Romance Language : Wank Wednesday

In the beginning was the Word, and the word was #word.  That's right, today's Wank Wednesday prompt word is, in fact, #word. It comes from Ruby Kiddell at The Erotic Notebook. Go there to find out more about this writing challenge and to find links to other participant's stories.

Romance Language : Wank Wednesday

You may know her as Celeste Harrington, author of Rodeo Romeo, Infidelity in Istanbul and Passion in Paraguay. I know that her real name is Ida Scraggs and she's lived all of her forty-two years in Melbourne. She's my ex-wife.

We lived together for twelve years. We were good together too, but when she caught me with another woman it ended. I didn't blame her. Everyone has to chose what they want in life, and what she wanted was no longer me.

I moved to the U.S. and started up a men's magazine. That was ten years ago. It wasn't the right time for it. The internet had already eaten up most of the wank mag business. So I went bust. Ended up scraping a meagre existence writing porn paperbacks for Viscount Press. They'd been around since the fifties. Now they were releasing their range in ebooks as well as print so they were managing to stay afloat. There wasn't much money in it, but it paid for my burgers and beer.

Then my dad died and left me $5,000. I was homesick for Melbourne, so I decided to use the money to return there and look for a place to live. I could write smut anywhere. It might as well be somewhere I could get a decent beer.

At first I was hesitant about contacting Celeste. But she wasn't one to hold a grudge. It wasn't anything personal anymore. I'm sure she had someone new and my misdeeds of the past would be the least of her concerns. And she was the only person I could think of who might put me up while I looked for a flat.

I emailed her. She was happy to catch up. I was right and wrong about her having someone new. She'd had plenty of guys, but at the moment she was on her own.

She met me at the airport. To me it didn't seem like she had changed at all. She was wearing a light floral summer dress. Her brown hair was kind of a mess, pulled back behind her head but with strands hanging down the sides. I suppose there was a tinge of grey to it now, and maybe deeper laugh lines around her eyes, but I still wouldn't have kicked her out of bed for farting even after all these years.

"God," she said. "You look terrible. You obviously haven't been eating properly."

"You wouldn't know a real man if you tripped over him," I replied. "You live in romance land, populated by blokes in whose ripped muscular bodies beat hearts as soft as poofters."

"I don't know how a lady of my refinement ever ended up marrying such a Neanderthal," she scowled.

"I bet you haven't had a decent root since I left," I smiled.

"I never found out what a decent one was until I dumped you," she responded.

"So seriously, how is the old romance lark?" I asked her once we had got to her house and stowed my luggage in the guest bedroom.

"I'm doing well enough," she told me. "It's hard work though. No matter how good the writing is, you really need the quantity to make a living at it. What about you? What are you up to these days?"

"Thinking about getting into a new line of work," I admitted. "I've been writing porno novels. There's very little money in it. And hardly anyone is buying the stuff I write. The readers are just so jaded and only the kinkiest and sickest books sell. Nobody wants good clean wholesome smut anymore. I mean look at some of the other titles that Viscount are publishing," I said, calling up a list on the computer. "Tamed by the Torturer, Incest and Peppermints, Loving Lassie..."

"'Loving Lassie'?" she queried. "That sounds like a Scottish period romance."

I showed her the cover.

"Oh..." she said, looking a little pale.

"There must be something else I can write," I sighed.

One thing I'd always loved about Celeste was her cooking. That evening she made lasagne.

As she was preparing the ingredients, with an red and white checkered apron over her dress, I came up behind her and began fondling her buttocks. They were incredibly soft, but still shapely.

"Why don't I sleep in your bed tonight," I suggested. "We could both do with a bit of a clean out of the old pipes."

"You've really lost none of your debonair charm, have you?" she laughed, pushing my hands away.

I wasn't able to persuade her, so that night I slept in the guest bedroom.

"Why don't you try writing romance?" she asked the next morning at breakfast. She was sitting there drinking her coffee in a baggy pink tracksuit which had seen better days.

"You really think I could write that kind of stuff?" I queried.

"Well, it ends up with sex scenes," she pointed out. "You just have to be more subtle and long-winded about how you get there. More time describing the sea and the sky and less time describing the body parts."

"I've never thought of myself as a romantic," I pointed out.

"It's not up to you to supply the romance," she explained. "That's for the reader. You only have to learn to provide a framework for them to hang their dreams on."

So I decided to give it a go. Celeste agreed that I could stay on for a bit while she attempted to show me the ropes.

"How's this?" I asked later that day, showing her what I had written :

The sheikh swept her up in his arms beneath the desert moon. He made her his own with a passionate kiss on the lips, much as he might brand one of his camels with a hot iron. Her tender heart twitched liked a newborn rabbit, as he bore her to his tent. As the wind whipped the sand into eddies around their fragile shelter, he lay her down upon a pile of silken cushions and, with great relish, unwrapped the sweet delights of her soft form. Then he proudly threw off his robes, grasped his jizz-filled fuck stick in his hand and shoved it up her twat. 


"It's starts well," Celeste conceded. "But, you see, it's all a matter of the words you use. What's happening is just the same. It's all about fucking, but you have to make it sound like it is something different from what you see the animals doing at the zoo."

Half an hour later I showed her something new :

There in the woods, with the glittering gowns and whirling waltzes of the Grand Ball still swirling in our heads, we embraced with a heated passion that burned like the furnaces in the dark satanic mills. We transported each other to a rare etherial realm where fairy folk serenaded us on the pan pipes as we lost our raiments and our inhibitions. Our love was like a mighty wave that reached a foaming crescendo as my body melded to hers. And, then, when our ecstasy could reach no higher peak I bathed her visage in the excess of my adoration.

"What does that last bit even fucking mean?" asked Celeste.

"I came in her face," I said.

"Maybe I'm wrong," she sighed, shaking her head. "Maybe you really don't have it in you."

"Don't you ever want the real thing?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" she wanted to know.

"Well, you write about people making passionate love in glamorous places, but here you sit in a suburban home in Melbourne in a pair of trackie dacks that would give Casanova a soft-on," I explained.

"Sure, I'd love to sip champagne in Paris in a Yves St. Laurent dress while an Archduke kisses my hand," she admitted. "But it just isn't going to happen."

"But that isn't what romance is really all about," I told her. "It isn't about places or clothes or even good looks. It's about how you can make a person feel. Smile in the right way, open your heart to the one in your arms, show them that you treasure them for all that they are, and you can make them feel like a million dollars. You used to be able to do that to me. The last few years I've felt like a piece of shit, because that is all anyone took me for. But when I saw you there at the airport, I remembered that with you it was different."

"But I wasn't enough for you, was I?" she asked.

"No, you weren't," I admitted. "And I'm sure I wasn't enough for you. But romance is not about sufficiency, it's about electricity. And you can't keep lightning in a bottle."

"If you're a genius at anything," she said, "it's making excuses. But you're right. Having you around has put a spark back in my life too. I can laugh with you. And I can be myself. That counts for a lot, and I don't intend to take it for granted."

"He enveloped her in his manly arms," I began, fitting actions to words. "And pressed the hardness of his lips against the softness of hers."

Her mouth opened and I felt her tongue slide into my own.

"You're tracksuit may be of the finest silk, milady," I told her, "but it is no match for the silkiness of your pure white skin."

I unzipped her tracksuit top and pulled it off of her shoulders. Then I crouched in front of her and yanked  down the bottoms. She was wearing a sensible support bra and white cottontails.

"I, also, will divest myself of my vestments," I declared. "If we are bound for paradise then let us be clad as Adam and Eve before us."

I tore my t-shirt over my head, pulled off my shoes and socks, unzipped my jeans and pulled them down. I stood in just my underpants.

"My love for sweet Celeste grows inside my codpiece like a mighty oak," I soliloquized.

"You might be overselling it a bit there," she told me.

"Romantic hyperbole, my dear," I assured her. "Nothing more."

Then I slid off my last garment and twisted my hips so that my stiff cock swung proudly before her.

"I must feast my eyes upon my fair lady's bosom," I declared, "and upon the juicy cunt that soaketh through her panties."

"It's not exactly 'You had me at hello'," she laughed. "But I'll give you points for trying."

I unclipped her bra and set her soft pale boobs free to swing above her belly. Then I pulled down her panties and slapped her playfully on the bum.

"Let us away to the fuck chamber!" I cried, picking her up in my arms and carrying her to her bed.

I pulled her tight in my arms, her legs wrapped around my waist and my cock slid happily home into her warm wet pussy.

"You're my home, you know that, don't you?" I told her. "In your arms, and in your pussy, is the only place in this whole crazy fucked-up world where anything makes any sense."

"I know," she said, "I can tell. And I'd rather be here with you than with some hunky cowboy in Texas or some oil sheik in Bahrain."

And so, as the sun sank slowly over the western suburbs of Melbourne, glinting off of the chrome bumpers of half-dismantelled Holden cars in many a back yard, and as the blow-flys floated over the piles of canine excrement set like jewels in the green cloak of the kikuyu grass, Celeste and I drifted off into an erotic wonderland of pussy-twitching and jism-spurting exultation, and all was right with the world.

The End

The Prime Traveller's Life : Thelma

This was intended to be the first of a series. And maybe it still will be. Let me know what you think.

There’s something about the universe. It’s just so universal. If you think about it (and I don’t recommend that you do) the universe can’t help but be a strange place, because everything strange is in it. Most of the time it makes no sense, and when it does make sense that’s even stranger, because there’s no reason why it should. In all the chaotic fields of energy, why should there be something as regular and dependable as matter? And amidst all of the dead matter why should some of it be alive? Among all the things that are alive why should there be some who are able to look out into the universe and realise that it makes no sense?

Recently something new has started to happen which makes sense but doesn’t make sense. A genetic mutation has made it possible, or rather unavoidable, for some individuals to travel instantaneous from one spot to another in space. That bit makes no sense. But there seems to be a purpose behind the phenomenon. Where the travellers travel is not random. They travel along an axis of sexuality. Imagine one of those weird machines they used to have in the old Frankenstein movies. An arch of electricity jumps between two electrodes, one negative and the other positive. In this case the opposites are greed and need. The possessors of this mutant gene have a tremendous appetite for sexual self-gratification. And it is this which causes them to be transported into the vicinity of members of the opposite sex who are either lonely or horny or both. Now you may be asking, “Aren’t greed and need pretty similar?” But what makes them opposites is that the greedy individual has a surfeit of what he wants, even if he is never satisfied, while the needy individual is not satisfied because they have none of what they want. 

Scientists refer to this process as “prime travelling” as the individuals on each end of the process are at their sexual prime - the age of 18 for males and 30 to 50 for females. Anyway, don’t worry too much about the particulars. You’ll pick it up as we go along.

The hero of our story is a genetic mutant named Theo. At the tender age of 18, Theo is a porn addict. At school he was shy and nerdy and nothing much has changed in the year since he left. If you met him on the street you would take him for a model citizen. He’s always polite and well-mannered. He doesn’t swear. 

But there is another side to his personality that the world doesn’t see. As soon as he moved out of his parent’s home into his own apartment a demon was let loose. With his new-found privacy he was able to indulge his hunger for porn to the full. Every night when he got home from his job stacking the shelves at the local supermarket, he would heat up a microwave meal and eat it at his computer. He’d start the evening with some reading, before his eyes got too tired. His favourite site was sandie's sexy stories. If there was a new story by her he would immediately throw off all of his clothes and get a firm grip on his cock. He would wank from the early hours of the evening right through until about 1.00 A.M. He’d bring himself to the brink and then stop and when the impulse to cum had died down he would start to stroke again. 

He could go on like that for an hour or two. Then he would let go and feel the hot cum squirt out of his thobbing cock and splatter all over his chest and sometimes even his face. When he’d had enough of the stories he searched for his favourite kinds of pictures or watched some of his favourite videos. What he loved best were blow job pictures and videos. 

He was still a virgin. He hadn’t had any kind of sex with a girl. But what he dreamed of was shoving his cock in and out of a girl’s mouth. And he loved to see a guy cum all over a girl’s face. To him the site of a pretty girl’s face, particularly one with braces, absolutely drenched in jism was the most beautiful thing in the world. The women whose bags of groceries he carried so politely at the store would never have suspected what Theo was like in his dreams, laying back naked on his bed, his stiff cock standing like a flagpole, yelling to a bunch of naked cheerleaders, “Last slut to suck my cock is a rotten egg!”

The first time that Theo travelled, the opposite pole was Thelma. She was a barmaid at the Banshee and Barnacle, Belfast.

“Cunts the lot of them,” she grumbled to herself, as she mopped up the spilled beer after closing time. She thought she’d had enough of men. They were always leering at her boobs and grabbing for her arse. It’s not that she minded the sexual attention, but they just wanted something for themselves. After her husband left her she’d tried sleeping with the customers, but they were mostly pigs who’d hump away for about three minutes and then keep her awake with their snoring all night.

“Ah if only it could be like it was for me and Hamish back in the glen,” she sighed as she undressed in her bedroom. “Now there was a lad who knew how to use his cock...and his tongue.”

Jennifer Steyn as Molly Bloom

Working the bar required that she dress in a fairly old-fashioned manner, clothes which took some getting out of. She unlaced the front of her bodice and shrugged it off. And then she released her 42 inch breasts from her rather functional bra. She undid the waistband of her skirt letting her full belly resume its normal shape. And down came her panties over her rather large buttocks. You could say she was Rubenesque, but unlike Rubens’ models she showed little sign of cellulite. There was a rounded firm youthfulness to her naked body which made her seem less than her 40 years.

Thelma slept nude and, as she lay back under the warm covers she remembered how Hamish had loved to parade his stiff cock in front of her. As soon as they had heated up the living room he would always throw off all of his clothes and tease her by doing various boring chores unclad. She would tease him about being a nudist. But then it wouldn’t be long before his cock gradually stiffened until he was walking around tiding the room with a massive erection bouncing in front of him. 

“How did that happen?” she would laugh, slapping him on the arse. 

“I’ve been thinking of you,” he smiled sweetly. “I’ve been thinking about you naked. I’ve been thinking about how you are going to beg for mercy when I fuck you senseless.”

“If only...if only...” Thelma whimpered, fingering her sopping wet cunt.

It was at this point that Theo travelled into Thelma’s bed. As you can imagine, this came as a bit of a shock for both parties, but it is part of the nature of the travelling process that both parties accept it in much the same way that we accept the strange logic of a dream. In fact, in Theo’s case, he did believe at first that he was dreaming. He’d been whacking off for three hours straight over so many sexually-charged images that this just felt like some kind of strange wet dream.

When she realised that there was a male body in the bed next to her, Thelma reached out and felt around. First she felt Theo’s chest, and then his knee, and then her hand grasped his stiff cum-slippery cock.

“Hamish?” she asked.

“The name’s Theo,” our hero replied, throwing back the sheets so he could get a good look at Thelma’s naked body. “Now why don’t you suck my cock, bitch?”

“I don’t think so, boyo!” she shouted angrily, thinking of her lecherous customers. “That cock of yours is only good for one thing. Giving pleasure to my cunt!”

Scrawny Theo was no match for this dynamo of Irish womanhood. She stood up and pinned him to the bed with one foot. “Do you wanna cum, you piece of shit!” she spat.

“Yes,” Theo muttered, beginning to suspect that he’d wandered into someone else’s wet dream by mistake.

“O.K., then,” she said, her tone mellowing. “I don’t know how you turned up here, but now that you're here there is no reason why we can’t both have a good time. For the time being, why don’t you lay back there and relax while I do all the work.”

With that she squatted down over his stiff cock and, with a guiding hand, slid it into her sopping wet pussy. There was a squelch as she spread her thighs on either side of him and rode back and forth on this stiffness.

“Does that feel good?” She sighed.

“I’ve never fucked a woman before,” he admitted, with a dopey ecstatic grin.

“Well, you sure picked the right colleen to begin with, honey,” she grinned. “I’ll show you a thing or two.”

Red (from various sites)

“You’re even better than a cheerleader,” Theo told her as he watched her huge boobs swing back and forth. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

“I think somebody came,” she laughed, rolling off of him so that his flaccid prick popped wetly out of her pussy. “But it wasn’t me.”

“Sorry,” said Theo.

“That’s O.K.,” she reassured him. “What if we make a deal. I’ll suck your cock for you, but first you have to give my pussy a thorough licking. Don’t worry, I’ll show you how.”

“I don’t know,” said Theo. “It’s full of my cum. That’s kind of gross.”

“Don’t be a wimp,” she chided him. “It won’t kill ya. And I’m gonna let you shoot loads of it into my mouth. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

She showed him where she liked to be licked and sucked. Swallowing some of his cum wasn’t a big deal. It just tasted salty. And he started to get a kick out the way he was making Thelma moan. It was a bit like playing a video game, hit the right spot and the buzzer went off. Eventually she clamped her thighs hard around his head and he felt warm liquid drench his mouth.

“Hey,” he spat. “You pissed on me.”

“That’s not piss,” she chuckled. “That’s just the stuff that means we’re in love. Now hands up, who wants their cock sucked?”

When she started sucking the dry cum and pussy juice off of his cock it was still flaccid from his first climax, but it didn’t take long to swell up in her mouth. She was an expert. She slurped up and down and ran the tip of her tongue around the rim of the helmet and over the sensitive eye. 

Her post-orgasmic feelings toward this young lad were protective, almost motherly, and she gently stroked his chest and brushed back the hair from his forehead as she sucked on his cock. Eventually he sighed and filled her willing mouth with his warm salty seed.

A few seconds later he disappeared. Thelma huddled up beneath her bedclothes feeling a warm glow that would help her to face the challenges ahead. And Theo ended up in his own bed wondering if such a weird experience would ever happen to him again.


The End

Rules of the Island : A Sunday Snog

Victoria Blisse has created a new institution know as the Sunday Snog. You can find out more about it (and find links to other contributions) at her blog. Basically, the idea is to post a kissing extract from one of your stories (or perhaps write a new one for the occasion.) Mine comes from my unfinished novel Vanessa's Island. If you hunt around you can find more of it posted on this blog.


Rules of the Island

Vanessa started the water running in the bath, while I looked around her bedroom. She had a big, double bed in the middle with a large floral quilt thrown over it. I examined the titles on her small bookshelf. Literary classics, reference books, romances by herself and a few competitors, The Joy of Sex...I looked at the few photos of family, friends, herself as a child and at college.

Then a piece of paper on her bedside table caught my eye. It was some kind of hand-written notes.

“Oh, don’t look at that,” said Vanessa anxiously, as she came out of the bathroom. She tried to snatch it out of my hand but I hid it behind me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Oh, all right,” conceded Vanessa. “When I was thinking about asking you to move in, I started to think up some rules of the household. Then I got a bit carried away and dreamed that we would be establishing a new sexy utopia. So I came up with my Rules of the Island. It was just a bit of fun.”

“Let’s see,” I said, reading her notes: 

“’Rule 1: No clothing to be warn at any time, except sexy lingerie.’

“But I don’t look very good in lingerie,” I commented.

“That’s for me, silly,” she explained. “All the better to tease you with. Anyway, I like the slippery, silky feeling against my skin. But don’t worry, you can pull my panties down anytime you like.”

My prick, which had been only half-erect up until now, became rock-hard at this thought.

“Here ye, here ye, here ye,” proclaimed Vanessa in a deep voice, “all gentlemen present who wish to adopt motion one please raise your cocks.” Smiling down at my rampant stiffy, Vanessa’s voice changed back to normal. “Oh, goody! Motion carried unanimously.”

“Moving right along,” I continued.

“’Rule 2. All indoor bathing is to be communal, in the interested of water conservation.’

“I think we’ve already decided on that one,” I said. “Which reminds me, one of us had better turn that water off before it overflows.”

“Woops. Almost forgot,” cried Vanessa, her juicy bottom jiggling deliciously as she ran back into the bathroom. “Water’s ready,” she said, when she emerged. “Let’s read the rest in the tub. It doesn’t matter if the paper gets wet. I have it commited to memory.”

“I bet you do, you naughty girl,” I laughed, giving her a playful slap on the butt.

“You get in first,” she said, pouring in some aromatic bath oils.

I lowered myself slowly into the water, relishing the warm wetness as it engulfed me. A delicious languidness swept through my being.

“Come on in,” I said to Vanessa, “the water’s wonderful.”

She stept over the side of the bath and gently placed her right foot next to my left thigh. With her other foot positioned in a similar position on the other side, and her hands on the sides of the bath, she slowly lowered herself into the water. I loved the way her legs spread casually in front of me as she squatted down revealing her sweet pussy lips for a moment before they sank beneath the water. At last her soft bottom came to rest on my feet.

“Is that all right?” she asked. “My bum on your feet doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“No,” I said. “I love it, because I can do this.”

I pulled my right foot out from under her bum and used my big toe to tickle her pussy.

“Mmmmmmmmm,” she said. “Motion two was definitely a good idea.”

“Let’s have a look at Rule 3,” I suggested, reading from the piece of paper which I had propped up in the soap tray.

“’Rule 3: A daily tax is to be paid by the subjects of the island (David and Vanessa) to the rulers of the island (David and Vanessa) in the form of kisses, which can be deposited on any part of the body that either subject or ruler should request. Amount not to fall below 50 kisses per day. And no fair kissing yourself.’

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “Let’s see how it works in practise. Loyal subject David requests to deliver his first payment to Queen Vanessa’s lovely bottom."

“You would ask for something difficult,” complained Queen Vanessa, as she stood up, giving me a scrumptious view of her wet nakedness. Turning around carefully, she bent down slightly. I knelt up, pushing my stiffness against the back of her leg, as I buried my face in the soft, milkiness of her left butt cheek and planted a kiss there.

“Now it’s your turn,” I said, as she lowered herself back into the water facing me.

“All right,” she said. “Loyal subject Vanessa requests to kiss King David on the lips.”

“Sounds good to me,” I replied.

“You don’t get a say in it,” Vanessa explained. “All requests, from subjects or royalty have to be obeyed regardless. We may have a king and queen, but this is a utopia, which means that everybody has the same rights. Now if I’m going to kiss you on the lips you are going to have to come closer.”

I slid my bum down the bath, pulling Vanessa towards me as I did so. This led to her sitting right in my lap, straddling my hard cock, with her soft, slippery, soapy boobs sliding all over my chest. For the first time, my cock slid deep into the warm wetness of her pussy, as her soft lips met mine. I was in heaven, but only for a moment.

“That was delicious,” said Vanessa as she slid back down the bath. “But there’s no room to fuck properly in a bath. That will have to wait. Now for royal decrees. Queen Vanessa requests that loyal subject David kiss her left nipple.”

I knelt up and placed my lips on Vanessa nipple. I sucked it gently between them and played with it with my tongue.

“Mmmm,” said Queen Vanessa, “I might just have to knight you for that one. Now it’s your turn.”

“Ummmm,” I said. “I don’t know what place to pick.”

“Where do you want it most, David?” asked Vanessa, with a smile. “I think you’re thinking of somewhere, but you’re embarrassed to say it. Now be honest. I’ll know if you’re not. What was the first thought that crossed your mind.”

“All right,” I said, resignedly. “King David requests that loyal subject Nessa kiss the end of his dick.”

“I knew it,” said Vanessa, “there’s no sense trying to hide anything from me. That was the first thing you thought about when you read rule 3 wasn’t it?”

“Well,” I pleaded, “a guy’s only human. And you really don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Vanessa, “I love kissing dicks. It’s only your lack of imagination I’m poking fun at. There’s loads of other lovely places to be kissed, too. Now we better stick him under the tap and wash the soap suds off, so I can kiss him properly.”

Once this had been done, I knelt up, while Vanessa, holding my prick loosely with her right hand, bent down and wrapped her tender lips around my glans, at the same time lapping the tip gently with her tongue.

“Oh, yeah,” I sighed.

“So I take it Motion 3 is carried,” Vanessa asked as we sat down again.

“Definitely,” I agreed.

Lara and the Real World : Fuck Me Friday

Fuck Me Friday time once again. Today the prompt word is #phase. Go to Aisling Weaver's site for more information on how the writing challenge works, and to find links to all the other stories.

Lara and the Real World

Lara Lindstrom's world was torn apart when she came home and found her husband Larry masturbating to a DVD of Deep Throat.

This might not seem such a cataclysmic event until you learn that Lara and Larry were stalwarts in the Flee from Filth crusade. When not praying for the souls of perennial perverts and maniacal masturbators they door-knocked to raise awareness of the threat of pornography.

Lara was very good at door-knocking. She was so sweet and charming. Women would listen patiently to what she had to say, whether they agreed with it or not, because they didn't want to be rude to someone so good-natured. And those men who didn't agree with what she had to say would still listen to her because she had rosy cheeks, a freckled nose, full pink lips, blonde pigtails and a shapely figure only partly hidden by her modest summer dress. They would nod in agreement as she told them that porn was the biggest problem in the world at the moment and they would shake their heads and tut as she explained that men who looked at porn sometimes demanded sex from their wives more than once a week, and all the time they were storing her up in their spank banks.

And Lara adored her husband Larry. Larry always wore suits and carried himself with great authority. It was he who had convinced her of the dangers of pornography and fired her up for the task of carrying this message to the world. She would often count her blessings that he had been there to save her from her base nature. For what else could explain the fact that she couldn't actually see anything wrong with sex? It had to be explained to her that God thought it was dirty, and God knew best.

But then she came home to their apartment in New York City to find Larry with his pants around his ankles and his hand wrapped around his stiff cock. On their big screen television Linda Lovelace was doing an impersonation of Godzilla swallowing a submarine. Her lips were sliding down over a huge fat penis until they rested on it's owner's pubic hair. Larry was groaning as he stroked his prick.

"I don't understand," said Lara. "Won't God be upset? Isn't that dirty?"

"Oh, Jesus!" exclaimed Larry, desperately trying to shove his hard-on back into his underpants and find the television remote.

"I must be a really bad person," Lara confessed. "Because that looks like fun to me. Both what she is doing and what you were doing."

"It is fun," Larry moaned. "That's what makes it all so hard."

"Yes," agreed Lara. "I saw that it was hard."

"I don't mean that," Larry tried to explain. "I had a lapse. One of the men on whose door I knocked repented of his sinful ways and insisted on handing over his pornography collection for me to destroy. But I couldn't resist looking at it. And the devil possessed my penis."

"Would it make you happy if I sucked on your penis like that lady was doing?" Lara wanted to know.

"Don't even speak of such a thing," Larry begged. "It would make me the happiest man in the world, for now, but I would burn in Hell later."

"I wouldn't want that," Lara whimpered. "I want everyone to be happy. Why does God have to be such a bastard telling us we can't enjoy sex as much as we want, like in those movies."

"Blasphemer!" cried Larry. "I will never win this battle with the sins of the flesh if I have to live with a wife who would be willing to suck my penis."

And so Lara, her mind a maelstrom of conflicting desires, ran off into the night. She walked and walked, all night long, and as the dawn rose the next day she realised that there was no alternative but to return to her home town of Pleasant Valley and the reassuring arms of her parents.

At first Clive and Karen Browne were happy to have their daughter back with them, even though they were unhappy to hear that her marriage was not going well. But, fairly soon after arriving back in Pleasant Valley, Lara began to exhibit some very strange and troubling behaviour.

One morning Gary Stewart, the owner of a the local bookstore, was distracted from his breakfast of bacon and eggs by a knock on the front door. When he opened it he found Lara standing there in jeans and a t-shirt and with a big smile on her face.

"Hey, Lara," he said. "I didn't know you were back in town. What can I do for you?"

"Gary," Lara began, her face turning suddenly serious. "There is a serious problem in this world of ours. Do you know what it is?"

"No," replied the mystified Gary. "What is it?"

"Not enough guys are getting their cocks sucked," Lara declared.

"I beg your pardon!?!" cried Gary, looking over his shoulder and hoping that his wife was not in earshot.

"Not having your cock sucked regularly can lead to nervous tension," Lara told him. "But don't worry, I'm here to suck your cock for you."

"You can't do that!" he exclaimed, now sure that his wife would appear any minute.

"What's the matter?" asked Lara, suddenly turning hostile. "Am I not good enough for you?" And then she slapped his face hard and kneed him in the nuts.

*          *          *

"This is just a phase she is going though," explained Doctor Zeitgeist, the expensive psychiatrist hired by Mr. and Mrs. Browne. "Catching her husband masturbating after having been indoctrinated by him into a sex-negative ideology put Lara in what we call a double bind. She didn't feel she could abandon what her husband had taught her to believe, and yet she couldn't continue to promote it if she doubted his sincerity. Their crusade gave her a meaning in her life, but her sexuality also demands to be expressed. So now she has found a delusional escape route by turning sex into a crusade."

"How can we get her to stop?" asked Mr. Browne.

"Oh, we mustn't do that," Doctor Zeitgeist warned him. "If we were to try to fight against her delusion she might become embattled and thus stuck in this phase of her recovery. For that is what it is, a process of working through her feelings as she moves towards a state of wholeness."

"But she's knocking on the doors of all of the men in town offering to s... er, orally service them," pointed out a distraught Mrs. Browne.

"How have the men responded to this?" asked the doctor.

"So far, thankfully, they've politely declined her services," Mr. Browne replied. "But she gets quite violent when they do."

"This won't do," declared the doctor, shaking his head. "Only if she is allowed to carry out what she sees as her mission will she be able to move to the next phase of her healing."

"Are you saying we should let our daughter suck the cocks of all the men in town!?!" cried Mrs. Browne, and then blushed a deep crimson when she realised what she had said.

"It's not so much a case of you letting her do it," Zeitgeist responded, "as of the men of the town being persuaded to let her do it to them. This is a caring town. I'm sure that when it is explained to these men that it is for the girl's own good they will be willing to surrender their penises into her mouth."

*          *          *

"Hush now, citizens of Pleasant Valley!" yelled Mayor Bradley, as the public assembly burst into noisy uproar. "I know that this is a most unusual request. At first it may conflict with what you feel to be good and right. But a young woman's mental health is at stake. You all know Lara, and I'm sure you care about her welfare as much as I. In the big cities people have become callous and cynical, but in small towns like Pleasant Valley the true spirit of community is still alive. And that is why I ask the men of this town, when offered an act of oral sex upon their persons from the charming Miss Lindstrom, to just say 'Yes.' And I would ask the wives and girlfriends of these men to remember that your men are not allowing Miss Lindstrom to gobble their seed because of any dissatisfaction with your own lovely selves but because they are true men of compassion who will not turn away from one in need, but rather open their pants, pull out their Johnsons and make a generous donation into her mouth."

There was much heated discussion, but over the course of the hour-long meeting everyone came to accept that what the Mayor said made sense. They could see that, if they humoured Lara, eventually she would come back to the real world and either repair her relationship with her husband or find someone new with whom she could develop a healthy bond.

*          *          *

Three days later there was a knock on the door at the Stewart house.

Mrs. Stewart opened the door to find Lara smiling sweetly at her.

"Have you come to suck my husband's cock?" she asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Stewart, I have," nodded Lara. "I'm so glad that everyone seems to have grown to understand how important this crusade is."

"I do suck my husband's cock myself, you know," Mrs. Stewart replied.

"And I'm sure you do a wonderful job," Lara enthused brightly. "But I'm equally sure Gary - I may call him that, may I not? - can never have too much of a good thing."

"Well, please do come in and make yourself at home," responded Mrs. Stewart, as her husband came up the hall.

"Who is it dear?" he asked.

"It's Lara Lindstrom, honey," she told him, "she's here to suck your cock."

FTV Girls

"I don't know about this," he whispered to her nervously. "Are you sure?"

"Now, don't you be a stick in the mud, sweetie," she scolded him gently. "You wouldn't want to be rude, would you? So drop your pants and let the nice girl get to work."

Nervously, Gary unzipped his trousers and let them fall to the floor. His cock was so stiff it was poking out over the top of his underpants.

"My, he is glad to see you," his wife commented, smiling at Lara but then turning to Gary with a surreptitious look of reproach.

Gary made a "what's a guy supposed to do when a hot chick demands to suck his cock" gesture to his wife as Lara pulled down his underpants and set his excited prick free.

"Gary's not used to having someone so young and attractive pleasuring his penis," his wife explained to Lara.

"Now, honey, you know I...oh, God...find you...oh, sweet Jesus...sexy," he panted, as Lara licked the pre-cum off of the head of his cock.

"He really likes having his balls licked," his wife told Lara.

"Oh, thank you," Lara smiled, dropping down towards Gary's scrotum. "I always love it when a man's wife and I can work as a team."

"And he likes it when I talk dirty to him," Mrs. Stewart added.

Lara stopped sucking on Gary's balls long enough to speak.

"I want you to screw my pretty little face with your man meat, you whore-fucking cunt," she said politely.

"She's good at this," Gary's wife commented.

"You join in too," suggested Lara as she once more took Gary's testicles into her mouth.

"Suck on my husband's hairy ball-bag you dirty, filthy, crazy-as-fuck little psycho whore!" she screamed.

"Don't overdo it," her husband warned her.

"Just a bit of role-play," she replied nervously, straightening her dress.

Lara slid her wet lips slowly down the length of Gary's throbbing boner, quivering with the ecstasy of being the deliverer of a divine message.

"I'll go and make us all a cup of coffee," suggested Mrs. Stewart. "Do you have cream, Lara?"

"I do now," Lara chuckled, allowing some of Gary's cum to dribble from between her lips.

"You did that very well," declared Gary, standing with a dopey smile on his face as his now flaccid cock dribbled semen onto the living room carpet.

"You were my number fifteen," Lara explained proudly. "Next I'm off to visit Mr. Kramer down the end of the street."

The three of them drank their cups of coffee and made polite chitchat. Lara waved goodbye to them cheerfully as they ushered her out the front door.

She knocked on the front door of No. 37, but it wasn't Mr. or Mrs. Kramer who answered. It was their nineteen-year-old son Jamie who was visiting them for the college break.

"I've come to suck your dad's cock," Lara told him.

"He'd probably like that," Jamie replied. "But he's out of town on business for a couple of days. You might have to come back another time."

"Oh," Lara responded. "I don't suppose you'd like to have your cock sucked?"

"Well, I don't know," Jamie hesitated. But then he remembered what his friends had told him about the extraordinary public meeting and the Mayor's advice to the town. "Come on in. We can give it a go."

"Shall we go to your bedroom?" Lara suggested. "You can lay down on the bed and be comfortable while I lick a really nice big jizz-spurt out of your prick. Sound good?"

"It sounds good," he said, doubtfully.

"Oh, you're a David Fincher fan!" cried Lara when she saw the big poster of a shirtless Brad Pitt in Fight Club that decorated Jamie's clothes cupboard door. "I used to love all those films - Fight Club, Seven, Alien 3 - back before I got married. But my husband didn't approve of anything but inspirational movies."

Jamie lay back on his bed while Lara unzipped his jeans and pulled them, as well as his underpants, down his muscular legs. His cock was large, but it was completely flaccid.

"Not happy to see me?" teased Lara, flopping it back and forth.

"I do like you," Jamie insisted. "Maybe it will come to life when you start sucking it."

Lara took the fat sausage into her mouth and tugged on it gently with her lips. She rolled it around her mouth with her tongue. She tried licking his balls, and then she tried holding it in her hand and flicking her tongue quickly back and forth over the head. No reaction.

"Perhaps you should try thinking of someone else while I do it," she suggested. "Or some fantasy, like being dragged into the girl's locker room at college for a soapy orgy with ten cheerleaders. Something like that."

"I'll try," he said, looking up at the Brad Pitt poster.

"Wow! That's more like it," Lara declared as his cock grew right under her nose. She happily wrapped her lips around it and began giving it a tongue bath.

"Mmmmmm, that's nice," sighed Jamie, patting her on the head. Now his eyes were closed and he was somewhere else.

Lara felt a great sense of satisfaction when she felt a shower of hot spunk bathe the back of her throat.

After that she and Jamie lay around talking and laughing

*          *          *

"A new phase?" Gary Stewart asked of his wife.

"Yes," she replied. "I kind of thought she would go from the cock sucking phase straight to normality, but apparently not. Mrs. Turner rang me a couple of days ago and said that Lara turned up on their doorstep in the middle of the night and said, 'I want to sleep in your bed tonight'. Of course they let her. Doctor Zeitgeist said we should go along with her regardless. She wouldn't tell me what happened. And then Sally rang yesterday with much the same story."

"Well, I suppose we'll all just have to weather it," Gary replied.

That night it was their turn.

"Is there room enough for three in your bed?" Lara asked as she stood on the doorstep in robe and slippers. "I feel kind of lonely."

"Sure, honey," replied Mrs. Stewart. "By the way, my name is Edith."

"Gary and Edith," sighed Lara. "My bestest friends in all the world."

"It's going to be a tight squeeze," Edith warned as they entered the bedroom. "We only have a regular double, not a queen or king-size."

"I'm sure we'll manage, though," Gary added.

"Let's all sleep nude!" cried Lara. "It's much more fun that way."

"If you insist," responded Edith, taking off her baggy pyjamas.

Lara slipped off her robe and lifted her nightie over her head, revealing her soft pale breasts with rosy pink nipples. Then down came her knickers to reveal a mass of blonde pubes between her chubby thighs.

Gary unbuttoned his pyjama top and shrugged it off, then pulled down his bottoms.

"Oh, surprise surprise," his wife said sarcastically. "It's Benny the Boner."

"It's biology," Gary replied defensively.

They all climbed into the bed and pulled the sheet over themselves. Flesh was pressed closely against flesh. Edith was by the wall, Lara was in the middle and Gary was pressed up against her with his stiff prick wedged into the soft warmth of her arse-crack.

"I've just discovered something I really love!" Lara enthused. "Sucking boobies!" She launched herself on Edith and began sucking enthusiastically on one of her nipples and then the other.

"Errrr, I've never had a girl do that to me before," Edith told her nervously. "I'm more into guys. Well, into my husband, that is."

"Doesn't it feel good?" Lara asked.

"Well, now that you mention it, it isn't exactly painful," she admitted.

"If you like that," Lara enthused. "You'll love this!" And she reached down and started twiddling with Edith's clit. Then she slid a couple of fingers into the older woman's pussy. "Liar! Liar! Pants on fire!" Lara cried. "If you didn't like me sucking your boobs, you wouldn't be so wet down there."

"You dirty little bitch," smiled a randy Gary. "I never thought you'd go for a bit of the old girl-on-girl action."

"Don't get so cocky," threatened his wife, "or I might turn you in for a saucy little slut."

"Fuck me, Gary!" insisted Lara. "Fill my horny little cunt with your hot spunk. Then we'll see if your wife wants to lick my pussy juice off of your cock."

*          *          *

It was only a week later that Lara turned up once more on Mr. Stewart's doorstep. She was carrying some items in a plastic carry bag.

"Hi, Mr. Stewart," she smiled. "I'm in a new phase now. I want you to drop your pants and bend over. Then I'm going to fuck you up the arse with this ten-inch strap-on while your wife takes a dump on the kitchen table."

"I'm getting sick of these phases," Mr. Stewart replied tiredly.

"Just kidding," Lara replied, giggling. "I'm all better now. I'm getting a divorce from my husband. And I've found a new guy."

"Really," replied Gary with obvious relief. "Do I know him?"

"Jamie Kramer," she sighed, romantically. "We really are a match made in heaven you know. We love so many of the same things...action movies...working out at the gym...Lisa Minnelli...cock-sucking...

The End