The Whore's Locker

"They are back," Abu informed his commander gravely.

"Allah preserve us," groaned the new head of Al Qaeda, feeling the sweat break out on his forehead.

***

Hassan stood in the crowded market place. His hands shook and his heart pounded in his chest. This was his moment. This was his last moment. His backpack was stuffed with C-4. In ten minutes he would be in the Promised Land and fifty or more people who were currently going about their business in blissful ignorance would be dead.

***

Patty and Siobhan emerged from the shadows. They were disguised in traditional arab dress. They surveyed the scene from beneath their transparent veils.

"Here we go again," said Siobhan with a wicked smile that nobody could see.

The girls threw off their robes and walked forward into the busy market place. All around them faces turned and eyes shot wide. Patty was the language expert. She understood every prayer and profanity which dropped unbidden from the lips of the men and women on all sides.

Patty and Siobhan were members of the Pink Berets, also know as the Slut Squad. They were mercenaries. Currently they were working for the United States government, but they would sell their services to anyone who met their asking price. They were above politics and patriotism. All they cared about was the money and the cock. Patty was born in America. Siobhan in Ireland. But the Pink Berets base of operations was on a privately owned island in the Azores.

What caused all the commotion in the market place, as it did everywhere they went, was their uniform. It consisted simply of a military-style helmet with camouflage pattern and a tight-fitting black t-shirt with the message : "What part of 'Yes' don't you understand?" Siobhan also had a satchel over her shoulder filled with bomb disposal equipment. Below the t-shirt they were both naked, their smoothly-shaved pussies glistening wetly in the bright Middle Eastern sunshine. The sweat dripped down their firm buttocks, which quickly became begrimed with dry red dust.

"I know what they have promised you," Patty called out in Arabic.

"I will be a martyr for the glorious Jihad," Hassan replied nervously.

"You can take the gamble if you want, Hassan," she told him. "You can blow yourself to smithereens and trust that you'll end up in Paradise with 20 virgins, who probably don't even know how to suck a cock, or I can blow you right here and now. I'll take you to Paradise and then you can get on with your day, no harm, no fowl." Of course it sounded quite different in Arabic.

"I can't change my mind," whimpered Hassan. "The bomb is already programmed to go off."

"Don't worry about that," Patty reassured him. "Siobhan will disarm the bomb. She's good at that. And, if all goes well, she'll help us both out by pulling apart your butt cheeks and licking your asshole. She's also good at that."

Siobhan didn't know much Arabic, but she knew enough to shoo back the crowd that was standing around them. The women had fallen back and were looking on anxiously, but many of the men couldn't make up their minds which was worse - to run the risk of being blown up or to miss out on getting a really good look at the bare Infidel cunts which were stiffening their cocks.

Jette and Keilyn from Girls Out West

"Wow! This guy's got a real weapon of mass destruction in his pants," laughed Patty, setting free seven proud inches of dusky dick meat. She happily grasped it in her sweaty hands and licked off the bead of pre-cum that had formed on the head.

"Three and a half minutes left on the timer," declared Siobhan. "Should I have a wank first to steady my nerves."

Patty would have told her she was a cheeky bitch but she had her mouth full of throbbing dick. Just as some women are gourmets who like to eat exotic meals, Patty liked to eat exotic males. She took his cock out of her mouth and crouched down to suck on his balls. She hoped those balls were bursting with cum. Suicide bombers were generally virgins who didn't masturbate anywhere near enough. (A life without sex? Who wouldn't want to blow themselves up?) Every guy's cum tasted a little different, and every guy's cum was delicious to Patty.

"Now was it the blue wire and then the green wire, or the green wire and then the blue?" asked Siobhan. "I get confused when I get horny. And watching you suck cock always makes me horny."

"This isn't a game," Patty scolded her, as she grasped Hassan's hard prick and jacked him with a firm stroke.

"There we go," Siobhan cried proudly as she snipped the correct wire.

"Business over and now the fun begins," Patty replied, laying back in the dust and pulling Hassan between her wide spread thighs. His dick slid easily into her hot wet pussy. Siobhan crouched down behind him and licked his asshole while fingering her dripping wet pussy. The danger always left her feeling rampantly horny. And all around them men were pulling out their cocks and jacking off.

"Hey, you," cried Siobhan to one of the watching masturbators. "I just saved your life. The least you can do is fuck me." He was unlikely to understand her Irish-inflected English, but he understood when she grabbed him by the cock and pulled him into the fray.

Patty and Siobhan kissed each other hungrily as each was fucked doggy style. Eventually they were pumped full of jism.

"It's raining man juice!" exclaimed Siobhan as the surrounding masturbators spurted streams of hot cum all over their sweaty bodies.

As they were walking away, Siobhan handed out business cards to some of the onlookers. They read :

There is no need to love your enemies. We'll do it for you.

"I can't wait to hit the showers," enthused Patty. She knew that the rest of the squad would be meeting them there. They would have a long relaxing shower together and then there would be an all-girl orgy until late into the evening. Pussies would be licked and strap-ons would be squirted over. And everyone would be satisfied by the time the desert sun sank among the dunes.

***

The leader of Al Qaeda did not take the news well.

"When they used guns and bombs against us, it stiffened our resolve," he pointed out.

"I'm pretty stiff at the moment," Abu confessed.

"Death and destruction are good for recruitment," explained the leader. "But what can we do against blow jobs?"

"My resolve would be tested," admitted Abu.

In the next room one of the leader's wives was watching the report on Al Jazeera and fingering her pussy beneath her burkha.

The End

Jette and Keilyn from Girls Out West

Washed Up : Wank Wednesday

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The Girl Who Fucked Liberty Valance : Wank Wednesday

Wank Wednesday goes Wild West today. The prompt word is #border. For more information and links to all the stories check out Ruby Kiddell's site The Erotic Notebook.

The Girl Who Fucked Liberty Valance

"You're going to come to a bad end, mark my words," said Kitty Sweet, as she lit her cheroot with one hand and washed the cum off of the bad man's cock with the other.

"I've cum in your end often enough," replied Liberty Valance with an evil smile. "It's an outlaw's life for me. Live fast, die young and leave an impressive pile of corpses. That's my philosophy."

"You're a wicked man, but a good tipper," the pretty young prostitute pointed out as she sat back on her bed with her black-stocking-clad legs spread and her smoothly shaven pink pussy proudly on display. Apart from her stockings she wore a frilly pink bodice which squeezed in her waist and presented her full, soft pale breasts like ripe fruit on a platter.

Kitty loved her job. She loved hunky cowboys and wildly wicked outlaws. And, even more, she loved their big stiff cocks. Some of them might be famously quick on the draw, but all of them were long and slow when it came to sliding their loveguns in and out of the horny holster between her thighs. They liked to get their money's worth. They loved the feel of her small soft hands grabbing the firm cheeks of their butts, whether they were smooth or hairy, and greedily urging them to sink their pricks deeper into her cum-hungry cunt. They prided themselves on how many squealing orgasms she would have before her cervix was shot down in a hail of sperm.

A sign on the door of her bedroom read : "The Whore is In - Please Take a Number." All down the hallway of the hotel sat men in dusty jeans and check shirts with cowboy hats - some white, some black - in their laps, covering signs of their impatient ardour for Kitty.

As Liberty left, her next customer entered. He was a tall, slim man with cold eyes, which squinted like he had been a long time in the bright sun. He had a rough stubble on his face, against which he lit a match as he looked down at Kitty on the bed. He smoked the same brand of cheroots as she did.

"What's your name, honey?" she asked.

"I don't have one," he told her, with a voice like smooth sandpaper. "I'm the man with no name."

"How unfortunate," Kitty sympathised, feeling a twitch in her clit as he stripped off to reveal a particularly impressive erection.

"My mother was very indecisive," he explained. "She read all those baby name book, but could never settle on one."

"So what did she call you?" Kitty enquired, as the man climbed onto the bed beside her.

"Son, or boy," he replied. "When I was very young, Poopy Pants."

"Do you mind if I call you Harry?" she wanted to know.

"That'd make my day," he said, with a slow breaking smile.

She took a sniff of his hairy chest.

"You smell very clean," she declared.

"I have a bath twice a day," he explained.

"Dirty Harry!" exclaimed Kitty.

"I just told you, I bathe twice a day," he laughed.

"You're still a very dirty man to stick your finger up Kitty's bottom," she insisted.

"You mean you don't like men sticking things up your bottom?" he wanted to know.

"I never said that," she admitted. "But I'm a very, very dirty girl indeed."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, flipping her over, lubricating his cock with some of the face cream Kitty kept beside the bed and sliding his meat magnum deep into the winking pink hole between her soft pale bum cheeks.

"Bugger me!" Kitty cried. "You don't waste any time buggering a girl, do you?"

"Whether you're robbing a bank or fucking a whore, nothing beats a surprise assault on the back door," he informed her.

"A poet as well," she giggled as she gave herself an orgasm by rubbing her stiff little clit. She loved the feeling of her sensitive rectum stretched tight around a big butt-ful of throbbing cock.

The man with no name reached down into Kitty's bodice and eased her big breasts over the top of it so that he could pinch her sensitive stiff nipples.

"Is Doctor Harry going to give his pretty little patient a jism enema?" squealed Kitty, as she reached her fifth orgasm.

"What you have rammed into your rear end is the most powerful cum-shooter in the world. I could blow your bum clean off," warned the man. "Much safer if I finish myself off by hand."

And so he pulled his cock out of Kitty's warm tight butt-hole with a resounding "plop" and began pumping it slowly and leisurely in his fist. Kitty flipped over and fingered her cunt as she watched with a huge grin on her face. It wasn't long before he grunted and a big fountain of creamy cum shot out of his cock and splattered all over Kitty. Some landed on her nose, so she licked it off with her agile tongue.

"So where are you from?" she asked.

"I'm not from anywhere," he told her as he put his clothes back on. "I just wander the desert, visiting random towns only when I need to get a fistful of dollars. Or, when I'm in a gay mood, to get a dollar's worth of fisting."

"Well, make sure you drift through town again sometime soon," she ordered, patting his tight jean-clad butt as he walked out, "or you'll be unforgiven."

Kitty's next customer was none other than the notorious Jesse James.

"How's the bank robbery business panning out for you?" asked Kitty as she tried to nonchalantly wipe off the evidence of her previous customer's prodigious cumshot with her dainty handkerchief.

"Not bad," Jesse told her, as he pulled down his dusty jeans to reveal a pair of pink lacy bloomers.

"They're mine, aren't they?" cried Kitty. "I might have known I couldn't trust a bank robber."

"I like to feel you close to me between visits," Jesse explained.

"Well, make sure you aren't wearing them when that weasel Robert Ford is around," she advised. "You don't want the newspapers to report that you died wearing pink frilly panties."

"Robert?" Jesse queried. "The guy's a hundred percent trustworthy. I keep telling you that. I don't know why you don't like him."

*          *          *

During her breaks, Kitty liked to hang out in the saloon downstairs.

Now she was wearing a scarlet dress which showed a lot of cleavage as she sat at a table drinking gin.

"You must see lots of famous gunslingers living here in Bedwood," said the fresh-faced and freckled youth who was sitting with her. "Myself, I'm just a simple cowpoke."

"Well, honey," Kitty smiled. "If you ever get sick of poking those cows, you come up and see me sometime, y'hear?"

It was at that moment that the saloon's doors swung open to admit a familiar figure. At the sight of him, a coldness gripped Kitty's heart.

In her mind she was hurled back to her childhood. Once more she was a little girl standing horrified by the apple tree in the front garden as she heard the sound of three gunshots from inside the house.

"Daddy! Daddy!" she cried, running for the porch.

But then out strode Farnsworth G. Farnsworth shoving his smoking gun back into its holster with one hand while twirling the edge of his moustache with the other.

She never got into the house. Farnsworth tripped her and she fell face first into the dust. Then he pulled a stick of dynamite out of his overcoat, lit it with a match and threw it back through the open door.

The explosion that ripped apart her childhood home, also ripped apart her soul. From that point she realised that this was the wild west, a place where only the strong could survive.

Her father had refused to sell his farm to make way for Farnsworth's railway. He'd never harmed anyone in his life, but kindness counted for nothing in this lawless land.

Now Kitty was confronted with this demon from her past. He had a touch of grey in his hair, which was otherwise as black as his heart, but nothing else about him had changed. Kitty had the advantage on him. There was no way that he would associate that frightened little girl with the sassy whore who sat drinking her gin in the front bar of the White Buffalo Saloon.

He was with Cedric Branston, the man who owned virtually all of the real estate in town, including the White Buffalo. Cedric was a short man in a top hat with a salt and pepper beard. Kitty had to give him a cut of her takings, although officially he knew nothing about what took place upstairs at the saloon.

"You don't know how good it feels to play poker with someone who can match my stakes," Farnsworth told him.

"I don't gamble often," Branston replied. "But when I do I like to really go the whole hog."

Kitty sauntered over for a closer look, making an effort to hide the storm of rage that was tearing at her heart.

"Hi, Kitty," said Branston. "Meet my friend Mr. Farnsworth."

"A pleasure," she replied cooly, kissing his hand. But in her mind she completed the sentence - "...it would be to tear out your heart."

She stood and watched as the pair gambled. The stakes were indeed high. She had never seen so much money in one place before.

Luck was not going Branston's way. Soon he had lost all of his cash.

"Well, it looks like a pleasant afternoon's amusement has come to an end," Farnsworth stated as he gathered up the money.

"Wait," Branston responded. "All or nothing."

"All or nothing against what?" Farnsworth wanted to know.

"The Town of Bedwood," Branston replied.

"But.." Kitty began to protest, and then realised that it was not her place.

The thought of Farnsworth taking possession of her town was too horrible for Kitty to contemplate. Branston was a sleaze, but he was not a sleaze who had murdered her father.

Bold though Branston might be, luck still refused to favour him.

"A round of drinks on the house," Farnsworth declared. "Never let it be said that the new owner of the White Buffalo Saloon doesn't look after his customers."

Kitty collected another gin from the bartender and sat back at her table to consider her next move.

"Enjoying your gin on the house?" Farnsworth enquired slimily.

"I always enjoy gin," Kitty replied coldly.

"Now that I'm the owner, I think there is something I might like to enjoy on the house," he told her, running a clammy hand down her cheek.

A few minutes later they were up in her room and Farnsworth was removing his pants to reveal his bandy legs and his massive boner.

"I've never owned my own slut before," he leered. "Normally if I want a sexy woman I have to rape her."

Kitty kept a gun in her bedside drawer.

"I have some special perfume," she told him. "I want to make myself extra sexy for you." She reached into the drawer and pulled out the pistol.

"Did anyone ever tell you you look too pretty to be a filthy whore cunt?" Farnsworth asked.

"This is for my daddy," replied Kitty and blew his cock off.

Farnsworth staggered around the room trying to staunch the flow of blood from his crotch. When he moved backwards away from the bed, Kitty shot him point blank in the heart and pushed him out the window.

She would have to run. She was a murderer. It wouldn't be long before Marshall Twerp would come looking for her.

*          *          *

Two days later she was riding across the desert headed for the Rio Grande. If she could make it across the border into Mexico she would be safe.

She was wearing jeans, a check shirt and a cowboy hat. From a distance no-one would have recognised that she was a woman.

At nightfall she stopped and lit a camp fire. She'd brought a few cans of beans with her, along with a can opener, a frying pan and a spoon. She was hungry and the beans tasted good.

She hadn't had any sex for two days. Once her stomach had been satisfied, her pussy began to tell her that it was horny.

Surely there couldn't be anyone around for miles, she thought. Why not make herself comfortable? She loved being nude out-of-doors in this warm weather. So she stripped naked, threw down a blanket and began masturbating shamelessly in the bright moonlight.

She was sucking on her right nipple and fingering her wet cunt happily, when, all of a sudden, a pair of strange fingers pinched her left nipple.

"What the fuck!?!" she cried, jumping up.

"My name Pronto," said the huge Apache who stood up next to her. "Pronto like to help white woman satisfy her happy hole."

"I've never met an Indian before," Kitty informed him nervously.

"We prefer 'native American'," he corrected her. "Indian racist term. Imply we are bunch of cow-worshipping curry munchers."

"I'm sorry," replied Kitty.

She looked down at the place where his loin cloth was bunched up over the top of a proud and massive erection.

"They don't really work terribly well when you're excited, do they?" she pointed out.

"You have been scalped between the legs!" he exclaimed.

Kitty giggled.

"It's nice and smooth," she told him. "Want to feel?" And she grabbed his big calloused hand and rubbed his fingers all over her cunt.

"Also very wet," he replied.

"Come on, big boy," she purred, stroking his rock hard prick. "Let's fuck in the moonlight."

For such a big and muscular brave he was surprisingly gentle as he lay her down upon the blanket, cradling her soft bottom as he did so. And then he fucked her in the position the missionaries had taught him.

She could easily have got accustomed to being fucked by a big muscular savage. She loved the feel of his hard and hairless chest against her soft breasts, and the feel of his buttocks, which were as hard as his cock, beneath her hands.

Pronto howled like a coyote as he came and Kitty joined in.

"You can have a powwow in my pussy any time you like," she sighed.

They cuddled and kissed beneath the full moon. Then Kitty fell asleep. When she awoke, he was gone.

*          *          *

When she reached the Rio Grande, Kitty stripped naked. It was going to be a hard swim, impossible in clothes.

She waded out from the shore, the current pulling at her hard. Once she was in the full flow of the river she had to let it carry her with it, hoping to be able to fight hard enough to gradually get a little closer to the opposite shore.

She made it. She was now four miles down river from the point at which she had begun the crossing, but she was back on dry land.

There was no doubt she was taking a major gamble walking into Mexico stark naked, but what other option did she have?

She saw nobody for several hours, and the heat was making her feel weak. She knew she should try to keep going, but she just didn't have it in her. So she sat her bare bottom down in the hot sand and she started to cry.

It was at this moment that she heard the sound of hoofbeats coming towards her out of the desert.

Up rode a very handsome Mexican man with a moustache and a large sombrero.

"It must be my lucky day," he told her. "It is not every day that I find a naked beauty in the desert. Please allow me to be your knight in the shining armour."

"I thought I was a goner," Kitty confessed.

"Allow me to introduce myself," said the Mexican. "I am Smokey Joe, owner of the famous Smokey Joe's Cafe in Tijuana."

"Hi, Joe," Kitty smiled. "I'm Kitty Sweet, the famous whore from Bedwood. Please allow me to suck your cock in gratitude for coming to my rescue."

"Smokey Joe is known for many things," he informed her, hopping down from his horse. "But turning down free blow jobs is not one of them."

He dropped his baggy peasant pants to reveal his stiff cock. It was not exceptionally long, but it was prodigiously fat. Kitty loved the way she had to stretch her jaw to get her teeth around it. It felt so lovely and warm against her tongue. Now that she once more had a dick in her mouth, she knew everything was going to turn out fine.

"I've always had a thing for gringo girls," Joe told her, letting out a little moan as she gobbled on his gonads.

It wasn't long before he filled her mouth so full of spunk that it ran out over her lips. She swallowed it down hungrily.

Then he took off his shirt and gave it to her to wear. It made her almost decent as she rode behind him towards Tijuana.

"I live in a house behind my cafe," he explained. "And I'm looking for a border."

"A border who has a surefire way of earning rent money?" she asked.

"Of course," he responded. "My customers are really going to go for a hot tamale like you!"

The End

Queens of the Stone Age : Wank Wednesday

Wank Wednesday means another fruity flight of fancy, and today's prompt word is #flight. This writing challenge is hosted by Ruby Kiddell at The Erotic Notebook. Make sure to check out the other contributions over there.

Queens of the Stone Age

O.K. Before we start, lets just get something straight. You've come to expect from my stories a certain standard of realism. So when I start talking about a world where humans coexisted with dinosaurs, I can see that you are going to give me a hard time. But that is where you would be wrong. Because humans and dinosaurs did, in fact, walk the earth side-by-side. An increasing number of fossil discoveries have proven this beyond a shadow of a doubt.

So why haven't you heard about this? I'll tell you why. A conspiracy. The paleontologists of the world have made a secret agreement to keep a lid on the evidence. After all, not only would it be embarrassing to have to admit how wrong they had been for all those years, but, to release this information would serve to redeem and give comfort to a certain group of irresponsibly irrational individuals. You know who I mean. That's right. The makers of movies such as One Million Years, B.C. and When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth. Should these men learn that their movies were a spookily accurate depiction of what life was like for our cave-dwelling progenitors, right down to the brand of false eye-lashes worn by Racquel Welch, there is no telling what might eventuate. Maybe even a new series of The Flintstones.

So why am I breaking this conspiracy of silence? Because I'm not a scientist, I don't give a fuck, and I quite liked The Flintstones.

Ook was a member of a tribe who called themselves the Rock People. They lived far up in the mountain caves of central Europe. There life was a harsh battle against the elements. The wind blew heavy through the mountain passes, stirring up the massive drifts of snow. Like the rest of his people, Ook covered himself in a cloak of mammoth fur and also wore a tiger pelt loin cloth. His feet were wrapped in antelope leather, but his hairy legs were bare to the chilly winds. Only the tough survived in the high lands.

Ook pulled his flint knife from the side of his loin cloth and joined his fellow tribesmen in hacking free large slices of meat from the carcass of the mammoth that they had just felled with their mighty spears.

Old Mongo enthusiastically cut off the beast's genitals with a single swipe of his stone blade.

"Look at me," he cried, "I've got a mammoth cock!"

"Get a move on," growled Krog, the leader of the tribe. "The sabretooths will have smelled the blood. They'll be here any minute."

Of course they weren't really speaking English. They were speaking a language consisting of guttural grunts and expansive hand gestures.

As they headed back to their cave, heavily-laden with their cargo of raw meat, Ook contemplated his lot in life.

Ook had always felt that he should be leader of the tribe. Wasn't he the most intelligent? Wasn't it he who had first pointed out that their living conditions would be much pleasanter if they shat outside the cave? And yet Krog was the leader because of his prowess as a fighter. Krog could fell any man with one blow of his club. Anyone, that is, who had not already been laid low by his body odour.

One reason why Ook wanted to be leader was that the leader got first pick of a mate. Krog's woman, Hubba-Hubba, made Ook as horny as a Triceratops. She had ice-cold blue eyes beneath a tangled mane of raven hair. Her full breasts were barely contained by her crude leopardskin bra and the jiggling cheeks of her ass were tantalisingly revealed whenever the wind whipped up her loin cloth.

Ook, though very clever, was the worst fighter in the tribe. That is how he ended up with Grot-Grot as his woman. Grot-Grot had a bald patch on the top of her head, she was missing an eye and she smelled like a dead skunk. She did have a good sense of humour though.

The cave was a very crowded place. A tribe of thirty five men, women and children squeezed into a cliff-front cavity the size of a Taco stand. If they wanted to fight, they had to go outside.

And there was no privacy when it came to fucking. Once the children were asleep and the fire had gone out, the moaning would begin as couples rubbed together their bare skins beneath their bear skins. As the men humped away at their women in the Stegosaurus position, the women would gossip amongst themselves about whether their men were able to rock their world or whether they left them stone cold.

Then came the time for the women of the tribe to make their monthly pilgrimage down to the lowlands to gather fruit. Normally, this was an arduous but uneventful trip. But on this occasion the women were cornered in an orange grove by a hungry Tyrannosaurus. It came charging at them on its powerful legs,  saliva dripping from its razor-sharp teeth, and its pathetic little arms just sort of hanging there.

They had no alternative. Two of them picked up Grot-Grot and hurled her forcefully towards the terrible Thunder Lizard. And, as he bit her head clean off, tossed it in the air and swallowed it with a loud gulp, they turned tail and ran back up into the mountains.

So that is how Ook came to be sleeping alone on the night of the full moon.

All around him couples were grunting and squealing like sex-mad warthogs. He was feeling especially horny. He tried rubbing his raptor, but it just wasn't the same.

Krog loved nothing better than having Hubba-Hubba gobble his knob. And this is what she was doing beneath the bearskin to Ook's right.

"No harm in having a peak," he told himself as he lifted the bottom of the pelt and, by the light of the moon flooding through the cave entrance, feasted his eyes on Hubba-Hubba's luscious bare bum.

Krog's eyes were tight shut in ecstasy. What would he notice if Ook stole himself a bit of Hubba-Hubba's action?

He pulled himself up behind her and slid his stiff cock into her hairy wet pussy. She wriggled in approval. Just as Ook had suspected. She was a cavewoman of easy virtue.

Ook grabbed onto her hips and slapped his hairy six-pack against her bare bottom as he probed her pussy with his flesh spear.

If Ook had been a little less enthusiastic, things might have gone well. But he rammed into Hubba-Hubba so hard that she fell forward and sank her teeth into Krug's engorged prick.

"Owwwwwww!" cried Krug, his eyes flying open. "What the fuck! Ook you terrible cunt, stop fucking my woman!"

"What?" Ook, responded, thinking on his feet. "You mean this isn't a dream?"

But Krug didn't believe that Ook had been sleep-fucking. He challenged him to a fight.

Rather than die a horrible death in that cramped cave, Ook ran out into the wilderness where he could be free to die a horrible death in the fresh air.

He ran and he ran and he ran. If you've ever run down a mountain you'll realise that that is what happens. Starting is easy, stopping impossible. Two days later he arrived at the lowlands and fell forward on his face. For three hours he just lay there, but when a baby raptor came past and started eating his ear, he had to climb to his feet and look around. He was in the grove where the women gathered the fruit. So he filled his belly and then he thought about what to do next. He would have to go far far away if he were to be safe from Krog's vengeance. On the edge of the fruit grove was a creek, and beyond that a mighty desert. He drank his fill of water and then set out into the desert. He doubted that he would survive to get to its other side, but he could think of no other way to put a significant barrier between himself and Krug.

He was used to the cold climate up in the snow-capped mountains. The heat of the sun beating down on the desert sands was overwhelming. He abandoned his furs and his tiger pelt loincloth. Dizziness swept over him, and he had to use all of his will to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

And, finally, inevitably, he collapsed. There was no more energy in his body. He almost welcomed the end that he knew would come as the sun dried him up like a raisin.

But it was not to be. Just as all seemed lost, a mighty shadow swept across his body. In the clear blue sky above him a hungry pterodactyl circled and watched. And then it swooped down, clasped him in its sharp claws and bore him aloft. The desert was no place to enjoy a leisurely meal. It would take him back to its island nest.

Though Ook didn't know it, this was man's first experience of flight, of the freedom of souring up into the sky and seeing the world shrink below until the mightiest of trees looked small enough to stick up your nose.

It was a pretty big desert. Ook could see that from the air. There was no way he would have made it without the pterodactyl's help.

Oog's next surprise would be the ocean. How could he have suspected that somewhere there was an expanse of water even larger than the desert? He could see it coming a long way off, as they were flying quite high. But as they neared the beach, the pterodactyl began to circle and descend. Eventually, Ook could see why.

There were women on the beach. Naked women. Their only fur was that growing between their legs. Among the Rock People, nakedness was something that only happened in the dark. The sight of these gorgeous shapely nude women, all of them with strange yellow hair unlike anything Ook had seen before, cause him to pop a boner, even in his situation of grave peril.

The pterodactyl was circling the women on the beach trying to make his mind up whether one of them would make a tastier morsel than the sinewy piece of man meat he currently had in his possession. This gave Ook plenty of opportunity for a good long perv.

"Why not have a wank?" he asked himself. "After all, it might be my last."

Thus did he become the world's first member of the mile-high club, solo division, as he grabbed his stiff cock and stroked happily away as he enjoyed his aerial view of the bevy of buxom blondes who bedecked the brine-swept beach. How he would love to fuck one of those strange creatures. They were even more luscious than Hubba-Hubba. It didn't take long before his happy cock produced a spurt of creamy cum which fell down and landed on the belly of one of the dozing dishes.

"What was that?" she cried, opening her eyes. The girl next to her did likewise, and spotted the circling pterodactyl. Then she looked down at the milky substance that had landed with a splat on her friend's stomach.

"A pterodactyl just jizzed on you," she laughed.

The first girl wiped up some of the liquid on her finger and then licked it off.

"Funny," she said. "It doesn't taste like pterodactyl jizz."

Around this time the pterodactyl apparently decided that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Although he was really the only thing around that resembled a bird and the only bush in sight was of the pubic variety. Which just goes to show that it is a good thing it is me telling the story and not the pterodactyl, otherwise we'd all be confused.

As Ook's captor winged his way out over the water, headed for the volcanic island, which loomed up out of the sea about a half a mile offshore, Ook pulled out his flint knife and jabbed the creature's leathery claw.

The air was ripped asunder by an ear-shattering squawk, as the pterodactyl dropped Ook, who fell with a mighty splash into the sea.

Weak from dehydration and wanking, all Ook could do was to let the current float him towards shore. But by this time he had attracted the notice of the blonde babes on shore. A couple of them swam out to fetch him. One of them grabbed him by the dick, and the other put his head under her arm and pressed it up against her soft boob as she dragged him to shore.

The five women who had been sunning themselves on the beach were apparently only the tip of the iceberg, metaphorically speaking. Twenty three more stunners, their hair blonde and their bouncing bodies well-tanned, came pouring out of the cave that overlooked the beach.

There were no men. What Ook didn't know is that the men of the Sand People were off on a long fishing expedition and would not be back for several days.

Ook staggered out of the water with the curvaceous cavegirl beside him still pulling on his cock. Then the others gathered around him, sniffing him and curiously tugging at his strange dark hair.

"Akita!" one of the women said, insistently, thumping her fist between her ripe bosoms with an air of great pride.

"How are you doing, Akita?" Ook replied.

"Akita!" insisted another of the women, with the same gesture. Then another followed suit. And another. And another.

"Strange," thought Ook. "It must be confusing if they are all called Akita."

What he would only discover after living with the tribe for many months was that, in the language of the Sand People, "akita" meant "slut."

Realising that Ook was not in good condition, the girls took him back to their cave and fed him on fish and fruit and coconut milk. After a couple of days he was back to his old self.

These women of the Sand People were not like the women of the Rock People. For a start, they never stopped playing with themselves or each other. Or with Ook himself. There were always a couple of them sitting by the pile of palm fronds on which he rested. His presence seemed to greatly arouse them. They would stroke his head and the hair on his chest. They would kiss him and suck his toes. Meanwhile they would smile sweetly and masturbate with their other hand. If they thought he was not too tired they would suck his cock until he spurted his love juice down their throats. And when he was able to walk weakly out onto the beach he would find them playing a game which might have been called Lick Pussy Chasey. One would chase the others until she caught one, and the one caught would have to lick the catcher's pussy until her face was bathed in cunt juice.

Once he was recovered, Ook found he had his work cut out fucking all the girls. They loved wanking and licking each other's clits, but they liked cock best of all. Each night he would fuck three or four of them, and then, when the others pushed forward he would make a face which spoke apology and wag his limp willy at them to show that it had lost all hope of stiffness for that evening. But he was always willing to cuddle with them while they wanked off and licked each other's pussies. So nobody ever grumbled too much.

But Ook had a problem. His skin was used to the cloud-covered mountain skies. While the women were used to the sun and well-tanned, Ook burned a painful pink if he stayed too long in the sun.

Through gestures the women told Ook that they had a solution for his problem. They indicated that their pussy juice had a miraculous power to protect him from the sun.

Now, before you decide to save money on sunscreen and seek ozone protection for your next beach visit by smearing girl cum all over your body, let me tell you that it doesn't work. Those Sand People girls were conniving little bitches who knew how to exploit the ignorance of a hick from the high country in order to get the non-stop orgasms they craved.

"It'll take an awful lot of pussy juice to cover my whole body," Ook pointed out, though the girl's didn't know his language. They could pick up the gist though. They smiled and nodded their heads.

The first stage was the wanking. The girls lined up and Ook pleasured their pussies and stiff slippery little clits with his newly skilful fingers. He helped the process by sucking on their stiff nipples. As the cum squirted out, Ook wiped it up with his fingers as it dripped from their hairy pussies and smeared it onto his skin.

The second stage was the oral sex. Ook almost got fur balls from licking all of those hairy cunts. But the girls would soon squirm and shoot or dribble more of the substance he sought.

The final stage was just for those who could perform especially well under unusual circumstances. Mostly it was a case of him spanking their bottoms hard while they wanked themselves off.

Then one of them pointed her bum at him, bent over and pulled her cheeks apart. One of the other girls pointed to her butt-hole.

"What are you trying to say?" asked Ook. "That she's constipated?"

One of the other girl's looked exasperated. She lubricated her index finger with saliva and then slid it up the other girl's bottom. The girl whose bottom it was, gave a shivery giggle. The other girl removed her finger, pointed to Ook's cock, which had mysteriously stiffened at this display, and then back to the butt-hole in question.

So Ook wiped his pre-cum all over his member and then slid it happily home into the girl's chocolate starfish. The other girls all clapped as he plundered her poop shoot. Meanwhile she rubbed her clit until she squirted her essence into her hand. Once Ook and pulled out and wanked off over her beautiful behind, she wiped her cream all over his face.

Secure in the false assumption that his skin was duly protected, Ook lay out to sun himself and rest from all this exertion.

It was at this time that the men of the tribe returned from their fishing expedition.

The women told them about the stranger who had come to join their tribe. As the men gathered around to meet Ook, they sniffed and wrinkled their noses suspiciously.

"I think something fishy is going on here," one of them said to another.

The End

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