I was strapped to the chair.

Gay boys know exactly what I am talking about. The exquisite warm flesh in my mouth, the cock-head almost touching my epiglottis, making me gag. Sucking hard as I can, taking lovely soft, full flesh inside me, flesh pounding like the piston of a Porsche. My head bobbing fast as possible, eager, hungry, obsessed, more than ready to receive his thick, salty gushes of cream. Generous, rushes, spurts from deep in his big balls. I cup his balls in my hand, squeezing, teasing, caressing, as I gulp the full load. Then I let cream drip slowly from my lips, cream flowing from my mouth, glazing, frosting his aching, tingling cock-head.

Thank you all and here is another story about a girl who became a whore in Abilene, Kansas. Her name is Holly and she was one of those gals who'd have kept her youthful looks into old age had she made it to old age. It made her very desirable to a certain type of men--men who like to have their way with little girls.

Violets skirts were clutched at the bends of her hips and billowed out around her plump behind. Her breasts had been liberated from the confines of her tightly drawn bodice. They struggled over the ridgid fabric, grateful for the freedom. 

Most people I know have dabbled in illicit substances. Smoked the happy weed, sniffed the nose candy, and ingested the love pills, whatever the term kids are using these days. It’s funny how the terms change but the practices remain with each new generation thinking they invented a new kind of rebellion. It’s like the word bonk or the even more offensive boink. My parents bonked, their parents shagged, my generation is somehow more puritan and over-sexed than our predecessors. We ‘get intimate’ and ‘hook-up’. It seems like a deceptively polite way to describe letting a stranger plow you from behind in an alleyway behind a club, but language is strange like that.

It was the last day of junior year. I'd started school early, so I was 16; younger than everyone else. You could practically smell the possibilities in the air. Anything feels possible on the last day of school, and anything can happen... if you're desperate enough.

Saori's pleated mini-skirt umbrellaed open, revealing the smooth skin of her naturally hairless pussy. There was a quick twitch of flesh as her muscles contracted followed by a light-yellow stream that hit the robot square in its visual receptors.

Slowly, into the cool, icy night she walked. The lack of moonlight making the night particularly dark, but the gas lamps filling the cobbled streets with a dim glow in patches. Her heeled red shoes clicked on the paving slabs as she walked, in a somewhat hurried pace. Her dark shawl clenched tightly around her shoulders, and flowed over her breasts and down her back, flickering gently with the breeze. The all too short dress totally inappropriate for how cold it was in the dead of this night, clung to her slender figure, and where it did not cover, she was awash with shivers and goose-pimples. Her pale skin was pricked, and tender, but still she hurried on, not a doubt in her mind. Tonight, was the night. She was on cloud nine, ready to meet her love at the pre-arranged location. All too soon she turned a corner, and headed between two solid stone buildings, into a dark alleyway, with only the stars high above to illuminate it.

He grunted like some wild beast, pushing himself as far into Rena's ass as possible, pressing her into the bed as if she might physically pass through it if he did so hard enough. The sweat from his effort showered her back like a toxic rain.

The apatosaurs were massive, majestic creatures. Even at a genetically-enhanced height of 15 feet, Danyell was still only about half their height. The towering beasts lumbered through the leafy green of the jungle, each footstep an unrushed thunderfall. Beneath their feet, the jungle floor shook, and the smaller animals scattered and screeched at the annoyance of the sauropod parade. The calls of the widespread pack she was shadowing echoed back and forth through the lush valley; great beacons calling out in baleful groans and hoots. As if in reply, all around them, the jungle was a burst of animated energy.

I was dodging the traffic when I nearly bumped into her, or perhaps she just skilfully scooped me up from the throng of visitors preoccupied with avoiding being run over by one of the thousands of motorbikes, scooters, buses, taxis, and cars that are omnipresent on Ho Chi Minh City’s filthy streets.