October 2016
ANYTHING GOOD on tonight?
No, nothing yet.
Well, god damn it, I want to see some action. Who do we have?
Hmmm; I think these guys are on a business trip for some cheap-ass company that wouldn’t even spring for separate rooms.
Let’s see. Jesus Christ, look at that.
What?
Do you honestly believe either one of them really doesn’t sleep in the buff back at the house?
Probably not.
So, fix it.
What for?
It would be entertaining.
I don’t know that I want to.
So? How does that matter? Do it. Do it!
Ow! Fine. Whatever. Naked.
Naked. That’s better. Look at the looks on their faces. That is fucking priceless.
It is pretty amusing.
So shall we impress upon them what comes next?
“Next?”
You know what I mean.
Oh, do I? Am I correct in assuming that you’re really just wanting to see a couple of nice guys express their innermost feelings that they’ve had to keep hidden and suppressed their entire lives, and take a chance and end up holding each other, shedding a couple of tears as they experiment with a little naughty touching?
Not quite, no.
So, what, then? Accidental circle jerk, or something? Maybe we have a porno they could watch that they can’t see back home.
No, what I really want to see is a couple of obviously homophobic straight guys fuck each other’s brains out, who have to go home and encounter each other every day from now on, looking each other directly in the eye with all the chagrin in the world, haunted beyond the shadow of a doubt as to what happened here between them.
What makes you think they’re straight?
Wedding rings are still a reasonably good indicator, aren’t they?
I suppose. And homophobic?
The fact that they aren’t laughing at their sudden nudity; the weird mix of contempt and fascination that is catching their breaths.
Ah, you mean the way they’re trying to cover themselves back up—which, granted, is a little strange, the way they’re using just their fingers—as well as all the surreptitious glances and sneers at each other, both towards the faces and the crotches?
All the while pretending they’re not looking. You’re right; I wonder why they aren’t just crawling back under the covers. Listen, do you really care about these guys, their integrities, their holier-than-thou dignities?
I suppose not.
So let’s have some fun. Say “boners.”
Why?
Because it’ll embarrass the shit out of them. Indulge me.
It would, wouldn’t it? Boners.
There we go. Look at those blushes. No explanations: say that, too.
What, you don’t want them to talk about their special emotions?
Blech; do you want our sojourners here to prattle on all god damn night about their childhoods, or how uncomfortable they are with themselves deep down, or making up lies about how they are really thinking about fucking their wives, and never get around to doing anything good? Speak.
You’re right. No explanations.
That’s the way. And there it is. The spark of recognition. Inevitability. Look. Look! Move the hands away—yes! They are panting like racehorses.
They don’t even seem all that spooked, do they? Are we done? Shall we just let nature take its course?
I don’t think so; this is just getting interesting. Maybe they should rub their wee-wees for each other, demonstrating just how they pleasure themselves in ways that they wouldn’t dare show their better halves, blurring their little hands on their wangs, and bring them right up to the brink for some denial and edging for a while. Get their lusts built up to something monumental.
You’re really kind of evil, you know that, right?
What’s your point?
I probably don’t have one.
As many surprise lesbian shows that you’ve insisted had to happen, no, you don’t. Pronounce the words: masturbate and watch; don’t cum from it yet.
Do I have to stay for this part?
That’s the only way it works and you know it. Now say it. Say it!
Ow! Shit, what was tha—Ow! Okay, okay. Masturbate and watch. You happy? God.
Hey, aren’t we going to make them edge?
Not interested.
Spoil sport.
You know this doesn’t do that much for me.
Oh, boo hoo. You’re not secure enough in your own heterosexuality to be able to put up with a little viewing of men touching cocks? How do you think it makes me feel when you make me watch two hot babes fucking each other blind?
I sincerely didn’t think you minded that too terribly much. In fact, I sort of had the idea that you may have even gotten something ou—
—Shut up. Gawd. Tell me something.
What?
Are you so insecure in my heterosexuality to think that I don’t just love the bejesus out of them?
Love who?
Not who. Penises. Much better than vaginas. Long hard hot erect pulsing throbbing pounding rampant and needy single-minded penises? That’s the stuff of dreams.
It is amazing just how thoroughly that statement you just made turned me completely off. Do you want to change the channel?
No. I want to see these two guys get it on with each other like they had to. Know why?
No clue.
The only thing more glorious than one sumptuous raging hardon fucking away to beat the band—for a twisted dyed-in-the-wool heterosexual cunt like myself—is two. Please? Pretty please?
Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I give in. As you fucking wish. Fuck and suck each other.
Until the cock crows.
Good god, woman. Really?
Yes. Really. Now say it, you selfish inconsiderate bastard, who doesn’t want to give the woman he loves what little she wants.
Ow! Until the cock crows. Quit hitting me.
You’ll live. Fuck and suck each other until the cock crows.
Can we see what else is on? Our work here is done. They’ll be fine.
Hang on; look at that. Change of plan.
Now what?
One of them isn’t circumcised.
So? You only just now noticed that?
Holy shit, do you know what I really want to see?
Uh oh.
As in, right god damn now?
Oh, like my saying “no” to whatever insane notion you’re cooking up is going to shut you up.
Fuck off.
Wait; is that an offer?
God damn it, stop it. Let go.
No, I mean it. What do you say if we just finish up a couple chores and turn all this crap off tonight and pay some attention to each other for once? Let these poor people get some sleep?
Like that works. Especially around here.
I would like to make love to you.
Not a chance in heaven. I’m on a mission. From god.
Christ. What’s the whole point of this place if we ourselves don’t get off in the process?
You can jerk off all you want; you do anyway. Oh, don’t look so surprised. Of course I know.
You know what I mean.
That’s not going to happen; I’m still mad at you.
Oh? Do we need to talk?
Don’t you even try to cop a feel here. Je-he-sus. Get your mind out from between your own legs and put it to some fucking good use: between someone else’s. Now look. Circumcised boy is sucking non-circumcised boy like it was important.
Gad; yeah? So?
Well, I want him to cum.
Which one?
The guy getting hoovered, duh.
Oh, aren’t you the gracious one: the god damn voyeuristic orgasmic bliss fairy doling out her favors like it wasn’t inescapably destined to happen anyway. Why?
You know, you’d think boys would be inherently, innately good at sucking cock, but, apparently, this is not the case. Help me out here. Say “orgasm.”
Cool your jets. They’ll get to it in their own good time. Besides, you still haven’t told me why-for all the all-fired hurry.
Because, I want him—the circumcised dude—to have the crazy-ass idea that what he really wants in this life, is to get his cock actually worked in under the foreskin of his friend-and-now-lover, so that he is all the way inside the other guy’s dick, not to mention how much I want his lover-and-friend-to-the-end to think that is the best idea he has ever heard. And I’m pretty sure that for that to work, the dude getting so poorly blown is going to need to be limp. Which at the moment, ain’t happenin’.
Jesus, you’re sick.
No, come on. Wouldn’t that be cool? See a guy getting fucked in his cock instead of his ass? For once? Oh…ah. There we go. As you say: male orgasm is inevitable. The first batch of jizz for the night, despite obvious shortcomings in the whole cocksucking department. Splendid. Now go ahead, swallow it like the considerate fag we all know you are; attaboy. How about that? Didn’t even need your kind assistance.
He’s going to barf, you know.
I don’t care.
You will if you have to be the one that cleans their room tomorrow.
Motherfucker. Keep it down.
Might teach you a lesson.
Not if I go out of my way to make sure you’re the one who’s going to clean that room. You know I can do that, right? Feminine wiles and all?
Fuckermother. Keep it down.
Hmph; good call. That was close.
Then we would have really had to fuck up their desires and aberrations and enthusiasms. If, you know, you wanted to see them keep going.
Ew.
Hey, you’re the one that started us down this vile and abominable path tonight. Just saying.
Aw, they’re cuddling. Isn’t that sweet? Let’s do it. Move them on along to the next obscene-beyond-the-telling-of-it step.
I’m not sure I’m on board with this. Might not be good for them.
Oh, get off your creepy peeping little high-horse. How many times have you insisted on ogling some good old fashioned fist fucking, or asserted that what was really important here was nothing less than a little relentless cock worshipping by veritable harems of women, or even contended for the tying of some helpless little martyr, comma, female, to the bed to have her forced to orgasm until all she could do was screech her lungs out? Jesus fucking Christ.
I don’t think that’s the same.
Puh-lease. One quaint little perversion is as good as another.
Bullshit. Some of it you don’t come back from; not the same as you were when you went in. Er, came in. Got here. However that works.
What, you don’t think any of the little bitches you’ve had take on the role of rape victim here or bukakke target or fucktoy to a bunch of fat inept losers with mommy issues hasn’t needed years of therapy to get over the peculiar mushing up of her sensibilities that washed over her that one fucking night of fucking that she stumbled into this depth of hell we call home?
Yeah, well—
—So don’t you even try to tell me anything about the damage we “might” do to the delicate psyches of a couple of good ol’ boys. Pretty sure they can take whatever we can throw at them without deciding it would be better to opt out, if you know what I mean. Besides. Think about it. When they’re standing next to each other at the urinals at work, sporting fresh irrepressible hardons, they can fess up to how they’re chafing themselves raw after their beloveds go to sleep because they can’t stop thinking about what it felt like to have one of them up to his balls in the other’s cock, and the unfathomable joy they experienced in having ejaculate surge out of one pisshole right down into the other. They’ll do it again, right there, at the office, over and over until they are completely addicted to it, and have to spread the cut-boy’s urethra out incurably wide with sounds and spreaders so the gentile boy can see what it’s all about, and they’ll end up doing it to each other so often that they get caught and have to try to explain to their wives or their bosses just what exactly they are doing under each other’s desks or behind the shed at a barbecue.
And that’ll all work out so well for them.
It’ll be good for society. Put them in the position to have to advocate for gay rights or some shit.
Right. So you want to see two guys fucking each other in the actual cock for the sake of social consciousness.
Made you smile.
You’re so fucking funny.
Aren’t I though? Now say it.
You aren’t going to let me—or them—out of this, are you.
Not a fucking chance. Tell you what. When we’re done here? I’ll hold your penis. In bed. Like I used to.
Promises, promises.
I mean it.
I’d rather you sucked it.
Lord; uhh…I’ll kiss it instead, then. But that’s as far as I’ll go.
That’s it? No generous offer to bang the gong slowly?
No, I’m still pissed at you. But I will kneel down before you—tonight—and let you feel like a hero with a solemn and dutiful smooch planted on the head of your precious pecker that you can improvise on about the next time you rub one out.
Would you stay for that?
Why, so you can paint your partner-in-crime white? Ugh. I don’t think so.
Had to ask.
Do we have a deal?
No scorning, or scoffing; no snarky remarks.
No, of course not.
A slow kiss.
S-sure.
Every night for a week.
Don’t press your luck, bucko.
Take it or leave it. I can change the channel; no skin off my nose.
Fuck. Done.
I truly don’t know why I let you talk me into some of this shit. Fuck him in the cock.
Same reason I let you do the same for me: we like to watch. Fuck him in the cock.
Holy Christ.
Will you look at that?
I’ll be go to hell. I would not have thought that was even possible.
It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it? Just look at the way their eyes are rolling around in their heads. Both of them. Who knew?
You know, I’m much more geared to be attracted to the sight of how women’s eyes roll around in their heads when they get themselves spun up into this kind of euphoria, not to mention the wonderful sounds you all make in the throes. That’s an evolutionary response, you know. Goes back to the caves.
Golly; who cares? Oh. Oh, yeah. Now we’re getting somewhere: just look at all the ecstasy.
This—this is the real reason for a bris.
What is?
So young men don’t learn to fuck by fucking each other’s ding dongs.
Yeah, yeah. So, what do you think? When uncut boy here has his next orgasm, will he be cumming with his own or his boyfriend’s sperm?
Obviously, for scientific reasons, this isn’t the only time this is going to happen, is it.
Most obviously. All night long. And every day from now on, ever after.
All night long.
Don’t you let me down.
Ow! Sheesh. And every day, happily, ever after. Might as well make sure they like it, eh?
You old softie. Happily, ever after, then.
Don’t forget: you owe me.
Uh huh, right. You’ll be lucky if I don’t slip and accidently bite it.
That makes me feel so much better; thanks.
###
SO WHO else do we have?
There’s a couple who staggered in from the bar across the street.
Well, we’re probably not going to have to do too much for them, are we?
Doesn’t look like it, no.
Wow. Even I’m impressed. He’s huge.
I must say, we don’t get that many real live monster cocks in here. Look at him go. Like a fucking jackrabbit.
That’s the kind of fucking that can take any girl’s breath away. What’s that in her purse?
A hard core rampaging sexual intercourse before you that puts porn stars to shame, that is risking one of our good bedframes with dire collapse, and you care about a fucking purse.
What is it?
I can’t tell.
Well, I want to know. Make him cum, so she has an excuse to go to the bathroom.
Really? Now?
Yes, really.
Alright. Like a geyser.
What, again? Is that all you ever want to see?
Absolutely. You think all this outstanding effort on his part should just be for a little spurt? Like a fucking geyser.
Makes me wonder about your stalwart heterosexuality.
Say it, or he’s going fuck her to death.
Geeze; like a fucking geyser. I swear, I do not understand your interest in seeing the little sluts getting inundated and overwhelmed by semen. It’s not that pleasant a sensation, you know. It’s revolting. Disgusting. Disgraceful.
It’s a dominance thing. Besides, she’s still trying to impress him, so, he could firehose her and it would be alright. See? Giggles. Of delight, I might add. Oh, and will you look at that? That, my dear, is a sincere attempt to demonstrate her respect for him and her concern for his rapture with some outright adoration, straight up from the very depths of her soul, imbued with all the submission and devotion she can present him with, through unadulterated reverent licking.
You’re such a pompous ass. But it is as sexy as fuck, I’ll give you that. You don’t think she looks stupid with all the drooling?
Not at all. We are beholden to pure idolatry. Pay attention: there might be a test.
Har de-fucking har har. We’re going to have to wash those sheets in extra hot water.
Bleach. Your job.
Yuck. There’s advantages to not knowing what goes on in these rooms, you know.
I think you’ll survive.
Ach, the romance I have to put up with around here; be still my beating heart. Now, quit slobbering, princess; get up. Go to the bathroom. Don’t forget your purse…that’s it. God damn it, moron, quit trying to talk to the little cocksucker. She’s already impressed. Fuck, she’s not going. Let’s push things along; give me a hand. Before he tells her some stupid joke she’ll have to laugh at.
Still impatient?
Why, yes I am. There might be some real television on tonight I’m interested in.
I don’t know, what else are you willing to offer?
Nothing. Release me, you cad.
Ow! Stop that! Can’t blame a guy for trying, can you?
Oh, for Pete’s sake, stop trying to make this about you. Don’t let them get carried away into some ridiculous conversation that ends up with them caring about each other and getting married or some other genuine horror like that.
You aren’t this demanding on your birthday. Go to the bathroom, lady.
You think that’s a lady?
Be nice. God, she is a mess now, isn’t she?
Girl certainly has to freshen up after something like that little splashing, put on a good face for the next act. Now take it out, whore…ahem. Quit rolling your eyes.
Ow! What did I say about hitting me? Take it out.
I knew it. Do you fucking see that?
Mother of god, it’s bigger than he is.
Is that what you call that? “Bigger?”
Okay, yeah, more like dwarfs him down to miniscule. Wonder what she was thinking, packing that colossus along to go out to the bars with.
Jesus; she’s showing that-that thing more affection than she showed him.
It seems to mean something to her.
Seems to mean a lot to her.
What’s our little man doing?
Panting. Stretching his schlong out, trying to achieve erection again. Playing with his balls. Nothing important.
I want to see her swallow it.
Him or her toy?
Both, of course. But yeah. The artificial infidel.
Her gargantuan piece of plastic will kill her if she does that.
Sorry; that’s the last thing we need around here.
I hate to say it, but I want to see that, too.
Are we agreed?
Yes. Deep throat yourself with the dildo.
Deep throat yourself with the dildo.
Christ almighty; she’s done this before.
Holy fuck, and not just once or twice. Practice makes fucking perfect.
I would have sworn that was impossible; she’s such a cute little thing. Not even flinching. All the god damn way in.
Whoa, look at the way it bulges her throat out. Slow down, darling.
Shit-yeah, slow down; way down. Make sure you really fucking feel it.
Crimeny. She-she’s ravishing herself.
Did you make her do that?
No, I did not.
Wish I’d thought of it. I want to see her cum.
Oh, yeah. I want to see her cum now, too. Hard.
Yes. Hard. With that freakish atrocity choking her.
With that freakish atrocity choking her.
Now that is a woman in the presence of god.
Sure as fuck is. This is almost like church, isn’t it?
You could say that. Er, no, wait, not really.
So what do you think? Is she going to do up all the straps and fuck him like he fucked her? And do we get to help him accept such a splendid fate?
Nah; let’s turn it around.
What?
Let’s have her give it to him to put on, and fuck her with it.
Isn’t that going to deflate his precious ego, what with how he simply must have so god damn much of it wrapped up into his still rather magnificent willy? That despite all the odds, he somehow isn’t enough for her?
Not if he can double fuck her.
Huh?
Sure. She can—obviously—suck him back to rampaging and hard again in nothing flat, then give him the strapon to wear so he can fuck both her pussy and ass at the same time.
You are so fucking perverted.
Oh, and you’re not. It’ll do them both some good. Give them an unbelievable story to brag about, if nothing else.
I suppose it would, wouldn’t it?
Maybe not one for the grandkids.
Or, maybe, yes. Just that kind of story. That’d be fun, wouldn’t it?
I thought you didn’t want to condemn her to such a wretched dreary wedded life, full of drudgery and laundry and shit.
To have a size queen like her hitched to such a nice big boy? It’ll be fine. So let it be done. Brag to the grandkids. Hell, everyone.
If you say so. So let it be done. Brag to the grandkids; everyone. Hell, show them all.
You’re kidding.
No. Say that.
I don’t think so.
Mind me! Do it!
Ow! Show them all. Gah. You fiend. Barbarian. Hitting your defenseless bride.
That’s my girl. Give these nice folks a splendid future, in, say, the pornography industry. See? We’re not completely amoral…made you smile.
Oh, Sacred Heart of Jesus. I think we have made her a happy woman. I thought she came hard before.
We’re going to need a new mattress in there.
###
ANYONE ELSE?
Well, there’s a couple with their daughter in the adjoining roo—
—Oh, no you don’t.
…Oh, “no-I-don’t” what?
No sir. Not again.
What the hell are you talking about?
Are you kidding me? How can you not remember this?
Remember what?
What you did? Of all the things you’ve ever done here, that was by the far the worst. Ever.
Wait, are you saying we did something actually bad?
Not me, shitwipe. You.
No, whatever the fuck-god-hell we’re doing here constitutes a “we,” dear. It’s always a “we.” This doesn’t work if we don’t agree.
I know. But somehow, you had to have made me go along with it. I just don’t know how.
Like I have the slightest skill at making you do anything. And go along with what?
Fuck you.
Absolutely. I’m all for that. ‘Bout god damn time, if you ask me. Let’s go.
Unhand me. Why do you keep turning every-fucking-thing around here back into that?
Excuse me?
No.
No? No what?
No. You are I are not going to go trip the light fantastic, and we are not ruining this family.
I’m really not understa—oh. Great. A fresh pout and a frump, and, I would presume, more silent treatment. Like there isn’t enough of that going on around here.
Respect my fucking wishes here, would you? For once?
What wishes? How do I not pamper your every whim?
I don’t want to play any more tonight.
I beg your pardon? And just who was it that just got done getting her jollies from seeing a couple of nice straight clean respectful husbands fuck each other senseless in a way that makes Sodom and Gomorrah into a fucking joke, with the full confidence and knowledge that they will go out of their fucking way to do it—fuck—just like that for the rest of their miserable little lives? Not to mention how delicious you thought it would be to saddle a tiny woman with a horse cock so they could impress their children’s children with tales of how much and how fucking hard they fucking fucked throughout their whole for-better-or-worse, with full video record of their exploits out there for everyone in the world to see?
This isn’t the same. And, for the record, the public scrutiny of their communions was not my idea.
Unbelievable. You know, this isn’t even the first time you have made me—me—squeamish with the depths of your abhorrent sexual deviancies.
I want to go to bed now. Don’t I owe you a nice good night kiss?
Oh, listen to this. Don’t you even want to look in on our guests? You know that bad things—really bad things—happen if we don’t…diffuse things.
I’ll take my chances.
You mean you’ll take their chances. Do you really want to have to go through having the police come by again? To once again have to clean up the kind of mess that makes headlines? We have to do this.
Leave me the fuck alone.
No. Sit down. You’ve been so…I don’t even know how to describe it. And I don’t get it. Why don’t you explain it to me? Use small words.
Fuck Jesus Christ Himself in the Ass on the Cross. Haven’t you even noticed?
Obviously, I haven’t.
You can’t be this kind of oblivious. You just can’t be.
I…I’m lost.
I do not fucking believe this. You and I haven’t been—oh, gee, what’s a good word here, intimate?—intimate since the last time we had a family get irrevocably corrupted in our hallowed halls.
Back up a second here. Are you saying you’ve been punishing me?
Oooh, ding ding ding, we have a winner, folks, give the boy a cigar. No fuckee, no suckee, no nothing. Took you long enough, shithead.
For the love of god, why?
Because what we—we—did was wrong, douchebag. It was an entire family we fucked up.
What, you’ve suddenly developed a conscience about what we do here, and now—now—you’re concerned that the people we’ve gotten to lower their ludicrous judgmental defenses against each other so they can finally fucking fuck or perform whatever-the-godsfuck-ever sin of the flesh we coaxed them into, that maybe, just maybe they had some kind of prior familial connection before they checked in and got a room? Give me a fucking break.
Oh, if it was only that. Some poor little girl getting to work out some daddy issues with her actual daddy? Who the fuck cares? If it was just a little incest, that would be awesome. Adorable.
Uh huh. But?
I have no idea how you did it without me, but you made him torture the shit out of her—literally. You want to talk about a god damn mess? Yeah; it was everywhere. And he did it in front of her mother. And then he fucked her bowlegged, front and back and no, he didn’t miss out on the opportunity to plunge her throat raw, no. And he made his fucking wife help him slide his cock into their daughter, time after time after fucking time, and when he got tired he made the woman he swore a fucking troth to help him make their little girl howl and bawl herself hoarse when he got to be limp and useless for fucking until he could be long enough and hard enough to get right back on in there. And then. Then he ordered the bride of his youth to get down on her knees and lick everything up afterwards, and spit it into their child’s mouth.
Yeah, but here was I?
I-I don’t know. I watched it all happen; I wanted to vomit. The next morning? They both used her as a toilet, and slapped her without end, calling her the most atrocious names you can think of. And on top of all that, you somehow left them with the idea that this is how they shall then live.
First of all, I have no recollection of any of whatever the hellshit you’re babbling on about here. Second, I couldn’t have made any of that happen without your help. And third, why the every-loving-fuck have you been punishing me for something I can’t remember that you would have had to agree with? Jesus!
Keep your god damn hands off me!
You haven’t exactly been a model of innocence and purity here, you know. The boys tonight? Not to mention all the endless “fucking slampigs”—your words—that you have totally gotten off on seeing getting the shit pounded out of them, let alone the shit pounded into them? How many nights have the rafters been shaken from all the blood-curdling screaming because you wanted to see some girl you said was prettier than you get anally gangbanged?
Don’t you even—
—Don’t you even “don’t-you-even” me. Fuck. God. In the god damn ass.
I hate you.
No, you don’t.
Watch me.
Alright. You don’t want anything profane to happen with this nice blameless little clan? And just you never-the-fuck-never mind about what we both know can happen if we don’t play along here and come to some kind of consensus about the endless sex-crazed-weasel-sex for our habitués? Fine. We’ll just look in on them, wish them a pleasant night’s sleep filled with wet dreams for everyone, and call it a fucking day.
Will that work?
I have no idea. Flip this channel over…there…yeah, I’m not picking up on any kind of dungeon scene happening. See? Everything is just swell. Happy?
Oh no.
“Oh no” what?
It-it’s them.
What? Who?
It’s the same family. Dearest god on high have mercy.
Huh?
They-they’re back.
I have no—I don’t recognize them. Never seen them before in my life.
Liar. Jesus. It’s still happening.
What are you blathering on about?
There’s—it—the blowjob. Don’t you see?
Well, god save us all from a little fellatio. We have nothing to do with this; we only just now tuned in. A respectful spouse is giving her husband head. No big deal; happens all the time. In, you know, good marriages and shit.
Knock it off. Don’t you see the rubber?
Yeah, so?
That was the first part. After she gets him to blow a load, she’ll tie off the condom and keep it in her mouth. Then they’re going to go into the girl’s room and…oh fuck.
Hmmm?
She’s playing with herself.
Who is?
The girl. According to plan.
That, she is. Once again, not our doing. This isn’t so bad, is it? She isn’t even as young as you made her out to be. Right pretty little thing, though, isn’t she?
Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.
What do you think you want to see happen to her, to, you know, make up for the audacity of having that little shortcoming of appearance, your majesty?
God damn you. Fix it. Change them back.
How? Change them back to what? I don’t think it works that way. Not when we don’t have anything to do with how depraved they are to start with. Our job is to take what they are, and make them even more debauched. Them’s the rules.
C’mon, girl, take your hands off yourself, stop. Stop. Stop! God damn it, this is all your fault! Tell her to stop! Please!
I can say “stop” all you want; it’s not going to make any difference. See?
I’m begging you. I…I’ll fuck you. I’ll fuck you every day for the rest of your god damn life!
Tempting, but there’s nothing going on that we can do anything about from here.
Oh shit. Oh fuck. I will get on my god damn knees and suck your stupid cock all fucking night! Stop them!
Now, hold your fucking horses here. Aren’t you the one who’s been complaining for weeks about how none of this maybe isn’t any of our business? And then you turn right back around to see just how far you can push people in the dead of night when the itch grabs you by the short and curlies? Know what? Screw the lovemaking. We’ll call a counselor in the morning. Work some shit out. Live with a few consequences. Let’s just turn all this shit off and retire for the evening.
Wait; she’s masturbating to a picture of her parents.
Yeah, right.
No, I mean it. Look. How many girls have you ever seen frantically tearing at their pussies on top of the covers, stark naked, with their legs spread and pointed to the door of their parent’s room, gazing lovingly at a photo of mom and dad? God damn it, I think she’s edging.
I think you’re blowing things way the hell out of proportion here. Have you been drinking again?
You have to believe me. They are going to come through that door like they do every night, and tie her up, and her own mother is going paint her lips and her nipples and her clit with her daddy’s sperm, squirting it into her nose and dabbing it into the back of her throat and on her teeth and under her tongue, putting some in her ears, on all her fingertips and toes, her eyelids, before the god damn relentless vicious caning begins, and goes on and on and fucking on no matter how hard she shrieks, and when the sadistic sonofabitch can get it up again, he’s going to slam his cock into her ass, her pussy, and her throat, cumming hard and long into her everywhere, brutalizing her and fucking her over and over until he at last cums on her face, and her mommy will lick it all up and cumswap with her, and they are going to leave her there, bound and aching and fucked…until they come back in the morning and piss on her…oh, god…and she’ll suck his cock and lick her pussy all god damn day long…murmuring how much she loves them…like a fucking slave…like a fucking masochist, wanting them to hurt her and humiliate her even more…forever…
…And you’re saying we told them to do all this. And that they’ve been doing it ever since the last time they were here, whenever that was.
I’m not doing this any more—I’m out. I’m done.
What are you say—Hey! Where are you going?
I’m leaving you!
Why?
Because, asshole. My fucking father and fucking mother used to do all that shit to me, and I will not be a part of spreading this god-forsaken disease to anyone else. Fuck off and die.
###
…AND WHEN the echo of the door slam stopped reverberating, the innkeeper shook his head and sat down before the monitors. The beautiful young girl on the bed raised her eyes, and looked expectantly into a wall. The “right” wall.
“She’s gone.”
The young lady exhaled, and blinked relief.
“Want to come up? Maybe we can see what we can do about getting our parents to do something…interesting.”
The naked girl lit up, and ran out of the room.
###
Posted with Blogsy