a break.



(Source: First Timer: The Paddle)



SIXTY NINE



Her ass facing me (so to speak), Jen straddled my stomach, kneeling with one knee on either side of my biceps, and rested her upper body upon her outstretched palms. Her breasts, soft, smooth, and warm, pressed against my belly. Bowing, she let her soft, smooth lips slide over and down my stiff, swollen shaft, taking my cock all the way into her mouth. Her head bobbed up and down as her she kneaded and rubbed my balls through the tight, silken flesh of my contracted scrotum.



Her labia formed a crescent that followed the curve between her ass and her belly. Even though the full, soft lips of her cunt were closed, I could see sparkling dewdrops upon these pink petals. My sister was as aroused as I was.



As Jen continued to face-fuck me, I hugged her hips, laying my outstretched palms across her backside and extending my fingers into the deep, narrow cleavage between the smooth, soft globes of her bottom. I pulled her buttocks apart, disclosing the tiny bud of her anus and the wet, tender petals of her pussy to my worshipful gaze. Although, during the half year that my sister and I had become lovers, I'd seen her cunt many times, I never tired of this loveliest of sights.



Pulling her buttocks farther apart, to gain easier access to her pussy, I licked the inner lips of her cunt--the labia minora--and the soft, tender folds of pink tissue farther inside her sex. Beads of moisture decorated her pussy lips. Deeper within the portal to my lover's vagina, there was more wetness. I lifted my head from the pillow, darting the tip of my tongue against the stiff bud of the clitoris that swelled within its fleshly hood. Jen wriggled as a flood of her cunt juices dribbled down her thighs.



As I ministered to her pussy, Jen continued to suck my cock. Her lips, forming a firm ring, pushed and pulled the taut flesh back and forth, up and down upon my straining shaft. My sister was an expert at sucking cock, knowing just when and for how long to exert greater pressure or to slow or quicken the tempo. As she serviced me, she also stroked my balls with her fingernails, pausing occasionally to bathe first one and then the other testicle in the warm, wet cavern of her mouth before releasing them to take my stiff-standing prick once more between her rounded lips.



As I licked Jen's labia, clit, and cunt, I also enjoyed the close-up view of her sexy ass. The only pair of buttocks that come close to hers in the elegance of their sleek, firm beauty are the smooth, rounded cheeks of Nicole Kidman's ass, as seen, for example, in the movie Eyes Wide Shut. If you've seen that film, you've seen the runner-up to my sister's ass. Even the lovely Nicole's bottom takes second place to Jen's. I love every inch of my sister's bottom--the deep cleavage; the curves of the swelling cheeks; the sleek, soft flesh of those firm, round mounds! To have Jen's ass in my face is indescribably erotic. Isn't it odd that something that would normally be considered insulting is, in the proper context, scintillatingly sensual and titillating?



(Source: Pooling Around)



UROLAGNIA



Russ went into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door, and, a few seconds later, Gary heard him urinating.



A minute later, Russ returned, carrying the plastic cup he'd removed from the plastic wrap in which it had been packaged. It was one of the several that motels left in motel bathrooms for guests' use.



The cup contained a pale yellow liquid, Gary noticed.



Russ crossed the bedroom and handed the container to Gary. "Drink this," he ordered.



Gary looked at the light amber liquid. "What is it?" he asked suspiciously.



"You don't ask questions," Russ told him. "Drink it."



Gary frowned. "It looks like piss," he complained. Gingerly, he sniffed the contents of the cup. His frown deepened. "It smells like piss, too."



"It is piss," Russ admitted, "my piss."



Gary set the cup down on the night table. "I'm not drinking piss," he declared.



"Drink it!" Russ demanded.



"Drink it yourself."



Russ stepped past Gary. He retrieved his implements from the night table, stowing the belts and paddle in the overnight bag he'd used to bring them into the room. Then, he started dressing.



Gary looked concerned. "Where are you going?"



"Home."



"But what about the rest of the spankings?"



Russ had put on his shirt. Now, he picked up his underpants.



"What about the other spankings?" Gary repeated.



Russ paused. "Are you going to drink the piss?"



"No."



Russ shrugged. "Then, I'm going home." He pulled on his underwear and picked up his trousers.



"You said you'd respect my limits," Gary reminded him.



"I am," Russ returned. "You don't want to drink the piss, don't drink it." He tugged on his trousers.



"Piss isn't sanitary," Gary said.



"It's sterile."



Gary looked doubtful. "Is it?"



"Germ free."



Russ could see that Gary was debating the issue of whether he should drink the piss.



In a moment, Russ would know just how submissive Gary was and whether it was worth continuing their association. He was about to buckle his belt when he saw Gary's shoulders slump and heard him sigh. "All right," he acquiesced, "I'll drink it."



"I'm waiting." Russ watched him closely.



Gary picked up the clear plastic container. It was warm. He looked into the cup. The piss was not dark yellow or yellow-orange. It was pale yellow, almost clear, and tiny bubbles floated upon its surface. The urine smelled okay--different, but okay. Kind of spicy.



He lowered the cup from his nose to his lips. Here goes, he thought, screwing up his face as he parted his lips and tipped the cup forward, letting a bit of the yellow liquid dribble past his lower front teeth and onto his tongue.



It wasn't nearly as bad as Gary had supposed it might be. It wasn't foul tasting at all. It was a little bitter, but not much, and rather salty. There were also a variety of unusual, somewhat disturbing tastes that suggested mysterious origins deep within the organs of Russ' body. Gary tried to remember the brief anatomy lessons he'd learned as a high school biology student. Piss was filtered through the kidneys and stored in the bladder, wasn't it? He thought so. There were probably a host of chemicals in urine. Sugars and proteins and vitamins and minerals and hormones. The combination of these ingredients combined to give the piss its unusual flavor and distinct bouquet. Bouquet? Gary wondered why he'd used such a poetic word for the urine's scent. Maybe he found the idea of drinking Russ' piss exciting and, well, poetic. He swallowed the sip he'd taken and drank a second, deeper draught, aware that Russ, watching him, was smiling.



As Gary drank more from the cup, Russ undressed again.



"That wasn't bad," Gary told the man who'd poured his drink. "Actually, it was pretty good."



Russ lifted his semi-erect penis. "There's plenty more on tap," he assured Gary.



"I thought it would be darker."



"Dark urine is a sign of dehydration," Russ instructed him. "If you're drinking the amount of water you should be drinking, your piss should be very pale yellow or clear, like mine."



"I guess I need to drink more water," Gary observed. "My piss is usually dark yellow."



"You're lucky I don't make you drink your own pee," Russ admonished his charge.



There was only another gulp of urine in the cup. Gary raised it to his lips, sipped the strange beverage, and, before swallowing, rinsed his mouth with the golden nectar. Finally, he gulped down the libation. Setting the empty cup on the night table, he looked at Russ. "What's next?"



Russ was pleased with Gary. Although he'd seemed intent upon defying him when it had come to drinking Russ' piss, Gary had acquiesced, which meant that he was a truly submissive guy. That meant that, in time, Russ would be able to fuck him in the ass, despite Gary's insistence that he would never be a party to anal intercourse.



(Source: First Timer: The Paddle)



VOYEURISM



The blonde, who had been facing Stanley, stepped over the hose that stretched between her car and the gas pump, revealing a long stretch of thigh, and stood with her back toward her ogling admirer. She'd changed her position on purpose, Stanley thought, giving him he chance to appreciate her round bottom, just as he'd admired her bountiful bosom, narrow hips, and long, tapering legs. Stanley smiled, wondering whether the blonde was a chorus girl or an exotic dancer. Maybe she was a stripper. She sure knew how to put on a show.



Another breeze ruffled her mini-skirt. It flounced about her upper thighs, but, alas, failed to lift the thin material high enough to permit Stanley a view of the blonde's panties. He was almost positive they weren't cotton. They had to be silk or satin. He was dying to know which it was and whether the panties were briefs, bikinis, or (please, God!) a pair of thongs. Maybe, they were even crotchless!



For the first time ever, Stanley was glad the price of gasoline had skyrocketed. With the taxes that the federal, state, and local governments insisted upon levying on gasoline, and because of OPEC's refusal to sell more than a minimum number of barrels of its petroleum and because of American oil companies' greed, gas prices had soared to the point that it cost thirty or forty dollars and took up to ten minutes to fill a tank. High gas prices gave Stanley an extended view of the blonde's ass while the breeze, playing with the hem of her mini-skirt, further teased Stanley with glimpses of her sleek, firm thighs. Again, he wished he hadn't packed his camera. It was a shame to miss a photo op like this!

<hr pg="7" />Would her panties be black? Red? Pink? Orange? Lavender? Blue? Green? Would they be festooned with ribbons and decorated with lace? Maybe they were monogrammed with her initials.



Stanley's cock stiffened and swelled as he thought of the beautiful blonde's ample breasts, narrow hips, firm, compact ass, and long, tapering legs. He couldn't help but get hard as he imagined the silk or satin panties she wore beneath the fluttering mini-skirt. He willed the breeze to blow harder. He prayed that God would grant his wish to see the blonde's panties. He shifted on the seat, his erection uncomfortable inside the confines of his tight jeans. He wished he could whip it out, here and now, and masturbate while he watched the young woman, but he dared not. There were other people around, after all, and, for all he knew, the premises were under surveillance by video cameras. He dared not take out his cock - but there was no reason he couldn't massage it through the heavy denim of his jeans. He placed his hand over the mound beneath his zipper and squeezed his thick cock and the taut clump of his balls, rubbing his genitals with his thumb and fingers. His chest expanded, and he gritted his teeth as a flood of euphoria swept through him, his loins awash with pleasure and excitement. A soft moan escaped his lips.



The blonde stepped back over the hose. Apparently, her tank was full and the pump had shut itself off, because she removed the nozzle and replaced it in the lever on the side of the pump. Then, she screwed the gas cap back in place. She gave Stanley another bright smile.



Oh, don't go! Stanley thought. He was about ready to come. It wasn't fair for her to just go off and leave him with an erection.



A sudden gust of wind blew hard across the gas station's lot, and the blonde's mini-skirt flew up, around her hips.



Stanley's eyes widened. His mouth gaped.



In place of the cleft of a the female sex, the blonde had a cock and a pair of balls beneath her - or his - neatly trimmed pubic hair! Despite her lovely face, her bountiful breasts, her firm, round ass, and her smooth, tapering legs, she was a he! This was the first transsexual Stanley had ever encountered, other than through a photograph, and he wasn't sure what to think or how to feel. Should he be repulsed? Attracted? Excited? Did the fact that he had been aroused by such a creature mean that he was gay?



The question as to how he should feel was answered by his cock, which, despite the presence of the blonde's cock and balls - or, perhaps, because of them - not only remained rigid and swollen but also stiffened further, becoming rock hard. He was obviously excited by the gorgeous shemale. Was he gay?



The shemale didn't force the skirt down. She let it flutter about her hips, exposing her male genitals. She wasn't ashamed of them. She was proud of her cock and balls. She was pleased to exhibit them to Stanley or anyone else who happened to glance her way. Stanley supposed that he should be turned off by the incongruity of the blonde's feminine good looks, her womanly breasts and ass, her long, sleek legs, and her manly cock and balls. He supposed he should be find such a combination of sexual characteristics bizarre and disgusting. He supposed he should think the blonde beauty an ugly monstrosity. He didn't. Instead, he found her extraordinarily beautiful and sexy. If that meant that he was gay, he thought, so be it.



Stanley continued to rub his thick, rigid prick through the tight denim of his jeans. Another soft moan escaped his lips as he felt the rush or orgasm; his penis convulsed inside his pants, spewing his thick, warm semen inside his briefs, over his pubes. It was the best, most satisfying orgasm he'd ever had. He had no doubt he'd have others, equally satisfying - many, many others - as he remembered the gorgeous blonde with the fabulous, feminine figure and the manly cock and balls.



The wind subsided, and the blonde's skirt fell back into place around her thighs, concealing her cute little penis and the small pouch of her scrotum. She smiled broadly, flashing her white teeth between her luscious pink lips, and, with a final wave, climbed into her Mustang and drove away, leaving Stanley with but one regret.



He really wished he hadn't packed his camera. After all, a photo op like this one didn't come along every day. 



(Source: Photo Op) 

