Spotless

Mr. Miles was incapable of speech for a moment. Justin Simian, desk clerk of The Fairbanks Inn, went over the room with a UV light. There was absolutely nothing to see. He turned the switch back on. The florescent served as crickets for the awkward silence.

“Was, was that a pentagram?”

“Just as artistic expression, Mr. Miles. As you can see our maid service is top notch.”

“Why did you need chicken blood?”

“Actually, that was just me multitasking.”

“You needed to kill a chicken?”

“Breakfast don’t grow on trees. Well, except grapefruit, melons… really any fruit.”

“But what about the feces?”

“You know I don’t think bananas grow on trees. No, they do.”

“Again, I ask why did you take a dump in my room?”

“Oh this isn’t your room. Plantains! Plantains don’t grow on trees.”

“That’s comforting but why?”

“To be thorough Mr. Miles.”

Mr Miles sighed deeply.

“If I stay in this room, could I get a 15% discount?”

“Sure.”

Justin Simian left Mr. Miles to his room.

“Score.”

Something had died in Mr. Miles, but it had been replaced with a bargain.

The New Cruelty

He was immediately sorry.

This was nothing she deserved but the coffee ground stuck to his feet. A fucker, dipshit, or bitch tits should have sufficed but no he wanted more. Time and time again, his feet had gotten soaked in coffee and he wanted her to feel pain. He found in him the will to do something terrible and when she got home he did it.

“I am sorry.”

“I know but, it might take me a little while.”

Mandy still smarted and her shiner was going to stay for a while. Looking at her, Dustin knew he should have said bitch tits instead. The z word still packed too much of a wallop. In time, it would be fit for human consumption but for now it’s a dreadful thing to say.

 

 

A Sex Machine Sadly

He could not find her bedrock no matter how hard he drilled. He thrust and he thrust and he thrust but he never landed in that special place. She smiled but he knew he had failed her. There was no point to him if he could not make her happy. He might as well be destroyed.

“It’s okay honey, I have my ways.”

Tiffany was always so kind, so beautiful. Her auburn hair obscured her almost symmetrical round face. She was rubensque and more than he ever deserved.

“I’m supposed to be your way.”

“We’ll just have to recalibrate.”

Michael was built to please humans sexually, but he was after all mostly a do it yourself model. He was mostly DIY due to the fact that strictly homemade models tended to have strange issues with their lover/mother’s. The customizable options were still rewarding enough to warrant the elbow grease and hassle.

“It feels like I’ll never be the tool I’m supposed to be.”

“We’ll get there.”

For a moment they shared a spark between their eyes, sight to sight transfer and love by another name. His tawny yellow eyes told her everything he wanted even though she knew that to be her. She made him want her blubbery body, white cottage cheese thighs, flat and wide breasts. She made him enamored by her needy nature. She made him love her bad breath. It was all there being repeated back to her in his diagnostics.

“I just want to make you happy.”

And there was the strange thing, she was trying to help him help her. He would rise in her with such efficiency, such frequency and such accuracy but she just couldn’t be there in that moment. She was out of her body where she didn’t have to stare at those eyes that searched her for approval. They were stuck in each other’s insecurities.

The difference was Michael’s could be fixed.

Mindwhore

The morning dawns and Jeffery gets his body back, only to realize that he has had sex with a woman three leagues above him. Her ample perky breasts, pale soft skin and long flaxen hair makes her 9; the deviated septum keeping her snoring away far from 10. He thinks about asking for seconds but knows better of it. Really, the only way to get out of such situations with any feeling of comfort is to leave while they sleep.

As he collects his clothes slowly, Jeffery wonders just how much sex he has had while absent. It really is a strange business to rent your body, it takes a special man. The man that can rent his body, is of course capable of leaving for periods of time. The accepted term is astral projection, but Jefferey considers mental vagrancy a more astute summarization of the experience. Then all you have to do is find other people similarly gifted who would like to use your body. It helps to have a nice body.

He comes up with a number as he wiggles into his briefs. In the five years since he began working in this profession, he has witnessed the aftermath of 87 confirmed lays, 10 highly probable lays, and 3 instances that he tells himself were not sexual in any way. There have also been 12 brawls, including 3 black eyes and a broken rib. 2 weeks ago, he had awoken to find blood on his hands without any open wounds. That really did scare him and now he’s just fulfilling the appointments on his docket.

“Honey, last night was worth $200, I do so hope you have it. I wouldn’t want to get Dante involved in this.”

Having suffered a broken rib from the last meeting with Dante, Jeffrey quickly found the wallet in his pants, his wallet. His wallet wasn’t suppose to leave his house on these excursions but apparently John 356 thought that was more of a guideline than a rule. So the prostitute pays the prettier prostitute for a product he has not partaken in. Whoring ain’t easy.

 

Winona’s Mammoth Womanhood

It’s not the size of a woman, it’s the depths of the woman where Michael measures her. It may have been an adverse effect of the peyote but he was pretty sure that Winona had a whole cave system down there. He has in fact been exploring it’s nooks and crannies for hours. There is something about the ancient wonders of these caves that fascinates Michael and it just kept drawing him back further and further into Winona’s womanhood.

Winona for her part is actually pretty calm on the matter but then again she’s had painkillers which help immensely when dating Michael . As he feverishly humps a stalagmite, she finds herself watching his naked ass and she begins to time her breaths to it’s thrusting rhythm. It really is kind of strange to see a man dressed in only a pair of hiking boots and a miner’s helmet make passionate love to a former ocean. Strange, but not enticing.

Above them in rural Kentucky, there is a porn store smack dab in the middle of nowhere. It lacks variety but makes up for it by being the only game in the county. Still, sometimes Fred (the owner) wonders if there is better smut out there, new smut, pioneering smut. As he ponders this, a man is trying desperately to have intercourse with  a cave system but no one is filming him do so. Thus this act will be lost to history just because Fred never thought to look for pornos in a cave.

Luckily, there will be others with more foresight in the future

The Magical Fellating Dragon That Use To Be Ellen

The bourbon ran down Tweed’s gullet and the pain sort of went away. Ellen was an event that demanded anesthetization but sadly he had no insurance. He also he had no charisma and absolutely no ability to lie and get the proper medication to get rid of the Ellen residue that resided deeply inside him. So, he masked her with alcohol and benadryl. He slept a lot.

Sadly, in his dreams, there she was. She was wearing her hair back and it was still jet black. She was coming on to him. Her breasts crossed his chest and he knew that she was a lie. She had never been so forward in their relationship. As she reached down into his pants, he realized that this was a gross injustice.

Then she became a Chinese style dragon and the masturbation began in earnest.

The Lick Of Lust

The story goes that the king loved a wild man and the wild man died. The king was sad and realized that he too could die and set off to amend that unsuccessfully. I abridged the story considerably but one tome that it is recorded in does not. There is a record of it in the book of love along with every other love. My love is in there too and maybe I can find her name.

I’ve searched Craig’s List and deserts and jungles. I’m walking on into the world and my memories of her soft light brown skin. I regress to that yesterday thirty days old, when I was licking up the small of her back tasting the salt of her sweat. She shivered and smiled as I entered her. She purred as I left and sighed as I entered again.

She was the best I ever had. Twenty women after her and I can say that without question. I’ve tasted many nooks and crannies but she was the greatest. Sometimes as I realize that I will soon exhaust my frequent flier miles, it occurs to me that the book might just be the stuff of songs, this worries me greatly.

Other times, I think maybe it was just really good sex but that seems silly.

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