fiction
Erotic, romantic, and sexy fiction for the Filthy community.
Forty Years Have Passed
Hello! How Are You? Bonjour ! “Bonjour !” How are you? “Who am I speaking to?” Jean-Pierre. “JP?” Yes! It’s been a while.
Patrick M. OhanaPublished 3 years ago in FilthyThe Prick With No Prick
How do I begin the tale of the prick with no tail, the prick with no prick, the real prick? The middle of the story is already revealed: the prick has no prick. I could begin at the end and roll back like a fading orgasm, or start when the prick was born in the 1970s. Maybe I could poll you for the better of the two paths to launch this prick-less story. Why don’t you click on any prick to start the story from the start, or on any other word to die first and then live. I can wait a bit.
Patrick M. OhanaPublished 3 years ago in FilthyGuess Who Stole Xmas 2019
I mean, of course, that whoever it was (you’ll find out soon enough), only stole my Xmas 2019. It would have gone viral and still been talked about had this occurred to everyone’s Xmas. But imagine if it had happened. This pandemic would have probably not transpired, and if it still had, it would have been beaten by this cat burglar. If this pussycat could have stolen Xmas from everyone, COVID-19 would have been a breeze, a cinch, a five-finger exercise.
Patrick M. OhanaPublished 3 years ago in FilthyMy Sexy Muse
You may wish to read the first story, Muse Love (linked at the bottom) before reading on. What follows is the continuing tale of my lovely muse. The photo of the statue above doesn’t do her any justice. In case you didn’t know, a muse only appears in the flesh to the one whom she loves. And my muse keeps telling me, both in English and French, that she loves me with all her heart, which also makes sense since she feels how much I love her as well. She knows that I could easily die if I don’t see her once in a while. I wish I could be with her every minute of every day, but alas, love and life are the same.
Patrick M. OhanaPublished 3 years ago in FilthyA Prick’s Pet Tattoo
I thought that it was a figment of my imagination when I saw her tattoo. I had finally found the woman with the perfect inscription. A woman is already perfect. I typed it before. But this tattoo in particular, on this woman, since I can’t be sure that it would have caused the same reaction on a different woman, suddenly became my only preference to a tattoo-less gal. But I’m jumping the gun. Some can also jump a knife. And yes, there was no plane as far as I could see or hear, yet the airport was only about thirty minutes away.
Patrick M. OhanaPublished 3 years ago in FilthyMuse Love
I could stop here before I even start. It’s all in the subtitle. I’m in love with my muse. But the story, of course, is how did such an incredible event even occur. Yes, that’s the story, and what a story it is. I’m still shaken by what unfolded after I met my muse. I didn’t know that I was meeting my muse. It just happened out of the blue, my favourite colour, and thus always a harbinger of something good. Nothing good happens at night when the sky is black, except, of course, and what an exception, you know, making love, or straight sex without the love. I always prefer love to precede the sex, but that’s just me. I’m not setting an example. I just love women too much to just switch between them as if they were bottles of wine. I only like red, which surprised my muse, since she knew that I loved everything blue. But blue wine, as far as I knew, just didn’t exist and thus surely not easy to find. Unless I could hitch a ride to a Klingon town and settle for some Bloodwine. But then we’re back to red. So, still no blue wine.
Patrick M. OhanaPublished 3 years ago in FilthyNo Matter Whose or When
Sexual tendencies seem to contrast with the pussy’s disposition. There are, of course, coital proclivities that don’t involve the pussy, but those are beyond the scope of this narrative. Take any pussy! Imagine it for a moment! It’s surely easier if you have one already, or if you happen to be in proximity to this wonder. It’s a blessing, a dream come true to meet a pussy. Don’t get me wrong! You meet the woman first. But I’m beyond the head-to-head and heart-to-heart here. I’m referring exclusively to the pussy; that flexible, strapping passage with a soft, supple lining that provides sensation and lubrication, though the latter may require some help once in a while. After all, the pussy connects the womb (uterus) to the outside world (anyone that loves pussy). All those beautiful lips (the vulva), comprising the great lips (labia majora) and the little lips (labia minora), form that heavenly entrance, with the penisway or dildoway (cervix) protruding into the pussy to form the interior end (the best death). Now that we can picture another part of the picture, let’s savour the magic that is the pussy.
Patrick M. OhanaPublished 3 years ago in FilthyWhen a Woman’s in Love
Please note that this story continues where, When a Woman’s in Love: With Another Woman (linked at the bottom) ended almost abruptly. I guess that I wasn’t a happy camper. You don’t have to read the previous part but you’ll miss too much if you don’t. But then, you could always read it afterwards with some hindsight.
Patrick M. OhanaPublished 3 years ago in FilthyOne Pussy Today
What about yesterday? It’s also part of the story. I prefer one pussy at a time since every pussy has to be adored like a god, and no one anymore believes in more than one god. It’s not the same, I imagine some of you thinking or even saying. Just think about it a little more! Unless you don’t like pussy, pussy is everything. I repeat. Pussy is everything. Pussy also means yes since you can’t say no to pussy, and if you can, then you’re a prick.
Patrick M. OhanaPublished 3 years ago in FilthyPussy! My Sweet Pussy!
Is there anything better than pussy? Yeah, a really good book. Bo Burnham What are you reading? “Some story about a string, but I think that it’s about pussy.”
Patrick M. OhanaPublished 3 years ago in FilthySex on Her Mind
There’s always sex on her mind. Or is it the other way around? There’s always sex on my mind. Apparently not when I sleep, but luckily I only sleep about five hours a day, except for Sundays when I can sleep for six. Ain’t that the truth. I will digress a lot, but it’s also part of the story, this so-called story. There’s always sex on Jenny’s mind now that I succeeded to get her into bed. This is not M or anyone else whom you may have read about before. This is M’s new narrator. Wait! you may think. Jenny’s his narrator. She isn’t anymore. She couldn’t take it any longer without M’s carnal love and took off, leaving M the following note. It was lying on his desk and I read it. It’s a strange note, to say the least, but I’ll let you be the judge of it.
Patrick M. OhanaPublished 3 years ago in FilthyThe Lost Sexual Course
We had finally purchased our first house. It was full of character and overlooking the ocean. Each room felt different. We both agreed about that. In the master bedroom — I called it the fucking bedroom since everything in it was asking to fuck you or be fucked — the furniture was protruding like a pleasing pussy and a pretty prick. I was the pussy. He was the prick. We loved each other so much that we fucked whenever and wherever we felt like it. For me, it was the heart. For him, the heart was surely involved, but it was the prick. Don’t get me wrong! I felt it in my pussy too, but my heart stole my inner show.
Patrick M. OhanaPublished 3 years ago in Filthy