Dirty Deities : Wank Wednesday

Today's Wank Wednesday word is #blanket. For more information about this writing challenge, and to find links to the other stories, check out the Word Ejaculation website.


Dirty Deities

The Unpublished Manuscript


(These opening five paragraphs were written after the bulk of the rest of the manuscript. On the Skepticism Scale they occupy a position approaching 0. Make of that what you will.)

Once every two hundred years, out of the mist, come the Old Ones.

Now, when I say "Old Ones", I don't mean that they are all frail and wrinkly. They don't come clattering out of the fog on Zimmer frames. No, these are the Immortals. Those who, in Ancient Greece, were worshipped as gods.

The full moon bathed the earth in its eerie light, as I looked out of the high window of my isolated mansion, over the Yorkshire moors, and watched the blanket of fog slide across the dark earth as if some invisible giant were pulling up the bedclothes. How was I to know that there were figures hidden within that crawling mass of vapour that had the power to take me to the very edge of sanity?

Let me introduce myself. I'm sure you've heard of me. Professor Richard Gerkins, author of the best-selling book You'd Have to be Nuts to Believe in God. I live out here, alone except for my maid Clarabelle, my cook Constance, my secretary Charlotte, and Gareth the gardener. I don't like people very much. They are so irrational. Of course I do my book tours. One has to. You have no idea how tiresome it is travelling around the world telling people how stupid they are. It quite wears me out. My mansion is a haven from all that.

On that fateful night, as I stood rapt in contemplation of the clouded landscape, there was a knock at the front door on the floor beneath me.

The Diary of Clarabelle Jones

8th of January, 2012

Professor Poohface is working on a new book. That's a good thing. He stays locked up in his room most of the day so he isn't always running his fingers over the furniture and complaining that it needs dusting. It  isn't good for furniture to be dusted too often. It wears out quicker from all that friction of the duster moving over the leather. I tried telling him that, but you know what professors are like. Think they know everything.

When he's not around I can spend most of the day reading erotic romance novels. I can't get enough of them. My one complaint though is the that they usually feature young spunky heroes with six packs. I go for older men myself. You know, like George Clooney or even Sean Connery. I'm sure Freud would have had something to say about that. Freud, now there was a sexy guy. I'd have loved to lay down on his couch and feel that cute little grey beard of his tickling my twat.

12th of January, 2012

Dear diary, you'll never believe what happened last night! Well, you probably will because you're a book, and books aren't really capable of skepticism. (Damn, now I'm even sounding like Poohface.) It's been like an amazing dream, but I don't think I'm ever going to wake up from it.

Technically I was off-duty, up in my room watching Secret Diary of a Call-Girl, when there was a loud commanding knock on the front door.

Old Poohface doesn't like to answer the door himself. Sometimes it's his fans rambling on endlessly about how they have spent their whole life praying for someone to come along and rid the world of religion. Or religious people come to harass him. If you're a Mormon or a Jehovah's Witness, knocking on Richard Gerkins' door is an adrenalin rush equivalent to what bungee jumping is for the rest of us.

But none of these people were in the habit of knocking on the door at nine o'clock at night. Perhaps there had been an accident on one of the nearby roads. I didn't like missing any of my program, but it seemed like a good idea to see who it was.

I skipped down the steps in my baggy pink pyjamas - the ones with the teddy bears on them - and opened the door.

At first I didn't see anyone there, only a wall of fog, which flowed through the doorway and quickly filled up the passage.

"What the fuck!?!" I cried. Fog causes mildew, and mildew is a real pain in the arse.

But gradually the mist cleared to reveal two figures, a man and a woman. They were dressed in togas.

My eyes were instantly drawn to the man's face. His hair was wavy and grey, his eyes radiated the power to command and yet they also twinkled with mischief, his lips were full and sensual for a man who looked to be in his sixties, and surrounded by an immaculately groomed silver beard. As I gazed into his eyes a wave of ecstasy passed over me. My nipples stiffened, caressed by the soft fabric of my pyjama top. A quiver went through my chubby little belly. And I came. My knees wobbled, my clit stiffened and I squirted all down the leg of my pjs.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," I said. "I don't know what came over me."

"It looks like you did," smiled the lady, a radiant young beauty with long blonde hair piled up in some kind of complex arrangement on the back of her head. Her eyes were unnaturally blue. "I think you chose well, father," she said, addressing the man by her side.

The Unpublished Manuscript

"Who is it at this hour?" I demanded, as I descended the stairs.

Clarabelle was standing in the corridor accompanied by a man and woman dressed in togas.

"Don't tell me," I insisted, raising my hand, "I'm keen to guess. You were headed for a fancy dress party but your car has broken down."

"Hello, Professor," said the young woman with a mischievous smile. "We were once intimately acquainted, but it was long ago, and perhaps you have forgotten. Yes, I think you have forgotten."

"How could you have known the Professor long ago?" asked Clarabelle. For some reason she was nervously pulling down the bottom of her pyjama top over her crotch. "You don't look that old."

"I didn't know him," she replied, enigmatically, "but he knew me."

"If this is some attempt to make me look like a fool then you will find that it is in vain," I declared.

"Fear not," replied the woman's companion, an older man with a pointy beard, "you have been chosen as the recipients of a rare privilege."

"Yes, I know," I responded, waving my hand dismissively. "I've been chosen to go on a cruise to the Bahamas, and all I have to do to qualify is to run up a bill of three million dollars on my mobile phone."

The man smiled indulgently. "We are the Immortals," he said. "We have existed since the beginning of time. The names men use to talk about us change, but we do not. I have been Ra, Zeus, Jupiter, Odin... Personally, I've gone back to calling myself Zeus ever since I saw Clash of the Titans (the original, that is). Larry Olivier, now there was an actor...."

"Sorry about Dad," said the young blonde woman. "He can be a bit of a windbag."

"He's not the only one," muttered Clarabelle under her breath.

"I heard that," I told her.

"I didn't say I was talking about you," she replied, and poked her tongue out at me. You just can't get good help these days.

"I wasn't lying when I said you knew me long ago," she explained, stepping forward and touching my arm gently. Even through the cloth of my jacket and shirt I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "I am Love. And, in your youth, you knew love. Do you remember?"

"You're Aphrodite!" cried Clarabelle excitedly.

"Don't be a fool!" I scolded her.

"Her heart is open," the young woman said. "She see's what you cannot."

"Every two hundred years we manifest ourselves on earth," explained the man who claimed to be Zeus. "More often than that and we would suffer the indignity of being lumped in with UFOs, the Loch Ness Monster and Bigfoot."

"You can't possibly imagine how boring it is to be a god," sighed the woman who claimed to be Aphrodite. "The value of anything is determined by its scarcity. Gold is valuable because there isn't much of it. The same is true with life and the experiences of life. For you, life is rich and exciting, because it is short. With immortality comes ennui."

"This applies especially to sex," added the man. "We've all fucked each other in every possible position. That really doesn't do it for us any more. But there is one form of kink that still turns us on, because we can only indulge once ever 200 years, and that is mortalphilia - having sex with someone who is going to die."

"You're going to fuck us and then we are going to die?" asked Clarabelle, panicking.

"Not immediately afterwards, no," the man reassured her. "Just eventually, in due course. What we do with you won't shorten your lives. Hell, it might even lengthen them. Sex relieves stress, and stress is the big killer."

I looked into the eyes of the young blonde woman and my head began to spin.

"Don't listen to them, Clarabelle," I warned. "Surely you've known me long enough to know that the universe is without a God let alone a bunch of the fuckers."

"I don't know," replied Clarabelle, with a goofy smile as "Zeus" fondled her buttocks and nibbled on her ear. "I'm willing to have an open mind."

"You need a holiday," purred "Aphrodite" in my ear as she unfastened her toga and let it fall to the floor. Underneath she was naked. She was also perfect, like the statues in her honour. That is in the honour of the fictional character she claimed to be. Damn, I have to keep my wits about me.

"I'm gonna open my mind and open my legs!" squealed Clarabelle, yanking down her pyjama bottoms and rubbing her pink pussy. Even from where I stood I could see that it was dripping wet.

"Has everyone gone insane!" I cried, as I tore down my pants and underpants to allow my erection some room to breath. (This, of course, is a figure of speach. Penises, having no lungs, are not capable of breathing.)

The Diary of Clarabelle Jones

12th of January, 2012 (continued)

They explained that they were gods who come to earth once every 200 years to fuck humans. And we were the lucky ones chosen. You can say that again. Of course Poohface didn't believe them at first. But I did. No ordinary man could make me cum in my pyjamas like Zeus did.

And the other one was Aphrodite, his daughter. She had the hots for the Professor. No accounting for taste, I suppose.

Poohface told me not to listen to them. Fuck that! The feel of Zeus' sexy hands fondling my bum was driving me wild. I just pulled down my pants and started fingering myself. It felt fantastic to do that right in front of my boss. 'Who cares if he gets to see my cunt?' I thought to myself. Actually, I wanted him to. Why should I slave away dusting the house and washing his underpants with nothing to amuse me but saucy novels? If he's not afraid of taking on the world's great religions in his writing, why should he be afraid to see my bare bum and my cunt squirting pussy-juice all over the place?

These were the questions I asked myself as Zeus threw off his toga and I sank to my knees to lick his balls.

At this point the door opened again and in came Gareth. He'd been out drinking at the local pub. He was accompanied by another toga-wearing man and woman.

"I said 'Hermes'!" insisted the woman. "Not herpes!"

"Oh, that's O.K. then," replied Gareth. "I mean you have to be careful."

Then he stopped aghast and stared at me, down on my knees giving a blow job to the King of the Gods.

"You never do that for me," he chided, with a fruity laugh.

"I prefer older men," I insisted.

"I've got you there," chuckled Zeus. "I'd like to write my age down on a piece of paper for you, but there isn't a piece of paper on the earth big enough to hold that many noughts."

The Unpublished Manuscript

O.K. For the sake of argument, lets just call her Aphrodite. What am I supposed to do, ask for ID? If someone tells you their name, it's polite to believe them, especially if they're really hot and stark naked.

Now she took me by the wrists and made me run my hands over her bare body. She made me fondle her soft, warm, perfectly-formed breasts and her round perky buttocks. And she told me to slide my finger into the warm wet depths of her excited pussy, with its adornment of golden hairs.

Then she kissed me, and all my attempts to cling to a last shred of sanity were at an end. I was hers.

"I think I do remember now," I admitted, looking deep into her chlorine-blue eyes. "I've never seen you before in my life. But I've felt you in me like you are in me now."

"That's nothing," she smiled. "Wait until you are in me." She began stroking my rock-hard cock.

I looked over at Clarabelle. She was now totally nude and slurping up and down Zeus's massive erection. Damn, she looked cute with no clothes on. And she was a slut! Who would have guessed.

At that point the front door opened and in walked Gareth and two more strangers, toga-clad like our fuck-mates. It was a bit too late to worry about being embarrassed.

The newcomers were introduced to us as Hermes and Artemis. Hermes had a hat with wings on and Artemis was holding a bow and had a quiver of arrows on her back.

"I've bagged my game for the evening," Artemis declared, tearing off Gareth's trousers forcefully and dragging him by his cock into the lounge room.

"There's got to be someone for me, surely," pleaded Hermes.

"Charlotte's still up in her room," panted Clarabelle. Zeus was holding her hips in his large powerful hands and bouncing her up and down on his prodigious prick.

"Charlotte's a sound sleeper," I added, as Aphrodite deep-throated me. "And she's a bit of a prude. She might not want to join in."

Hermes shot up the stairs like lightning, losing his toga in the process.

A moment later, Charlotte came stumbling down the stairs, wrapped in a blanket.

"Rape! Rape!" she cried.

"I never touched her," insisted Hermes, his concupiscent cock bouncing in front of him as he bounded down the stairs.

Then something clattered to the floor from under the blanket. It rolled across the carpet until it collided with my foot. It was the largest vibrator I've ever seen.

Charlotte's face went very pink.

"I can do better than that," smiled Hermes, stroking his cock.

"O.K." she said, shyly. "You can fuck me...."

"Atta girl, Charlotte!" cried Clarabelle as Zeus sprayed her smiling face with his nectar.

"You can fuck me..." repeated Charlotte, dropping the blanket to show that she was completely naked. "As  long as you fuck me right up my tight little arsehole!" Then she bent over and pulled her cheeks apart to expose that very anatomical locality.

At that moment, a small figure trotted in from the direction of the kitchen. He was quite hairy, with horns and cloven feet and he was carrying a musical instrument made of various tubes bound together.

"Pan!" cried Zeus. "I wondered where you'd got to."

He was closely followed by Constance, her portly figure decorated only with a few shreds of what had once been her clothes.

"I think I just got fucked by Gheorge Zamfir!" she cried. "And I liked it!"

"Come on," said Aphrodite, "we have only one night. Let's go somewhere where we can make the most of it." And so we left the others and climbed up the stairs to my bedroom.

"My pussy tastes of jasmine and wild honey," she told me as we lay back on the soft sheets. She didn't lie. She was a work of wonder from the gold of her hair to the daintiness of her toes. I licked her all over that night and the taste and feel of her flesh is still on my tongue as I write this.

She was love. She was the very essence of the erotic. She was the universal fuck. That night I shared my bed not with a woman but with Woman Herself.

A night in Paradise. That was the upside. The downside? My life is now a hollow sham. Sure I still collect the royalties from my books. What else can I do? If I tried to tell people that I'd changed my views, and why, I'd be treated like all those people who claim to have had a close encounter with fairies.

There are some compensations though. I just had a new king-sized bed installed, and Clarabelle managed to stitch together a truly mammoth blanket. It gets cold here in the foggy weather and you need plenty of warm bedclothes to cover a horny ex-athiest and three happy sluts (one of them kind of on the chubby side).

The End

Anita the Collector - Part 2 (+ Big Women Pics & Videos)

For the first part of this story, go here.

Anita the Collector - Part 2

As I walked through the door, Anita pinched my butt.

“Mmmmmmmmm. Another lamb to the slaughter,” she smiled, her voice quivering with anticipation of future delights.

The first thing I saw when I entered the massive room behind the door was a 70 inch plasma television screen filled with the image of a woman’s lips sliding up and down on a man’s cock. Two naked men were sitting on a sofa watching the movie. Each had a can of beer in one hand and his own cock in the other.

“I love to see a guy jacking off,” sighed Anita, watching with a Cheshire Cat grin as the pair stroked their stiff cocks.

“Nice television,” I said.

“Yes,” she replied. “And we have an extensive library of porn. Just let me know if we don’t have a title you want and I’ll order it in.”

“So the mail still gets delivered to the house?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” she informed me. “The post office stopped sending mailmen after three failed to return. But now they send women. Some of the guys tried to persuade me to invite them in, but I’m not running a charity, I’m running a man harem.”

I looked around the room. There were naked guys everywhere. A couple were riding exercise bikes. Two where playing ping pong. Another pair were shooting pool. Some where reading. Many were drinking and there were snacks laid out on the tables.

Anita walked over to the couch. The two guys moved further apart and she sat between them.

“Good movie?” she asked.

“Not bad,” said the guy on the right.

Anita reached out and knocked the guys hands off of their cocks and replaced them with her own.

“Oh, Anita, you’re the best,” sighed the guy on the left.

“They love it when I wank them off,” she chuckled. “And I love it when I wank them off too. Nothing like the feel of a stiff hot cock in my fist, and its so delicious when the cum shoots out and runs down my fingers.”

The two guys lost interest in what was going on on the screen. Each leaned down and took one of Anita’s nipples in his mouth and began to suck on it hungrily.

“Ain’t anybody gonna suck my pussy?” she enquired.

A muscly dude, who had been lifting weights, put them down, walked over to the couch and dropped down between Anita’s spread thighs, burrowing his face under her big belly and began slurping away noisily.

“Oh, my. Ain’t life grand?” asked Anita, rhetorically. “Feel free to explore. I’ll rejoin you as soon as we’ve all cum.”

I entered another smaller lounge room where  a bunch of guys were watching a football match on another large television.

Then there was a shower room much like that in a sporting facility - just a huge tiled room with showerheads sprouting from the walls.

I walked back through the main lounge to explore the other side of the complex. The muscleman was no longer licking Anita’s pussy. Now he was standing up and she was sucking his cock.

As I walked past the two guys on either side grunted simulateously as a fountain of jism spurted out of each of their cocks, splattering their chest and belly and running down over Anita’s hands.

As I walked into the massive kitchen and dining area, complete with long tressel tables, Anita came up behind me. She was smearing cum from her hands all over her massive breasts.

“I don’t like them to cum in my mouth,” she informed me, “but it’s good for the skin.”

“So what’s the secret?” I asked her.

“The secret?”

“Why do the guys stay here?”

“I would have thought that was obvious,” she replied.

“Apart from your charm,” I chided her.

“They have everything they want,” she explained. “They don’t have to work. They can drink. Wack off to porn. The food’s good. And they can fuck me whenever they want. Well, almost whenever they want. Sometimes there is a queue.”

“And that’s enough to cut off contact with family and friends?” I wanted to know.

“How many people get on with their family?” she countered. “And if they miss their male friends, they just invite them to join.”

“What about wives and girlfriends?” I asked.

“Modesty forbids that I make any comments about choosing between myself and any other woman,” she demured.

She showed me all of the exotic food ingredients stored in her pantry.

“Once again, the shops will deliver, but no more of those cute pimply delivery boys. Just the women now,” she explained.

Next we entered the bedroom, perhaps the most unusual room in the house.

“This is an invention of my own,” Anita pointed out. “I call it the musical bed.”

She was pointing at a massive bed shaped like a life preserver but approximately 30 feet in diameter. At one point there was an indentation about two feet deep and four feet across.

“It plays music?” I queried.

“No,” she replied. “I call it a musical bed because of that saying that people who sleep around are playing ‘musical beds’. The way it works is that I lay here.” She pointed at the indentation. And eleven men lay around the rest of the matress. When I want some lovin’, I pull the guy on the right on top of me. Then, when he cums, everyone rolls along one space and he rolls off, being replaced by the next guy on the right. And so everyone keeps moving until the first guy is back again, by which time he’s rested enough to be ready to fuck me again. And we keep going until I fall asleep.”

“Wow!” I exclaimed.

“I can be a restless sleeper though,” Anita admitted. “So if I wake up in the middle of the night feeling horny, I just pull on the first guy’s cock and start the process all over again.”

Then she showed me around the backyard where there was a huge swimming pool. Another fifteen guys were swimming or sunning themselves by the side of the pool.

“Ah, here are Craig and Gareth,” she said, pointing to two very pale youths, one skinny and the other rotund, who were sitting on the edge of the pool. “They’re my Mormons. I’ll leave you to have a chat with them while I go make a cup of coffee. Do you want one?”

“Sure,” I replied, and watched Anita’s huge bum wobble deliciously back into the house.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Gareth asked, looking me up and down.

“Yes. Just arrived. So why did you two stay here?” I wanted to know. I sat down beside them and splashed my feet in the cool water of the pool.

“Well, you know that parable about the mustard seed?” responded Craig.

“I think I remember it,” I said.

“We went from door to door trying to persuade people of the wisdom of loving their fellow man,” he explained. “But most people just didn’t want to know. Then we knocked on Miss Anita’s door and we found someone who really does love her fellow man.”

“She sure does,” agreed Gareth. “So we decided it made more sense to support her efforts to make the world a better place, than to keep pestering people and, thereby, making it a worse place.”

“And you’ve never had any doubts?” I queried. “Never even considered leaving?”

“No,” he replied.

“The church repossessed our bikes,” added Craig.

“And Anita destroyed our clothes,” Gareth put in.

“Only to liberate thus though.”

“Yeah, only to liberate us.”

“Those two aren’t telling tales about me, are they?” queried Anita, as she returned with the coffees.

“To believe these fellows, you are a veritable saint,” I told her.

“St. Anita of the Holy Handjob perhaps?” she chuckled. “Hey you boys need to keep putting on that sunscreen. You’ll be red as lobsters by the end of the day otherwise. And don’t forget your cocks.”

“Why don’t you do us?” asked Gareth.

“Of course,” replied Anita, squeezing out the sunscreen and smearing it over the lads’ chests and backs. “But you know my favourite way of coating your cocks, don’t you?”

“You bet,” cried Craig enthusiastically.

Anita stood up and turned around. Then she bent over and shoved the mouth of the suncreen container up her arse and squeezed hard. When she pulled it out there was white creamy liquid dripping down her  legs.

“Who’s going to be first?” she asked, spreading her butt cheeks wide apart.

“Me! Me!” cried Gareth, pushing Craig out of the way. Both of their cocks were rock hard. As was mine.

Gareth leapt forward and with an ecstatic sigh sank his prick deep into Anita’s sunscreen-filled arsehole.

“MMMmmmm,” sighed Anita. “Nothing says ‘love’ like a penis poking your poop chute.”

Gareth reached around and played with Anita’s clit as he slapped his thighs against her massive arse.

“Give the other guys a chance,” she said. “We don’t want anyone getting a sunburnt willy.”

So Gareth stepped aside and Craig slid his stiff prick home. Meanwhile Gareth grabbed his own slippery cock and wanked off until he spurted his cream over Anita’s thigh.

“All my boy’s love to wank,” giggled Anita, as Craig continued to fuck her butt.

Then it was my turn. Craig stepped aside and I felt the warm flesh of her wet slippery butthole close around my rock hard length.

“Come on Dirty Bert!” cried Anita. “I want to feel you spurt!”

Craig and I came simultaneously. He over Anita’s belly and me up her bum.

Just then there was a ring on the doorbell.

“That’ll be the new maid,” Anita informed me, as she wiped off the residue of our lust.

I followed her back into the house.

To be continued...

Bolt : Wank Wednesday

It's Wank Wednesday again as hosted by Ruby Kiddell at The Erotic Notebook. Here is how she explains it :

Welcome to week eight of Wank Wednesday, your weekly festival of smut. 

With so many great writers of smut and erotica on Twitter and the web I thought it would be a nice idea to get a smutty blog carnival going. For writers or would be writers a weekly prompt will get you writing and as a reader well you’ll be able to get your fix of sexy stories all in one go.

To join in all you need to do is write a story with the weekly prompt as a title. This week’s prompt is #Bolt. Then:

• Blog it – post it on your blog then come back here and add it to the link list.

• Tweet it – write it on twitter using the prompt hashtag and the #wankwednesday hashtag

• Add it – if you don’t want to blog or tweet it then please do add it as comment to my post

• WE it – if you are a member at Word Ejaculation you can submit with them too, just remember to link back to me here and to add your entry to the link list.

Please link back to this page in your post and please also do take the time to read and comment on the other contributors, we’ll all keep on writing but it is so much nicer to do so with feedback.

Thank you for writing and reading.

Bolt

You were made by God, dear reader, but I was not. I am the handiwork of one Frau Baroness Von Frankenstein, P.M.S.*

One day they will say of me that I had the hands of a surgeon, the body of an athlete and the face of an artist's model. This is quite literally the case. My hands once belonged to Dr. Seymour Kuntz, the famous Austrian gynecologist. The bulk of my body belonged to the Scottish amateur rugby player and professional thief, Rob Banks. And my face was that of German artist's model, turned stage actor, turned strangler of pretty women, Hart Throb. Throb had really lost his head while on tour in Paris. The guillotine will do that to you. My brain is that of the Baroness's late hunchbacked assistant, Ygor. And my cock belonged to... Well, I don't know. Some guy who had an enormous cock.

The Baroness claims to be a benefactor of mankind, but one has to ask, if that is the case, why she has kept me a secret to the rest of the world. The answer, it seems to me, is obvious. Sex slaves are hard to come by in Bavaria at the moment, especially sex slaves with ten inch cocks.

So that is how I came to be lying chained and naked on a pile of animals skins in the dungeon. Each night I would hear the key turn in the lock, then the bolt would slide back and the Baroness would open the door. She was always stark naked. She would stand over me for a while with her legs spread defiantly. She would look down at me and play with herself. I could tell that she loved the anticipation of impaling herself on my mighty cock, which always rose to the occasion with great alacrity.

I had mixed feelings about being fucked by the Baroness. She took me for granted. She treated me like a piece of meat. And she clearly had no fondness for me as an individual. In the body of Ygor she had beaten me mercilessly. Why did I put up with it? Well, jobs for hunchbacks were not plentiful, and there was no union for mad scientist's lab assistants.

But I had my own physical needs. When your mother is the grave and your father is a lightning bolt it tends to make you kind of horny. And death has a way of removing one's inhibitions. So I fucked her and sucked her and filled her with cum. But it always left me feeling dirty.

So, on this particular night, it was with the usual combination of stiff cock and heavy heart that I heard the key turn in the lock and the bolt slide back on the door. But when the door opened I saw that it was not the Baroness, but a very pretty servant girl with whom I was not acquainted.

"The Baroness was very careless to go out and leave her keys in the door," said the rosy-cheeked raven-haired beauty.

"And you are a very brave girl to enter the monster's cage," I pointed out.

"Monster?" she queried, and then looked down at my erect penis. "Oh, my, you're right. You do have a monster!"

"Sadly, I myself, am a monster," I explained. "Your mistress made me out of a pile of corpses."

"Yes," said the maid. "She always has been into recycling."

"You mean that I do not disgust you?" I asked.

"Nah," she replied. "I've seen stiffs before."

"You clean in the Baroness's laboratory perhaps?" I queried.

"Yeah, I've seen it all. Brains in tanks. Two-headed cats. You name it. And loads of stiffs. Although," she added, giggling, "never a stiff with a stiff."

She came over and sat down beside me. Then she looked me in the eye with a cheeky smile and began stroking my stiff cock.

"What's your name, my sweet?" I asked her.

"Dora Bull," she replied.

"Not the Dora Bull, toast of the London dance halls?" I queried.

"No, I'm not the Dora Bull, but I'm a Dora Bull," she told me.

"You certainly are," I agreed, kissing her on the nose. "You wouldn't happen to have the keys to these shackles?"

"I do," she said, hesitantly, "but how do I know that, if I unlock you, you won't rip off all of my clothes, throw me down on the floor and ravish my tender maidenhood with your enormous cock."

"I promise that I will act towards you as a perfect gentleman," I assured her.

"Oh, well," she said, sounding disappointed. "I suppose I better set you free anyway."

So saying, she grabbed the set of keys out of the door and set about unlocking my ankle bracelets. In no time at all I was free.

"Guess what?" I smiled.

"What?" she asked.

"I lied," I informed her, grabbing the neck of her servant's dress with both hands and rending it down the middle, thus setting free her soft, pale breasts.

"Oh, goodie!" she cried, as I ripped off her bloomers, and threw her, now completely naked, onto the pile of animals skins.

I was made for making love. My athlete's body knew how to hold a woman. My actor's eyes knew how to gaze adoringly into hers while my actor's lips kissed passionately. My gynecologist's hands knew their way around a woman's pussy. And my cock... Well, my cock knew how to be enormous.

"Ouch!" cried Dora, as I slid my battering ram deep into her furry fortress.

"You'll get used to it," I assured her, rolling over so that she could be on top.

"Mind if I hang onto your bolts?" she asked, grasping the metal protrusions that adorned each side of my neck.

"Actually, they're not bolts," I explained. "They're electrodes."

"Oh," she replied. "They sure look like bolts."

"Well, they're not. O.K.?" I told her, testily.

"No need to get snarky about it," she whined.

So I spanked her hard on the bottom for being so impertinent. She seemed to like it and rode up and down on my throbbing cock all the more vigorously.

"It's certainly a delight to be able to fuck someone as charming as yourself," I informed her, as I pulled her down so that her soft breasts squashed against my barrel of a chest, and played gently around her bottomhole with the index finger of my right hand. "The Baroness is such a cunt. She likes to come on all Godlike in the sack, which is a real drag."

"Oh, the Baroness is nuts," agreed Dora. "Hey, I made a funny. Nuts. Nuts and bolts."

"They're not fucking bolts, O.K.!" I shouted, grabbing her by the throat.

"Ooooooh! Ooooooh! Choke me!" she cried. "I love that!"

Well, it was only a couple more minutes before I came so hard that Dora flew about a foot up in the air, her pussy surrendering my exploding cock with an all-mighty "Plop!" and her already tender bottom landed painfully on the cold hard floor. Lightning, I tell ya, it does strange things to the human reproductive system.

"I will forever be indebted to you, my darling Dora, for freeing me from my piteous state of bondage," I proclaimed, bowing graciously.

"Don't mention it tall, dark and gruesome," she laughed, as she waved goodbye.

And with that I bounded down the corridor, up the stairs, and out into the blinding light of a sunny afternoon.

I wandered off through the woods, having no idea what to do next.

About mid-afternoon I came upon an open glade on the shore of a placid lake. There I discovered a little girl with freckles and red hair woven into plaits. She was picking flowers.

As I walked closer, my mighty shadow fell across her and she turned her innocent, trusting gaze my way. First she looked at my feet, and then her gaze went up and up and up until it reached my face. And she smiled, the warm smile of a child who has not yet learned that all in this world do not mean her well.

"Nice bolts!" she said.

So I picked her up and threw her in the lake and went on my way.

It was only about a half-hour later that I came upon a stone cottage. Clearly it was inhabited as a thin plume of smoke drifted up from its chimney.

Before knocking on the door, I thought I had better get some idea of who lived there. Not everyone takes kindly to a naked monster with a ten-inch cock knocking on their door in the middle of the afternoon.

When I went around the side and looked in the window I was surprised to see that the sole inhabitant was a beautiful blonde girl who was, like me, completely naked. I soon came to suspect that she was also blind, as she put her hands out in front of her as she walked around, patting the furniture.

This was a piece of luck. She needn't know that I was a monster, or that I was naked. And she might be persuaded to provide me with some sustenance.

So I knocked on the front door and soon the blind girl opened it, though only far enough to poke her head around it.

"Can I help you?" she asked. "I am blind so I'm afraid I cannot see who you are."

"I am but a wayfaring stranger, looking for a place to rest his weary feet and perhaps partake of a cup of tea," I replied.

"O.K.," she said. "But I had better put something on. I never wear any clothes in this sort of weather. It seems kind of pointless since I never have company and I myself cannot see what I am wearing."

"Please do not trouble yourself," I replied. "For I too am a nudist out on a clothes-free ramble."

"Oh, you are?" she cried, happily. "Then come right in."

"Henrietta is my name," she informed me, reaching out to shake my hand. But she was a good deal shorter than me and what she grabbed was my semi-erect cock. "Oh, my!" she exclaimed. "You didn't tell me you were a salami salesman."

"I am not a merchant of smallgoods," I assured her.

"No, it's certainly not small, and it is getting bigger in my hand," she pointed out. "It's your cock, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," I admitted. "And this is your bottom and these are your boobs..."

"It's not nice of you take advantage of a poor girl's disability," she informed me, but the way that she was happily wanking on my cock told me she really didn't mind.

And so, as she prepared us each a cup of tea, we enjoyed a game of Blind Girl in the Buff. I would come up and lick one of her nipples and run away before she could reach out and grab me. And next it might be a finger her in pussy, or I would smack her bottom with my stiff cock. And each time I would manage to slip away from between her questing hands.

Eventually, the tea was ready and she placed the two cups on the table. I sat down on one of the wooden chairs. And then, much to my surprise, Henrietta sat on my lap.

"Oh!" she cried. "I thought you sat in the other chair."

By some miraculous coincidence, as she sat down her suspiciously wet pussy slid right down over my upstanding prick.

"That's O.K.," I replied. "You can stay there if you are comfortable."

"Oh, I'm very comfortable," she sighed.

Thus did it come to pass that I sat with my tea cup in my right hand and my left hand under Henrietta's left thigh so that my super strong left biceps could bounce her up and down on my rigid member as we drank our tea.

"This sure beats cucumber sandwiches!" she exclaimed.

Then she turned to kiss me and her hand fell upon one of my electrodes.

"Why do you have a bolt in your neck?" she asked.

"It's not a bolt. It's an electrode," I sighed.

"Oh, O.K.," she replied.

I reached down and gently stroked her stiff clit as I continued to bounce her up and down on my cock. Soon she was quivering in ecstasy as I spurted a quart of jism up her pussy. I made sure to hold her tight as I didn't want a repeat of what had happened to Dora.

Just at this moment I noticed a distant sound of yelling. It was coming closer. When I looked out the window I could see a procession of women carrying torches approaching through the forest.

"Monster! Monster!" they were crying.

Dora must have been gossiping I thought to myself. There was no other way these women could have known of my existence.

"Normally I wouldn't mind the idea of a woman carrying a torch for me," I muttered, "but this is ridiculous."

"We've heard that there is a monster on the rampage ravishing women with his enormous cock," cried the leader of the mob. "And we are determined to protect the village even if it means sacrificing our own vaginas!"

"They sound like they mean business," said Henrietta. "You'd better bolt!"

*Professor of Mad Science.

Good Sports, Etc.

A Quote

You could paint my nob tartan and call it Throb Roy.

Timothy Lea from Confessions from a Nudist Camp (1976)

This one was never made into a film unfortunately.

A Joke

A young man comes into a bar and orders 12 shots of whisky. He lines them up on the bar and begins throwing back one after another.

"Wow!" says the bartender.

"I just had my first blow job," the young man announces proudly.

"Well, no wonder you're celebrating," replies the bartender with a smile.

"It's not that," replies the youth. "I just want to get the taste out of my mouth."

French Maids

Everything is better with French maids, so following on from my last post, here is a lesson in on-line bartering from French Maid TV :

What Else I'm Reading

The title story of this collection by Kendall Swan tells the story of Serena, a teenager who uses the pretext of a slumber party with her mom in the next room as a cover for her friend Ashley to sneak off and have a hot time with her boyfriend. But when their plans go awry and they all end up in Serena's bedroom things really heat up for all three. This story is playful, raunchy and very, very erotic. I hope there's a sequel.

Naked Slumber Party by Kendall Swan at Smashwords.

Sexy Occupation - Maid or House Cleaner

The windows are only one part of the house that need cleaning. The next of our sexy occupations is the maid or cleaner who probes every intimate nook and cranny of the house. She (or he) gets up close and personal with the places we have sex, the places we have sat our naked bottoms and sees any clues about our sex lives we may have inadvertently left lying around - the vibrator, the porn stash or the crotchless panties. And a fetishistic male cleaner, if unscrupulous, might take unnatural advantage of a lady's panty draw. It is hard to imagine a maid doing the same with a gentleman's y-fronts, but even that may be known to happen.

The French maid, particularly, has been an erotic archetype since the 1800s. In a more hierarchical, class-oriented society, maids were very subservient and there was no hope of suing an employer for sexual harassment. The reality of this situation may not have always been very pleasant for the maids, but it does provide a scenario that is often highly erotic as a fantasy for both men and women. And maids (along with butlers) were always perfect characters for a sex farce, with wives always on the verge of catching their husbands pants down with the home help.

But recently house cleaning has become sexy in a new way with the invention of nude or near nude house cleaning services, both female and male. There is no need to go to a strip club in order to perve at a hot nude sex object. You can do it in your own home and avoid having to do your own dusting and vacuuming into the bargain.

Recently I read a very sexy ebook on this very topic. Kendall Swan's Naked Housecleaning is a deliciously playful romantic fantasy about a college girl who cleans for a handsome, wealthy and somewhat eccentric young gentleman. When he offers to pay her three times as much if she cleans in the nude she is not sure what to think - the idea arouses her, but she worries that this amounts to prostitution. Her qualms are soon swept aside however and she finds that cleaning nude for a sexy man unleashes a very naughty side to her personality.

I've always found the idea of casual female nudity a big turn-on. Nudists claim that nude living is not an especially erotic thing, but for me the sight of a woman doing everyday things - gardening, ironing, cleaning, cooking, working out, etc. totally naked is somehow very erotic, so the idea of a naked cleaning lady is definitely a very appealing fantasy.

But what about the idea of being a nude cleaner for a female clientele? Well, in reality I'm a slob who avoids cleaning when possible, and with my physique the only way I'd get to work nude is by offering a massive discount for the privilege. But let's leave reality behind. In an ideal world it might go something like this :

LUSTING WHILE DUSTING


I'd been working for Clobber-Free Cleaners for only two weeks when I met up with Dora. Most of the women I worked for just quietly watched me as I cleaned their house naked. Afterwards they might make me a cup of tea and we'd have a friendly chat. With Dora it was different, she took an evil glee in having a defenceless naked man at her mercy. I felt like a mouse being played with by a tiger cub.


I should have seen the warning signs on my first visit when I noticed an enormous purple vibrator sitting on the television in the lounge room looking for all the world like a decorative ornament. I lifted it gingerly to dust the top of the set. It felt a little sticky.


"Oh, how embarrassing!" cried Dora. "I forgot I left that there." She grabbed it out of my hand, standing uncomfortably close as she did so. "There was a George Clooney movie on the telly last night," she added with a wink.


There are no hard and fast rules about how we are to speak to the customers. The only rules are that there should be no physical contact more intimate than a handshake. Personally, I think it lends an air of class to come on a little posh, so I always refer to my clients as "madame".


"I don't think you should really be doing that, madame," I said, on my second visit, when Dora came up behind me and began to gently stroke my right thigh while fondling my left buttock and nibbling my left ear lobe.


"I don't think you really mind," she teased. "If you did you would tell me to stop. You wouldn't be all 'I don't think you should really be doing that'." She actually did quite a good impersonation of my manner, I have to give her that.


"I'm sure madame is just trying to be affectionate," I replied, "but my only interest is in upholding the reputation of Clobber-Free Cleaners by doing the most thorough job I can in removing dirt and grime from your domicile."


"I really don't think that that is your only interest," she responded, "or else your cock wouldn't be standing out all big and stiff and dripping precum all over my bedside stand."


"Oh, I am sorry ma'am," I spluttered, grabbing a Kleenex to wipe up the mess. I looked down at my stiff cock and muttered "Traitor!" under my breath.


"I like your cock," said Dora. "He's on my side."


Luckily I was nearly finished for the day, so I was able to escape before things could get really unethical.

From that time on I never knew what Dora might do next and the erotic tension was so strong that my cock would be erect before I even came through the door and stripped off and would stay that way the whole time. On the up side, it did give me somewhere to hang my dust cloth. But when Dora caught me doing the vacuuming with the skirting board attachment stuck over my dick for later use she yelled at me for not being fully nude.


Of course she would take the opportunity to parade around in all kinds of skimpy clothes, bending over front ways so I could see her cleavage and bending over the other way so I could see the ripe curve of her butt.


Then one day, just as I was coming out of the bathroom after cleaning it, she appeared in a skimpy towelling robe and pushed past me, accidentally on purpose brushing my cock with the back of her hand, and started to run a bath.


"Come in here, will you?" she called out a couple of minutes later.


When I entered the bathroom I saw that she was sitting naked in the tub covered in soap. She had a stern look on her face.


"You left a smudge on the mirror," she said, pointing at it. "Clean it off now."


As I ran a cloth over the mirror, I watched her reflection. She'd slid her right hand down between her legs and was clearly masturbating.


"You're watching me, aren't you?" she teased. "Well, I don't care what you think. It's my pussy and I'll wash it as fast as I like."


"It is my opinion," I said, turning towards her, "that madame is a dirty little slut."


"Well, you are under contract to clean everything in my flat," she smiled. "I have a dirty cunt that needs cleaning and it looks like you have just the perfect utensil to do the job."


She reached over the edge of the tub and grabbed my cock with her soapy hand and tried to pull me into the bath with her, but it slipped through her sudsy fingers. "Oh, bugger me," she cursed.


"Madame will have to make up her mind which service she wants first," I laughed.


In response, Dora stood up and pulled her creamy wet bum cheeks apart to display the rosebud that lay between them. "Clean this with your tongue!" she giggled.


"Just don't tell the agency about this," I told her, as I stepped over the side of the tub and took her in my arms.


"Because you'd get fired?" she asked.


"No," I said, giving her playful smack on the ass. "Because all the guys will want to work for you."


The End