fiction
Erotic, romantic, and sexy fiction for the Filthy community.
The Position of Thanksgiving 2019
Part 1 (also linked at the bottom) is required before reading this Part 2. The Thanksgiving Show started the midnight celebrations. It was the appetizer, so to speak. It was the olive. That’s why a fifth act would have ruined everything. Four acts. I love the number four. It’s my favourite number. Four seasons. Four wheels. Four breasts in a threesome. Four nucleotides. Four Ninja Turtles. OK! Enough with the fours! I like twos too, but back to the story.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
The Last Pussy
It may read ominous, The Last Pussy, but the subtitle should dispel any apprehension about the title, and I’ll confirm it here from the start that the last pussy could never be the last unless, of course, one is happily matched and in love with his love’s pussy which is always a good disposition to have and to hold, or one has just tasted the last pussy before expiring. I, M, love pussy. In case you haven’t read, Patrick is dead (also linked at the bottom). There’s only myself, M, and my three narrators left, though Jenny is now my main narrator of the three. I don’t even use the other two any longer. M and Jenny are more than enough, especially for this story. I could have titled it, Jenny’s Pussy, but it’s already used for another story (linked at the bottom).
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
I Am Not Amused
By Jove, life can be more unpredictable than death, and death is a sure thing, whereas life can often, especially for a writer, or a poet, a special subspecies of a writer, be bettered by a muse. And I’m not typing about the muse you read about or watched in films. I mean a woman who influences everything you write about, even a freaking haiku, though there, you can evade her a little, especially if you write about AI. I love the idea of AI. Artificial insemination of intelligence into inorganic stuff, with humans, the alpha on Earth, beginning to understand that an alpha always fails and falls to a new stronger life. Life is in competition with itself. Not all life is created equal, especially between species. And even in the midst of an alpha species, the human animal always ranks the individuals within based on their power and means. But that’s not the story here. I’m going to recount a strange tale about once, only once, not being quite amused by my muse.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
Two Plants and a Woman
COVID-19 can even ruin a story. It has to be considered in any tale since it changed everything. Well, fuck it! There’s no COVID-whatever in this one. This story takes place in a parallel universe where there’s no such virus, except that all countries are ruled by Kings and Queens. ’Tis somewhat similar, in some significant estimate, to what we have here on our Earth. Don’t you think, whoever you are out there in your real world and universe? Don’t mind me! I’m a secondary narrator who may pop out, so to write, from time to time, rarely with spite, but it happened a couple of times. Don’t ask! I won’t tell you. It’s an internal struggle between Patrick, M, and all their freaking narrators. It’s like having a permanent Jack-in-the-Box, except that it’s mostly M popping out like Goddess Athena. She’s everywhere now. But who am I to complain about a goddess pretending to be mortal for our sake?
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
I Love Women More
I love women more. No, you don’t! you may think for a little while. Well, you may know some things, but as you’ll read very soon, there’s a lot more to love about women. I wish I could write an encyclopedia dedicated to the sphere of women. I could subtitle it: Two Singular Sexual Tendencies. If Women is the first, what’s the second? you may ask. You may be able to guess this one. I, of course, mean the Pussy. Yes; with a capital P (like the one attached to my first name)! It is, without any doubt whatsoever, just a little important part of a woman. However, given all the realities (facts) and mysticisms (wishes) purveyed to this irresistibility that is the Pussy (any pussy), it has to exist in a realm of its own. Directly linked to the world of Women, of course, but standing on its own against the Prick! It, the Prick, has its own world. Most of you already know about it. But the real world is the Pussy. Where was I?
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
Heating Up
Laken catches my gaze and leans forward to take his turn to kiss me. His whiskers tickle my chin, and I bring my hand up, focusing on the soft brush of them as my fingers stroke his jawline. His lips are so soft, and before I know it he’s slipped his tongue between them to press against mine, still tasting of Gage’s fruity dessert.
By Heather Kinnane5 years ago in Filthy
Dora Boyd
I never got involved with any of my neighbours or befriended any one of them. A simple salutation seemed more than sufficient, that is until I met Dora Boyd. She was determined to make me speak further to ascertain my full name. I think that I would have told her everything. I found myself talking to her as if I had known her since her Doris days. I even invited her, as soon as our chat was nearing its end, to my apartment for a homemade diner.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
All That String?
Ben befriended everyone and everything, from the beggar on the beach to the brush in his bathroom. His favourite if not beloved other was, however, a string; blue and close to six feet long. He thought about it throughout the day at his desk, analyzing medical data and wondering, for instance, whether the more widespread type II diabetes should have been called type I, and then thinking that he would have liked the string best even if it had been black, the worst colour, or lack of it, he could imagine. By the same token, he also considered white to be quite unattractive, comprising all the colours as if scared of the darkness to come. At home, the string was always beside him when he was not rolling it around his penis or neck to better contemplate death either way.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
Mobile Pussy
I was tired of his musings. Your pussy this and your pussy that. What a prick! I was basically a mobile pussy for him. He wanted to fuck me all the time. What the fuck! What a prick! It was good and hard, and pretty. Nice balls, too. Two. Sorry, astronauts! What? Their balls shrink in space.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
I Took Her Inside
This story is hard to tell. I may need to skip some parts. Don’t worry! It won’t be the sex. It was too good to be left out. But before I start, just to set the mood, I want you to read the following haiku. You don’t have to. I left enough space to allow you to skip it. If I can skip some parts, so can you. Yet it’s only seventeen syllables long. Even a prick may be longer.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
Dirty Desert
My head was aching and my back hurting when I awoke. I was sore all over and I soon discovered why. I was lying on a cement floor in the middle of nowhere. Far on the horizon around me, I could trace something, but unlike the concreteness of the floor I was sitting on by now, it was quite unclear. I could not just stay there and ponder. I stood up, stretching and rubbing myself, trying to feel erect. “I must be in some weird dream,” I considered. “No!” I decided. “It is quite real; really strange.” After a while, standing and waiting took also the attire of nothingness. I went forward toward the unknown; the direction seemed somewhat consequential but mostly unimportant.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
What’s Up Pussy
Once upon a time in a somewhat rural town lived a prick whose name is unimportant. He decided it. Let’s call him, M, to at least allude to the subtitle. One evening as M was preparing his dinner, there was a knock at the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, so he looked through the side window and saw a woman, beautiful even through the glass and the anti-insect screen behind it. Surprised, he replied: How can I help you, Ms.?
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Filthy
