Jolly Rogering! : Wank Wednesday

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Cop a Feel Day : Fuck Me Friday

Thank Fuck it's Friday! Well, no, actually, it's Saturday, because I'm late with my story. Fuck Me Friday is a writing challenge created by Aisling Weaver. Check her site for the rest of the entries :

Cop a Feel Day

Maxi-Mart was a very popular supermarket chain, and the branch in the seaside suburb of Glenrose was always busy. But it had never been so busy as it was today. Because today was Cop a Feel Day, a day during which customers could "cop a feel" of the sexy staff in return for a donation to a charity which was helping the homeless. The staff always looked forward to Cop a Feel Day. It sure broke up the monotony of working the checkouts and stacking the shelves.

Bev's checkout line was longer than everyone else's. That was just something that happened on these days. Bev had a big soft pair of boobs which were a real delight to squeeze through her pale blue cotton uniform.

Finally it was time for Gareth to pay for his container of orange juice.

"Hi, Gareth," she greeted him cheerfully. "Come to grope my goodies, have you?"

"You bet," he replied. "My favourite day of the whole month." He slipped a $20 note into the collection box.

"Have a treat for being so generous," she told him, unzipping her uniform and letting him fondle the soft bare flesh of her bosom where it spilled out of her lacy bra."

"That was awesome!" he exclaimed.

"Did you pop a boner?" she asked cheekily.

"I sure did," he replied.

"Then you go home and play with it on me, honey," she told him, as she turned to serve the next customer.

Alex was bending down to pack the bottom shelf with tins of beans when an attractive middle-aged redhead in a denim skirt came up behind him and squeezed his butt cheeks.

"You have to make a donation," he explained, turning towards her.

"Off course," she responded, pulling out her purse.

Alex had a bit of a thing for cougars. He liked the look of this lady.

"If you make it $50," he told her, "I'll let you put your hand down the front of my pants and feel my bare cock." It wasn't so much a generous offer on his part, as a gambit to reach half way to heaven for him. All the way would have been to have her pull his cock right out of his pants and wank him off over the pile of baked bean tins. But there were limits to what management would allow.

"You really know the way to a chick's heart," she smiled, putting the money in the tin and sliding her slim cool hand down his jeans and onto his hot hard cock. She left it there as long as she could, and when she pulled it back out the tips of her fingers were wet with pre-cum. She licked them off and then wrote her name and address and phone number on the back of her shopping list and handed it to him. "Feel free to come over to my place some time," she told him, "then I'll show you the way to a chick's cunt."

Alex couldn't believe his luck. That was one offer he'd definitely be taking up.

Terence had always fancied Penny, so he made a bee-line for her check out. He place a $100 note in the collection box.

"Wow!" cried Penny, blushing at the compliment. "I should really suck you off for a donation that big, but unfortunately that's against the rules."

"You're worth all the gold in China!" exclaimed Terence. He looked into her eyes and let out a sigh of adoration. Then he squeezed her small firm tits through her uniform.

"I've got to give you more," insisted Penny. "Want to spank me?"

"On the bare arse?" he asked, hopefully.

"No, unfortunately we aren't allowed to bare any intimate flesh," Penny informed him regretfully. Then she brightened up. "But I can lift my skirt and let you slide your hand down the back of my panties. If your finger goes in my butt hole or right under and up my twat I promise not to press charges."

So Terence reached over the counter and slid his hand down the back of her white Cottontails. He spent a couple of minutes playing with her warm wrinkled little butthole and slid his fingers in and out of her slippery wet pussy. It was tantalising, but ultimately frustrating, for them both.

"Maybe we could get together for a drink sometime," suggested Terence.

"I don't drink," Penny informed him. "But a fuck would be great!" She wrote her details on the back of a store business card.

At the end of the day they had raised $10,000 for the homeless.

Carol, the manageress, a leggy blonde in her forties counted up the takings in the back room as the staff filed in for debriefing. It wasn't just their briefs they took off though, it was everything.

"Seeing people being so generous to those less fortunate makes me so horny!" exclaimed Bev, masturbating her juicy cunt shamelessly as she watched the others strip. She was a big girl all over - tits, bum and heart. She couldn't wait to share herself with her horny work mates. By now they were all nude. Penny was doing a gogo dance, shaking her pink jiggly bottom and bouncing boobs. Alex was watching and stroking his stiff cock appreciatively. Samantha, an emo girl who worked the smallgoods section bent down to suck off Kent the delivery man. Kent hadn't been part of the charity activities, but he was always keen to join in staff social activities, especially when those activities involved filling the mouth of a girl half his age with jism.

When Carol had finished counting the money she stripped off and walked over to Alex, grabbing him by the cock and dragging him over to the side of the room.

"If you want that raise you're after," she growled, "then you better eat the boss's cunt." Alex didn't really need any bribe to go down on the sexy Carol. Which was a good thing, because Carol had no intention of actually giving him a raise. Not in his pay anyway.

The End

Going Ape! : Wank Wednesday

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Tit for Tat : Fuck Me Friday

Time once more for a filthy Fuck Me Friday fable. Check out the other contributions at Aisling Weaver's site.   If you want to be horny all weekend you'll have found the right place. And make sure to tell the authors if their work touched you where you like to be touched.

Tit for Tat

So I'm a compulsive hoarder. Sue me! It's my unit and if I want to step over piles of junk rather than feel the pain of separation involved in disposing of it that's my business.

Annette no doubt meant well when she asked why I didn't weed my possessions a little, but still it annoyed me.

Annette is my new neighbour. We live in a block of ten units in a quiet seaside suburb. A week after she moved in she knocked on my door and introduced herself. I'd seen her moving in and a couple of times since then. She was a brunette with an English rose complexion and a warm infectious smile. She also had massive breasts. Nothing grotesque mind you, but cantaloupe size. Russ Meyer would have considered her to be talented. She liked to wear plaid shirts that were a little too small so that the buttons seemed in danger of popping off at any moment and she always kept the top buttons undone to show some creamy pale cleavage.

She wasn't one of those top-heavy girls either, her boobs were balanced with a big bum which filled out her tight jeans like an over-stuffed sofa. Whether she was walking towards me or walking away she was swinging something that made my cock swell warmly.

"Ooooh, brandy. I wouldn't say no," she said as she entered my cluttered lounge room and saw a bottle on the coffee table.

"Of course," I replied. "I'll get some glasses." And so I wove my way between stacks of comics, piles of VHS tapes and old pizza boxes as I headed for the kitchen.

"What a lot of junk!" exclaimed Annette as I handed her a glass. She was holding one of my comics, and surveying the piles on all sides.

"I collect things," I replied. "It's a hobby."

"It's a fire hazard is what it is," she told me. "Do you actually read these comics?"

"When I buy them I do," I responded, not sure why I should feel so defensive.

"And then you just leave them piled around gathering dust?" she asked. "They won't keep well if you don't put them in acid-proof bags."

"You sound like you collect comics yourself," I commented.

"No, but I sell them sometimes," she explained. "I make my money selling stuff on e-bay. I buy up odds and sods from deceased estates and auction them off on the net."

"You can live on that?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah," she replied. "It's time consuming but there's good money in it. And its exciting because you never know when you are going to hit the jackpot with a rare collector's item."

"Well," I said, "I don't think I could part with any of my stuff. Everything has memories."

"Including the pizza boxes?" she asked. "Sorry, don't mind me. I can be a bit rude at times. Really, it's your life. You do what you want."

Annette was something of a gardener and I would see her pruning the roses or picking weeds out of the strip of lawn between the two rows of units. Other times we would meet up at the letter box after the postie had been. Her face always lit up when she saw me. She smiled warmly, and her eyes twinkled as she exchanged small talk in an almost conspiratorially embracing manner. And she always seemed to stand just a little bit closer than I was entirely comfortable with. She had such an effusively affectionate manner that I felt as if, had she been a small dog, she would have been humping my leg.

Don't get me wrong. This made me uncomfortable only because I was unused to getting this kind of response from a woman. If I'd been a small dog I would have wanted to hump her leg too. But I'm not the kind of guy women generally pay much attention to. Short and chubby, with too little hair on my head and too much everywhere else, I'm often compared to the actor Paul Giamatti. My ex-girlfriend said I was cute and cuddly, but you won't find guys like me as centrefolds in Playgirl.

The other thing that impressed me about Annette was her perfume. I don't know what brand it was, but it was genuinely intoxicating, a mix of musk and cinnamon and wildflowers.

With her smile and her smell and her boobs and her bum and her standing so close, I felt such an impulse  just to grab her by the letterbox. But I was so unsure of myself after several years on my own. What if her warm, intimate manner with me was the way she was with everyone? I didn't want to embarrass myself by doing anything rash.

But then, one morning, I stumbled into the lounge room while eating from a bowl of cereal and noticed that something was different. Something was missing.

It took a while for me to realise what it was. It was my copy of the issue of The Puzzler in which he took on his arch enemy Sodoku Man. It had been on the top of the biggest pile of comics. It's absence was made all the more obvious because the issue underneath it was not coated in dust as the comics which topped the other piles were.

As I looked around I found that that was not all that was missing. A total of 23 comics, 5 vintage issues of Playboy, a collector's guide to Matchbox Cars and an autographed picture of David Hasselhoff were gone.

The crime rate in the district in which I live is not high, and our units are close together with front doors facing the central strip of lawn, so that any thief would run the risk of being observed. So many of us are in the habit of leaving our doors unlocked when we are asleep. Someone must have snuck in and stolen my stuff. But who?

Then I noticed it. The smell. The smell of Annette's perfume. Of course she should have been the first suspect, since she had knowledge and motive. But until I noticed the perfume I didn't think of her. I didn't want to think that she might steal from me. Maybe that was why she had been so friendly. Maybe she was just buttering me up to get access to my saleable items.

What was I going to do? Confront her? Yes. But I couldn't get her boobs and butt out of my mind. I wanted revenge for this invasion and theft, but I also wanted Annette.

Then it struck me like lightning. What's good for the gander is good for the goose. Tit for tat. If she could sneak into my unit and take something of mine, then that gave me permission to sneak into hers and steal something. But what? A pair of panties maybe. But that wasn't really what I wanted. I wanted her.

Maybe I should just go over there and walk in unannounced. If I was lucky, I might find her in a skimpy nightie or maybe I could walk into the bathroom while she was in the shower. I wasn't likely to be that lucky, but either way, I had an advantage over a sexy woman. She owed me. That couldn't be be a bad thing.

I had right on my side. I was not going to be deterred from righting the wrong that had been done against me.

I walked up to her door, turned the knob and walked straight in.

"Oh, my God! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to... I apologise... I'll go right now," I stammered when I saw that Annette was sitting stark naked on a recliner in her living room with her legs spread and pleasuring her dripping wet pussy with a Hitachi Magic Wand vibrator.

"Don't do that," she insisted. "Be sociable and stay. Make yourself comfortable. Take your clothes off."

"I beg your pardon?" I asked.

"No need to do that, you didn't do anything wrong," she told me. "You're always welcome to visit me. You're my favourite neighbour. Now get your gear off. You must feel over-dressed. You'll find that my central heating is very efficient. You won't be cold."

"O.K., if you insist," I mumbled, beginning to unbutton my shirt. As I undressed she continued to moan happily as she buzzed herself.

"If I were having a cup of tea, I'd do the neighbourly thing and offer you a cup," she told me. "But I'm not, I'm having a wank. Can I offer you one?"

"A wank?" I asked.

"Yes, how do you like your wanks? A straight hand job, or do you like some tit with it?" she wanted to know.

"Oh, I like mine with plenty of tit," I replied. "Especially the thick creamy kind. None of that slimmer rubbish."

"Well, you're in luck," she enthused. "I have lashings of creamy tit for your wank."

By now I was naked. My cock was as hard as a rock and dribbling precum on the carpet.

"Dear, dear, you are a messy boy," she chuckled. "Now bring that thing here."

I came up close to her and she put down her wand and grasped my cock in her soft warm hand, slowly beginning to stroke it up and down.

"Is there anything else you like with your wank?" she enquired.

"Well, I am quite partial to sweet sticky buns," I told her.

"I've got plenty of honey in the kitchen," she informed me, "so that shouldn't be a problem. But you will have to have your sweet sticky buns after your wank, because I'm not a contortionist."

Then she let go of my cock and grasped one of my butt cheeks in each hand and pulled me to her chest so that my cock was between her big soft pale boobs. When I was in place she let go of me and pushed her boobs together around my cock. It felt heavenly. Her soft breasts were so silky against the hot hardness of my prick. As I stood there, leaning in to her, she drew her boobs up and down my cock. I thrust my pelvis to compliment the boob wank she was giving me. And as she moved her boobs up and down she kissed my chubby hairy belly and stuck her tongue in my navel.

All of the erotic energy that had been building in me since I met Annette was coming to a dizzying peak as I stood in her lounge room fucking her boobs. It wasn't long before I climaxed and my balls shot spurt after spurt of hot cum all over the upper slopes of her magnificent mammaries.

"You're not the only one who likes loads of cream with a wank," she grinned, bending forward to slurp and lick up all of the cum that was dribbling from my wilting cock. She then smeared the cum on her boobs down over her stiff pink nipples and sucked it off, first from one and then the other.

"Wasn't that better than a cup of tea?" she asked. "I'll go prepare your sweet sticky buns now." And she ran off to the kitchen.

When she returned she told me to sit down in the chair and then turned to face away from me. Her big pale wobbly arse was all coated in honey.

"No need to say grace," she insisted. "Just dig in."

I bent forward and began licking up all of the honey off of the big soft cheeks of her bottom.

"Mind if I stroke while you eat?" she asked politely.

"Not at all," I assured her.

And so, as I buried my face in the sweet goo all over her bottom, licking and dribbling and feeling the tickling sensation of honey dripping from the end of my nose, she began alternately playing with her stiff clit and sliding her fingers into her already half-wanked cunt.

By the time I was pulling apart her big cheeks and digging my tongue deep into her bum-hole to suck out the last vestiges of sweet honey, she was squealing her way through a body shaking orgasm.

Once our lust was sated we had a shower together to wash off all the sweat and cum. I don't think there was any honey left. I was pretty thorough licking that heavenly bottom of hers. The same bottom that rubbed all over my semi-erect prick when she had to bend down to pick up the soap.

Afterwards we sat around nude in the living room and chatted about all kinds of things.

"Yes, I did steal some of your tat and sell it on ebay," she confessed. "I didn't think you would notice. I was going to tell you later in hopes that it would teach you a lesson."

"I knew it was you because I could smell your perfume," I explained.

"Vanity. It'll get you every time," she sighed.

"I love your perfume though," I insisted. "Of all the people I know in the world, you're the one that looks best and the one that smells the best. And now I know you also feel the best."

"That's so sweet," she smiled. "I think we can be good neighbours. Feel free to drop in and hang out anytime. You're always welcome. Don't bother to knock. The only thing I insist on is total nudity. That's the way I like to be, and it just doesn't seem right if someone's present who is still wearing sneakers, or a tie or one sock."

"I like to be nude with you," I told her, "because then you can see the physical evidence of how much you excite me."

"Yes, I can see that I have a little fan as well as a bigger one," she laughed.

"Hey, not so much of the little!" I exclaimed.

"He'll do," she giggled. "You know what they say, anything more than a mouthful is a waste."

"And just let me know if there is anything I can do to help you out in other ways," I said. "I really appreciate how you do the gardening. I have some skills as a handyman."

"Really? Like what?" she wanted to know.

"I'm quite good with electrical things," I told her.

"My electric blanket has stopped working," she informed me.

"Well, it's usually not a good idea to try to fix them," I warned her. "It's better to replace it."

"Could you replace it?" she asked.

"You mean buy you a new one?" I queried.

"No. I mean take its place," she insisted. "I'm really cold in bed at night, but with another body in there with me, I think I could be toasty warm. And you're friendlier than an old electric blanket."

"We could give it a go," I agreed.

"I know I'm asking a lot," she said. "I like to sleep a good eight hours each night. So I'd be asking you to take quite a bit of time out of your evening just to help me keep warm."

"Oh, that's O.K.," I insisted. "I wasn't doing anything else."

"And there are a couple of things I should warn you about," she added. "I have a tendency to talk in my sleep. My ex-boyfriend said I said some quite improper things while I was sleeping. Let's put it this way - I'm not exactly safe for work."

"That's not a problem," I told her. "I rarely do any work while in bed."

"And my other problem is insomnia," she confessed.

"That's no good," I sympathised.

"But there is a solution," she reassured me. "I always sleep soundly after strenuous exercise."

"That makes sense," I replied.

"Its just that there is only one kind of strenuous activity I've found that I can do in bed," she warned me. "I mean its not that I don't know how to play chess, or charades, or tiddly winks. But they just aren't strenuous enough to really wear me out. Running would do it, but I can't do that in bed. So it always has to be the same thing. I suppose you can guess what that is."

"I've got a good idea," I admitted.

"You wouldn't mind helping me in that way?" she asked.

"It's only the neighbourly thing to do," I told her.

"You are so understanding," she replied, kissing the tip of my nose. "And I'm sure there will be things I can do for you. If you can think of anything, just let me know."

"Oh, I will," I assured her. "I will. I think we are going to be the best of neighbours."

The End

Keeping in Practice : Wank Wednesday

Time for another boner-filled bedtime story to celebrate the occasion of Wank Wednesday as instituted by Ruby Kiddell. For most of us this is the middle of the work week, so let me tell you that, if you are reading this blog at work, your boss is right behind you. Ha ha, fooled you! Today's prompt word is #practice. To sample the full cornucopia of contributions visit The Erotic Notebook.

Keeping in Practice


There was no doubt that the danger involved in revealing the truth about myself was extreme, but sometimes you have to risk everything if you are going to realise a dream.

I sidled up to the dusky beauty Asaya and whispered, "Psssst!"

"Yes?" she asked, uncertainly. My own trepidation was reflected in her dark eyes.

"I have testicles," I told her.

"What are you trying to tell me?" she wanted to know. "That overnight Allah has returned you to wholeness?"

"No, no miracle has occurred," I assured her.

"Well you had no testicles yesterday," she insisted. "Marguerite exposed you so that we could all laugh at the place where your balls used to be."

"That wasn't me," I explained. "That was my twin brother Ahmed."

"Prove it," she insisted, so I exposed myself to her. My balls were hanging proudly and my cock was semi-stiff thinking about what was to come.

"Well fuck me sideways!" she exclaimed. Of course I'm translating for you. It sounded much more dignified in Bedouin.

"Ahmed wanted to experience springtime in Baghdad," I informed her. "Harem eunuchs don't normally get holidays, but he persuaded me to take his place. All going well, Sheikh Yah-TaelFetha will never know Ahmed's been gone."

"If he finds out you are not Ahmed, it won't just be your balls you lose," she warned. "It will be your head."

"I think I'm already losing my head over you," I told her, with my most debonair smile.

"You are a rascal," she scolded, as her ruby lips curled into a wicked grin. "What's your name?"

"My honourable father named me Wadi," I declared with a bow.

"Wadi Ya-Gunadu?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied.

"You must love your brother very much to risk your life so that he can have a holiday in Baghdad," she said.

"Well, let's just say that he sold me on the fringe benefits of the arrangement," I told her.

"Fringe benefits?" she queried with mock innocence.

"You girls wouldn't turn me in now would you?" I appealed to her. "You can't tell me that that doddering old sheikh fulfils your true needs."

"Girls!" she yelled out, addressing the throng of 23 gossamer-clad beauties. "Looks like Ahmed has played the old switcheroo. This is actually his twin brother Wadi."

"Hey, Wadi!" called the girls, waving and giggling.

"Wadi is in possession of a working set of genitalia, ladies," she added.

"Yay! Wahoo! Get 'em off!" yelled the rowdy rabble of ravishers.

"We have approximately two weeks before the Sheikh returns from the camel races in Abu Dhabi," Asaya pointed out. "Wadi, rather arrogantly I must say, thinks that we will find him so irresistible that we will let him slake his lust on our poor defenceless bodies and not turn him in to meet the fate that all despoilers of other men's wives deserve at the blade of a scimitar. Is he right?"

"Bloody oath he's right!" cried Shiela, the Sheikh's mail-order bride from Sydney.

"Even when he is here, the Sheikh calls upon each of us but once a month," pointed out Inga, the daughter of the Swedish ambassador to Saudi Arabia who had agreed to marry the Sheikh in return for his agreement not to let the world press know what her father really got up to on his trips to Morocco.

"Oui, oui," put in Marianne, the ex-Parisian artist's model, "we will all be doing the Sheikh a very large service by keeping in practice, is it not so?"

"When the cat's away, the mice will play... usually with themselves," Asaya admitted. "We have to act decorous when our husband is around, but that is not very much of the time. I'm sure that Ahmed has told you what happens the rest of the time."

"You mean about all of the wanking and clit-licking and titty-nibbling you girls get up to in your extensive leisure time?" I asked.

"Ahmed never could keep a secret," she sighed. "Except from the Sheikh. After all, if the Sheikh knew that he couldn't control us, he'd get the chop - the big one. And, seriously, take a look. How could he control a bunch of sluts like us?"

In an instant the girl's clothing went from near non-existent to completely non-existent. All of them were laughing, some of them were fingering themselves and others were spanking nearby bottoms. And a hunger burned in every eye as they looked at me. By now my cock was so stiff that it was curved like the Sheikh's scimitar and dribbling a river of pre-cum down its length. I, too, shrugged off my remaining clothing.

Sheila came up beside me and kissed me on the cheek while she slid her chubby sweaty little hand up and down my proud prick.

"A wank's nice," she said, "but you can't beat a root. And I bet we all  have something to learn about rooting, because we get so little practice, and, let's be honest, the Sheikh isn't exactly crash hot at it."

"That you can say again!" agreed Brunhilda, the German ex-milkmaid.

"We must take our turns," said Asaya. "Over the next ten to twelve days we'll all get several fucks, but we mustn't wear him out or his balls might drop off, and then we would be back to square one."

"I bags first go!" cried Sheila.

"You're a greedy little bitch," Asaya told her. "But I know the only way to get you to let go of his dick would be to knock you out cold, and I'm not a violent woman."

The blonde sun-tanned Sheila pushed me down onto a divan and pressed her warm wet mouth onto mine. I grasped her arse cheeks and rubbed my cock against her luxuriant proliferation of pubic bush.

"Fuck the foreplay!" she cried. "Let's make like kangaroos and hop to the humping!"

She sat up on her haunches, grabbed my cock and sat down on it forcefully so that it slid to the hilt up her cunt. As she rode up and down she played feverishly with her clit and the rosy red nipples which decorated her massive bouncing breasts.

All around the room the other girls were lounging on divans or on cushions on the floor. All of them were watching us with rapt attention, all had their legs shamelessly spread and all were masturbating happily.

Asaya came up behind me and squatted down to stroke and kiss my face. Then she planted her warm lips on mine. Our mouths opened and our tongues met. I looked deeply into her dark, dark eyes and knew that I loved her. I felt Sheila's juicy vagina slurping up and down my sensitive stiff prick and I knew that I loved her too. I looked around at all the harem girls playfully pleasuring their pussies, and I knew that I loved every one of them.

"Mmmmmmm yum, here I cum!" shouted Sheila. As jism spurted out of my cock she fell back off of it and showered my balls with pussy juice.

"Let us wash you and pamper you while you recover from your exertion," said Asaya with a smile.

I let myself be led to the bathing pool and sank back into the warm water. The girls gathered around, soaping me and scenting me with rich fragrances and feeding me sweet grapes.

"Pew!" cried Inga. "Masturbating makes me so sweaty. My armpits smell like a camel's ball bag."

"I've got crusty cum in my arse crack!" pointed out Sheila.

"It sounds like it's my turn to administer the ablutions," I declared.

"Oh, goody!" exclaimed Abigail, ex-parlour maid to Lord Fotheringay, who had exchanged her for one of the Sheikh's race horses. "I've never had a spunky gentleman wash me all over, even right inside my rude places."

It took me three hours to thoroughly clean all 23 girls. I took my time. There was no hurry. And I was very thorough. I slid my soapy finger all the way up each of their assholes, much to their squealing delight. And I felt it was only fair to work over their clits and pussies until they quivered and squirted over my sudsy fingers.

Then we sat around all glowing from our bath, the girls all sitting cross-legged on cushions on the floor so that their pussies were shamelessly displayed, and we competed to see who could tell the dirtiest story. I couldn't possibly repeat some of the things those girls came up with. They weren't just sluts they were seriously sick and deranged individuals, and all the more delightful for it. We all collapsed in fits of laughter each time someone would invent some new obscenity. And some of them were so shocking that the girls responsible had to be soundly spanked, usually by Asaya.

I fucked two more girls before nightfall, and then we all climbed into the Sheikh's massive bed. Asaya pulled me close. I fondled her dusky bottom lovingly as we kissed, and then I slowly slid my hard cock into the happy home it longed for.

"I kept you until bedtime because I want to fall asleep in your arms with your hot seed dribbling out of my cunt," she whispered in my ear. It was a tender romantic moment, and one shared with the giggling girl-flesh mountain on top of us.

It was a chaotic night. There wasn't quite enough room for us to be fully comfortable. At some point someone would always role over and knock someone else onto the floor. Then the girl on the floor would dive back onto the pile and wake the rest of us up. If it wasn't that it was me waking up and finding my cock in some girl's mouth. But, though perhaps not restful, it was a good-natured evening.

The next day my brother Ahmed returned unexpectedly.

"Why are you back so early?" I asked, fearing the worst.

"Well, I have good news and bad news," he said.

"You better give me the bad news first," I told him.

"One of the Sheikh's friends saw me in Baghdad and I had to flee," he explained.

"Fuck!" I cried. "How long have we got?"

"Well, the answer to that question relates to the good news," he replied.

"And that is?" I wanted to know.

"The Sheikh was trampled to death by a rabid camel yesterday afternoon," he announced with a grin.

The girls took the news of their husband's death surprisingly well. It was a happy ending for everyone. Well, everyone but Ahmed. He still doesn't have any balls.

The End

The Sex Signal : Fuck Me Friday

What day is it I hear you ask? It's Fuck Me Friday! Time to listen to another one of the Scribbler's filthy stories. That is if you can listen with your eyes. If you can't, maybe you'd better read it instead.

Make sure to check out Aisling Weaver's site to read the other contributions and let the writers know how much you love them with a little feedback.

The Sex Signal

It was 5.26 PM on a Friday afternoon. The location was a packed commuter bus in a major city.

The girl was a university student. She was short but shapely with frizzy red hair and glasses. She was wearing a cream cardigan stretched tightly over her full bosom. Her loose navy skirt didn't quite come down to her pale and freckled knees. She was leafing through a magazine and nodding her head gently in time to the beat of the music she was listening to on her I-Pod.

The man, who was sitting in the seat next to her, was a business man in his forties. He was quite good-looking but with the air of dullness that comes from an up-tight all-business personality. He was reading The Financial Times.

The first sign that something was wrong was that the girl started to play with the hem of her skirt, pulling it up and down her thigh in a way that intermittently uncovered a little more thigh flesh than was quite proper during rush hour on a bus.

The businessman tried to concentrate on his paper, but he was only human and his eyes kept drifting back to the girl's pale freckled thigh.

She pulled the earphone out of her right ear - the one next to the businessman - and turned to look at him. When he met her eye she smiled sweetly. She left the other earphone in place.

The news magazine she'd been flicking through was open to a picture of the marriage of Prince William and Kate Middleton.

"I don't believe in the monarchy," she said casually to the businessman, "but I'd suck his cock."

"I beg your pardon?" stammered the businessman, unable to believe his ears.

"I'd take it all the way to the back of my throat," she explained. "I can practically feel his throbbing cock veins against my tongue now."

"Are you on some kind of medication?" asked the nervous man.

"No," repled the girl simply, as she lifted her skirt around her waist and stuck her hand down inside her visibly damp pink cotton panties.

"Well, you should be," he told her.

By now some of the people in surrounding seats were beginning to notice that she was behaving strangely. Mostly they tried to ignore it. It was better not to get involved.

"God, I love having a long slow wank," she sighed. "Of course I'm a total perv. It's a wonder I get any studying done when there is so much awesome porn on the internet to jill off to. What about you? Ever wank off to internet porn? I bet you're into dominatrixes. You look the type. Why don't you pull your dick out? I can see that its stiff. We'll have a wanking contest. If you shoot your shot before I cum I'll lick it all up no matter where it lands."

"This is a public place," insisted the man, feeling his face burning red and the sweat pouring down into his shirt collar. "People are looking."

"I can't help it if they're uptight," she said, unbuttoning her cardigan and blouse and lifting her large pale breasts out of her bra so that she could play with her big pink nipples with one hand while continuing to wank with the other. "You have to have fun in this life and not be intimidated by blue noses."

"Just because someone is not a mentally deranged slut doesn't mean they're a blue nose," insisted a young woman sitting across the aisle. "Driver you need to ring the police. Or an ambulance. I don't know which, but there's a woman here who's going crazy and doing obscene things."

The driver pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the bus, and half the male passengers started craning their necks and trying to move forward.

"Keep back! Keep back!" cried the bus driver. "No need to panic."

The girl was now standing in the aisle, bent over with her skirt up and her bare ass in the air as she unzipped the business man's pants, wrenched them down and pulled his stiff cock out of his underwear.

"This isn't my doing!" insisted the businessman as she began sucking his cock. "I don't want this! But I'm a pacifist. I can't bring myself to fight back. Especially against a woman. Violence just wouldn't solve anything."

"I've rung the police," the driver informed him. "But I'm not trained for security matters. It's outside my job description to try to restrain deranged passengers. But, believe me, I'm watching everything that happens closely. I'll be able to describe it accurately in court."

This was not an isolated incident. All over the world people were losing their sexual inhibitions to a frightening degree. But not everyone. It depended on what they had been listening to.

*          *          *

Jennifer was bored with the party. She was chatting with Susan about cake recipes. Every so often she would look away while pretending to listen. She looked over at Michael. He was a bit of a spunk. A pity he was so dull. All he ever wanted to talk about was his car. Tony was getting a drink from the fridge. She could swear he totally checked out Tabitha's butt in those tight jeans as he walked past her, but he was pretty subtle about it. Maybe things would pick up a bit later once they'd all had a few more drinks.

But now she needed to extricate herself from her conversation with Susan and go have a pee.

As she pulled down her panties and sat down on the toilet she contemplated her situation in life. She had all the things she had hoped to have by this time in her life. She had a good job as a hospital receptionist. She was married to Tony, who was a decent enough guy. Although he was usually busy with work, he'd make time to spend with her, maybe a dinner out or a movie. Their two kids were doing all right at school. They weren't delinquents. They're grades were acceptable.

Enthusiasm though, that was what was missing. That passionate fire in the belly. And her sex life with Tony. It was enjoyable enough, but it wasn't all that exciting any more. She came when they had sex, but her heart didn't beat like it was going to burst out of her chest like it did back when they were teenagers. She supposed it was like that for everybody.

As she came out of the bathroom she wondered why Michael was looking in her direction. He quickly looked away as if he'd been doing something he shouldn't.

"Let's liven the music up a bit," suggested Graham, picking up the I-Pod that was plugged into the speaker system and selecting a different album. "Let's listen to the new Percy and the Parasites album."

Percy and the Parasites were a somewhat campy retro pop band whose output was silly but decidedly danceable. For the first few tracks everyone grooved along to the happy music. But when the speakers began to blast out a song called Panty Party something strange happened. This was the same track that was playing on the I-Pod of the girl on the bus just as she started playing with the hem of her dress.

Michael came over and sat next to Jennifer.

"That's a lovely dress your wearing," he said.

"It's not like you to compliment me on my clothes," Jennifer pointed out.

"What I'd really like to do is to compliment you on what's underneath them," he told her.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, with a nervous giggle.

"I bet you have a lovely pink pussy," he continued. "Do you shave it or leave it all nice and hairy."

"How would you like me to ask you how big your cock is? And whether you woke up with a rock hard boner this morning?" she responded, astounded at what was coming out of her own mouth.

"I've got a boner now, I can tell you that much," he told her, grabbing her hand and pushing it down onto the lump in the front of his trousers. "I think about you when I'm alone. I think about you and I masturbate. I stroke my stiff cock while I imagine you squatting down and pissing all over my body."

"What the fuck?!?" cried Jennifer. "I don't know if I want to piss on you. I'd rather feel your stiff prick in here." She lifted her dress and grabbed the damp crotch of her panties.

Michael unzipped his pants and pulled out his stiff cock.

"Oh, my God, Michael's got his cock out!" laughed his wife, Tabitha. "Well, if he's going to wank off in front of everyone, then I'm going to stick a zucchini up my ass!"

"And a lovely ass it is," said Tony, sinking to his knees and nuzzling his face into it, before licking up the seam that covered her arse crack.

"Look at me, everyone!" cried Graham, stripping off all of his clothes and waving his erection at the women. Then he sat down on the sofa and used his stiff cock as a catapult to shoot salted peanuts into his mouth.

"I'll give you a lap dance like you'd never believe, honey," purred Susan, coming up behind him and running her hands all over his hairy chest. "As long as you promise to grope my tits and ass and finger my cunt. And when I'm nude I'll give you a tug job until you spurt jizz all over my face."

"I want to see that!" cried Tabitha, who was now nude and slipping a zucchini lubricated with margarine into the tight embrace of her pink butt hole, while Tony watched and wanked.

"Look at her!" cried Jennifer, spreading her labia and displaying her wet hole. "She's my pink, wet pride and joy and she wants cocks and lots of them! I wonder how long it would take to get fucked by every guy in the world?" she wondered.

"Well you can start with me," Michael responded, sliding his achingly stiff member deep into her wet warmth.

And it went on like that. Graham spurted over Susan's face. Tabitha licked it up while Tony spread her cheeks and licked her asshole. And after Jennifer and Michael had finished fucking, Jennifer needed to pee again so she dragged Michael in with her to watch.

*          *          *

The alien diplomats were gathered in the Oval Office. The leader looked at the President of the United States through a set of four large glossy black eyes and fidgeted with one of his sixteen pairs of tentacles while fanning the rest out in a gesture intended to indicate confidence and magnanimity.

"If you agree to all of our demands we will undo the brainwashing and allow you to go back to repressing your sexuality and living orderly, productive, structured lives," offered the leader.

"And we would want that why?" asked the President, who was groping the breasts of two of his nude secretaries, while fucking a hot blonde reporter and enjoying the sensation of having his wife slide her lubed fingers up his ass.

"We could possibly have planned this conquest attempt a little better," admitted the leader to one of his underlings.

The End