The Arse Play's The Thing

This is the second of my stories inspired by a visit to the offices of legendary Australian porn site Girls Out West. Rosie is both a model and a photographer/videographer on the site, and she likes pegging, hence the story.

Rosie looking radiant

“It’s an incident which will go down in the annals (or should that be anals?) of the Melbourne University Dramatic Society,” Rosie declared decisively, as she gently stroked the soft and glorious globes of LuLu’s naked bottom.

“I was playing the male lead in a production of the ancient Greek classic Lysistrata…” she explained.

“The male lead?” asked LuLu.

“Yes, the male parts were all played by girls and the female parts by guys. And the best part was that I got to wear a huge cock. It’s traditional with this kind of play,” added Rosie with a cheeky smile.

Then she stuck her right index finger in her mouth and slobbered all over it. “The play is by a guy named Aristophanes,” she whispered conspiratorially in LuLu’s ear. “But I call him ARSE-STUFF-PHANES,” she giggled, as she slid her spit-slippery digit as deep as it would go into her lover’s tight but eagerly receptive rectum.

“Mmmm, I like Mr. Arse-Stuff-Phanes already,” moaned LuLu, wriggling around on Rosie’s finger in a way that just happened to cause her stiff clit to slide around deliciously on the silk sheets.

The glorious globes of LuLu's naked bottom

“We used modern costumes and realistic, but oversized cocks,” Rosie continued. “My phallus was attached strap-on style beneath my tight black jeans and it stuck out through the open fly.

“Lysistrata was played by Mark Phelps, captain of the University football team. A real spunk. Not your typical drama nerd. He wore a lovely flowery summer dress and a wig of luxuriant red hair. I can’t say he made a convincing woman, even with the fake boobs and the red lippy. But he lost none of his sex appeal.

“Now you have to understand that Mark was a bit of a  lady’s man. A cocky bastard. So the way he was acting around me while we were doing the play came as a bit of a surprise. I’d catch him giving me strange looks and when I did he’d blush as red as a beetroot. When we had cause to speak to each other backstage he seemed positively shy. You would have thought he was the campus virgin, not the Casanova of the football field.

“During the final performance, when we were sitting backstage at interval I noticed that he was staring at my cock, obviously lost in a dream of some kind.

“‘I like to call him Dick Dastardly,’ I chuckled, wrapping my hand around it and sliding it up and down in a wanking motion.’

“When I looked down at Mark’s lap he had a massive boner tenting his dress.

“‘Oh, ho!’ I cried, playfully. ‘I think you like girls with dicks.’

“He went bright red and started to stammer. Poor guy.

“‘It’s something we have in common,’ I confessed, sliding my hand up under his dress and onto the seven inches of rigid manhood which was sticking up through the fly of his boxers.

The frontispiece to Norman Lindsay's illustrated version of Lysistrata

“’What would you like a girl with a dick to do to you?’ I whispered the question seductively in his ear. ‘I bet you’d like to be Rosie’s bum slut, wouldn’t you?’ The way his cock twitched in my hand and the dribble of pre-cum over my fingers gave me my answer.

“‘You can’t go out on stage like that,’ I laughed. ‘We’ve got another ten minutes. Let’s go back in the flats where no-one can see us. It wouldn’t do for anyone to catch the leading man sucking the leading lady’s cock.’

“‘I’ll let you in on a little secret,’ I confided, as I knelt in front of Mark and pulled down his boxers while he held up his dress. ‘If I move my dick up and down like a lever the base of it rubs against me clit in the most delicious way. I can get off like that very easily.’ So that’s what I did while I slurped away on Mark’s hard prick. It wasn’t long before he filled my mouth with his salty jizz and I felt a warm quivery orgasm spread through my body.

“Now maybe I made a mistake by letting Mark in on my little secret, because, while we were on stage he kept finding excuses to grab my cock and pump it up and down. It didn’t fit with the action of the play and it made it very hard for me to remember my lines. In the end though, neither of us cared. We couldn’t stop giggling. I’m sure everyone thought we were on dope.

“This was the final performance. What did anything matter now? I’d already got a pretty bad review on opening night. Notorious critic Quentin Throsby gave the play overall a fair rating, but he said that my performance was an embarrassment. He said I seemed to be more interested in strutting around waving my phallus at the audience than I was in really trying to inhabit my role. O.K. He had a point. But I still think he would have gone easier on me if it weren’t for the fact that my cock was probably bigger than his.

“That evening Mark and I had a date in one of the upstairs bedrooms of the house where the end of season party was being held. Everyone was there, even Throsby had turned up to avail himself of the free booze.

“‘Not as realistic, but kinder on the sphincter,’ I explained to Mark as I strapped on a modestly-sized clear plastic dildo. Both of us were enjoying our first sight of the other completely naked. Out of his costume, Mark had the physique of a Greek statue, but with lots of hair on his chest and legs. From the stiffness of his cock, I could tell he liked the way I looked as well.

Rosie wearing a strap-on looks a little bit like Rosie holding a banana in front of her pussy

“‘First a little appetiser,” I declared, pushing him forcefully onto his hands and knees on the bed. Then I spread his butt cheeks and licked his wrinkled arse-hole. He wasn’t expecting that. But from his ecstatic sigh I could tell he loved it.

“‘Are you ready to be violated by a bottom-buggering little bitch?’” I asked. It was a rhetorical question.

“‘I want you in my arse, Rosie,’ he declared proudly. ‘Fuck me long and deep.’

“His bravery was impressive, but I eased him into this brave new world with a little lubed finger action. When I knew he was ready, I gave him the cock. Slowly his anus stretched over the lube-slippery plastic dick until all resistance was overcome. With a slurping sound it slid all the way in and my belly slapped against his hairy bottom.

“Mark really took to being buggered like a duck takes to water. An hour later we were back at it, only now, due to the heat we were out on the bedroom’s balcony with Mark leaning up against the railing, and me reaching around to wank his throbbing cock. What we didn’t notice was that many of the other party guests had also made their way outside into the garden to cool off. Our little anal orgy was not going unobserved.

“Quentin Throsby looked up at us dumbstruck. His mouth was open as it usually is. It was just like watching someone shoot a water pistol into a clown’s mouth at the carnival. Mark shot his load into the warm evening air and it arced through the twilight straight into Throsby’s gaping maw.”

“That’ll teach him for saying nasty things about you,” LuLu laughed.

“At first I felt sorry for him,” admitted Rosie. “But now I realise that his desire to be the centre of attention greatly outweighs any capacity he may have to feel humiliated.”

Rosie really has balls!!!!

“What happened to Mark?” asked LuLu.

“He was embarrassed that his peccadillo had been so publicly exposed,” she replied.

“His pecker?” LuLu queried.

“The fact that he was a bum slut,” Rosie explained.

“So it wasn’t a happy ending for him?”

“In the end it was. As is so often the way, embarrassment is but the rite of passage into an exciting new world. A significant number of the female guests at the party found themselves curiously aroused by what they had seen. As word spread, so did curiosity amongst the female student body about what it would be like to have a hunky guy bend over and take it from them. With a shortage of guys keen to take and a plethora of girls wanting to give, let’s just say that Mark’s “dance card” was full.”

“And so was his bum hole,” LuLu concluded the tale for her. “And now it’s my turn. Get your finger out. Give me a really big butt plug instead.”

Rosie likes a good yarn, especially if it is by Aussiescribbler

The Prurient Pickles of Penelope - Episode One

I've decided to have a go at a flash fiction serial. Let me know what you think.

Episode One

Greeced Lightning

Penelope loved all kinds of porno movies, but gay porno movies were her favourites. There was a simple reason for this. They had more hunky guys in them. More hunky guys with big stiff pricks. In Penelope's mind the only reason they were fucking each other is because she wasn't there to be gang-banged by them.

On this balmy summer evening she lay back naked on her fake leather couch, some fluffy bath towels under her to soak up her sweat. And the sweat was dripping freely down her plump thirty-year-old body as she lazily stroked her sensitive clit. She'd lost count of how many times she had cum already. The DVD she was watching was erotic and educational. The Anals of History.

After a segment on prehistory – Erect Homos – the story jumped to ancient Egypt – Queens of the Nile. Now it was time for ancient Greece. The title came up : The Gloryhole That Was Greece.

"Ooooh, the Olympic Games!" enthused Penelope lubing up a massive dildo.

She wondered briefly whether the producers of the film really paid for the rights to use Vangelis' theme from Chariots of Fire, but it did fit perfectly with the sight of naked men running in slow motion with their erect cocks bouncing around before them.


After the 200 metres sprint came the relay race.

"But they don't have any batons. How can you have a relay race without batons?" Penelope wondered. The first runners sped down the track, all sweaty and stiff. In front of them their teammates crouched on their starting blocks ready for a fast take off.

"Oh!" Penelope exclaimed. "So that's how it works." She imagined herself all greased and naked and bent over on the race track all ready to receive a flesh baton. Then she slid her fat slippery dildo deep into her butthole. It felt so good. On a sudden impulse she grabbed her mobile phone and photographed herself. Then she threw down the phone, looked back to the television screen and rubbed her twat until she twitched all over. She always came harder if she knew her 18-year old internet boyfriend Ahmed would see the evidence and stroke his dusky dick.

She was exhausted. She'd have to watch the rest of the DVD another time.

When she turned it off a gossip show came up on the television. The screen filled with the face of her favourite television star – Rod Stroker, star of The Koala Whisperer. Her tired clit gave one more little twitch.

"Tired of the empty glitter of living in a penthouse on the Gold Coast, Rod has decided to give up the trappings of his success and move into a small unpretentious home in suburban Adelaide," the host of the show explained. A moving van pulled up to an ordinary looking house. A house which looked strangely familiar to Penelope.

"Oh, my God," she cried. "Rod Stroker's my new next door neighbour!"

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

I, A Dick : Wank Wednesday

Today's Wank Wednesday prompt word is #shadow. For more info on this writing challenge and for links to the other stories visit the Word Ejaculation site.

I, A Dick

What horniness lurks in the panties of women? The Shadow knows.

I'm The Shadow. Not the one who was the subject of the radio show in the 30s. He died ages ago. It's one of those things like with The Phantom - a new one takes the place of the old when they get past it.

But, like the original Shadow, I have a prominent proboscis and I make my living by sticking it into other people's business. I'm a private eye - a dick. Unlike my predecessors though, I don't solve murders. Cheating wives are my specialty.

My name comes from my ability, using my dark cloak and dark hat, to fade into the shadows when tailing someone. I have a talent for virtual invisibility. Virtual invisibility comes through the combined effect of two talents :

1. Knowing where someone will be looking.

2. Being somewhere else.

This is the tale of what happened when I was hired to investigate famed erotic romance novelist Tamara Tingle (clearly not her real name). Her husband, publishing magnate Nigel Knobworthy (unfortunately his real name), suspected that not all of Tamara's libido surplus was being sublimated into her literary works. His instincts told him that other boners than his had been playing in what he considered his personal rumpus room.

First I followed her down to the post office around noontime. It was a small one-man post office. I slipped in inconspicuously and pretended to be looking at the funny birthday cards.

"I've got a package for you," Tamara said to Postman Pat (his real name and he gets so much shit about it), "do you have a package for me."

"Coooorrrrrrr!" replied the veteran stamp-licker, leering at Tamara's thoughtfully displayed cleavage. Clearly the two were on familiar terms.

Pat hurried over to the door. He closed it, locked it and turned outward the sign which read "Out to Lunch". Neither of them noticed my presence behind the display stand of discount-priced Andre Rieu DVDs.

"Mmmmm, you do have a package for me," sighed Tamara as they headed out into the back room. She was fondling Pat's erect penis through his regulation trousers.

Pat picked her up and lay her on the mail table.

"I'm afraid you'll have to stay here," he told her. "We aren't allowed to post anything that might catch fire, and you are way to hot."

Tamara giggled and unzipped his pants, pulling out his rock hard cock.

"Wow!" she exclaimed. "Your prick's gone postal!"

He quickly tore off the rest of his clothes, and then set about tenderly disrobing his lady love. He slid the straps of her dress down over her shoulders and reached under her to unclip her bra. He sighed with delight at the unveiling of her lush, creamy stiff-nippled boobs.

He grabbed a sheet of stamps and tore off two of them. Then he licked her pert pink nipples and slapped a picture of Queen Elizabeth's face on each of them.

"I hope your package isn't too big to fit in my slot," smiled Tamara, as he pulled off her dress and slid down her panties. He gave her stiff clit a good licking and decorated that too with the smiling face of the matriarch of the Windsor clan.

He then picked up a magic marker and wrote an address on her little round belly :

Tamara Tingle

1 Wet Pussy Way

Orgasmville 0000

Heaven

"Mmmmmmm, send me there... send me there..." pleaded the notorious novelist of naughtiness.

Pat grabbed her legs and slid his postman's prick deep into her hot horny hole.

"Your post and my box," she moaned, "the perfect team."

She came over and over again. Pat wanted to keep going, but he could hear people knocking on the door wanting to mail their letters. So he pulled out of her well-satisfied pussy and ejaculated all over the queen's face.

I recorded it all on my camera phone.

The pair dressed quickly, then Pat unlocked the door. I walked out backwards so that he would think I was walking in. So far so good.

That night I examined the evidence carefully, so carefully, in fact, that I used up a whole box of tissues.

The next day Tamara gave a lecture on genre writing at the local university.

After the lecture I stood nearby listening to her conversing with an under-graduate.

"How's our little charity organisation going?" she asked.

"If you are in the mood to give until it hurts," he replied, "there are fifteen poor unfortunates in need or your assistance."

I followed them to a deserted classroom. The fifteen unfortunates turned out to be the entire university Dungeons and Dragons Club and the dilemma from which they needed to be liberated was the state of virginity.

At first they were a little shy, but once they realised that they could role a dice to see who got to stick their cock into which hole, they took to this new group activity like ducks to water. [Or like a second-rate author of humorous erotica to a well-worn cliche. Ed.]

"You guys are going to do fine now you've lost your cherries," she reassured them, as she squeezed her bum-hole around a spotted youth's sizeable cock, while a fat hairy guy fucked her juicy cunt and the rest wanked off in the wings. She didn't just pay lip service to their carnal talents, she used her luscious lips on their cocks and balls as well.

Half way through the orgy a hot girl walked in on them.

"Wow!" she cried. "Can girls join the Dungeons and Dragons Club?"

"Sure!" cried the guys in unison.

"If I'd known you got nude and played for fuck forfeits," she informed them, pulling off her t-shirt to reveal her massive bra-less boobs, "I would have applied ages ago."

"Much has been achieved here today," Tamara's friend told her, giving her a kiss on her way out.

"Who's that dude with the cloak and black hat?" asked the fat hairy guy. But by the time the others looked I was gone.

I can't give you the name of the guy Tamara visited on the following day, because he is a famous best-selling horror novelist. They had met up during the filming of a documentary on the creative process a few months before.

Now he was back in town and he invited Tamara to join him in his hotel room that evening.

I disguised myself as room service in a tear-away velcro-fastened uniform like strippers use. While the pair were hoeing into their grub, I whipped off the white uniform and merged with the bedroom curtains.

After their meal, Tamara had a shower and came back to lie naked on the bed while her Stephen-King-competing companion attended to his own ablutions.

The lights were off in the room. A slice of light shone through the door, illuminating the wall facing the bed. Suddenly, Tamara screamed as a sinister shadow fell across the wall. It was the shadow of a massive erect cock and it was coming to get her.

The cock which threw the shadow, of course, was not really that big. It was an optical illusion. But it was big enough. Tamara lit a candle beside the bed. In the flickering light she watched the figure that approached the bed. It was naked except for a hockey mask. And its cock clearly had evil intentions.

"Jab me, Jason!" cried Tamara, enthusiastically. "Fuck me, Freddy! Leatherface, be my lover! Choose me, Chucky!"

"Chucky?" queried the masked maniac.

"I like Chucky," she replied, defensively. "He's cute."

"Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab!" he cried, as he punished her pussy by pounding it with his prick.

"Oh, yeah!" she moaned. "Kill me more! Kill me more!" And she quivered through several orgasms.

"You really are my little scream queen," he smiled evilly, as he sat back on his heals brandishing his still rampant weapon.

"A pity I'm not having my period," she laughed. "Then it would really be a gore-fest."

For a horror author, he appeared to be a bit squeamish at this suggestion and moved on to the next scenario.

"After emerging from the steamy swamp the hideous beast proceeded to terrorise the gorgeous village maiden," he intoned as he slid his hard cock up over Tamara's belly and between her boobs heading for her face.

"Oh, God!" she screamed, "surely this is the spawn of Hell itself. I've never seen anything so hideous... all purple and veiny, and with one horrible lifeless eye staring at me..."

"The monster gave a spasming twitch," groaned the scribe of scariness, as his cock gave in to the delicious sensation of sliding up over the soft flesh of her chin, "and drenched the poor maiden with it's ectoplasm." With this he shot spurt after spurt of his creamy cum all over her face.

Tamara giggled.

"I got slimed!" she cried, smearing his jism all over her cheeks and blowing cum-bubbles with it.

"I was trying for Cthulu mythos and you turned it into Ghostbusters!" he cried in exasperation.

"I like Ghostbusters," replied Tamara. "It has Bill Murray in it. I wish I had Bill Murray in me."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. The number one thing you are supposed to not do when being invisible.

"Who are you?" they wanted to know.

"The Shadow. Private Dick. Hired by Mr. Knobworthy," I introduced myself.

"My husband's jealous?" she asked. "That's sweet. Really it is."

"I'm afraid I'll have to present him with the evidence I've gathered," I explained. "I don't like to do it, but its my job."

"I love my husband," Tamara replied. "That's why I fuck other men. It would be cruel to drain such an important man with all of my sexual needs. We have a good sex life within its limits. But I need more and he doesn't. I don't love any of these other men I have sex with. They love me, of course. How could they not. But its just sex for me."

"I think I'll step out and get some air," said the horror author. "This is getting a bit too personal. Feel free to make yourselves at home until you've sorted this all out."

"Give me all the evidence," suggested Tamara when we were alone, "and I'll suck your cock like it's never been sucked before."

"When you say 'like it's never been sucked before' are we just talking about some kind of weird technique, which might even be painful?" I asked.

"No, I mean your cock will be Romeo and my tongue will be Juliet, only this time they'll get the happy ending they so richly deserve," she explained.

"Oh, O.K.," I replied.

All of my cases have ended pretty much the same way. One of these days I'll learn to resist the wiles of women. Until then I'll just have to keep up my second job as a parking inspector.

The End

Falling Into the Cougar Cage : Wank Wednesday

It's Wank Wednesday once again and the prompt word is #cliff. I've resisted the temptation to write a story about Cliff Richard. For more information about this writing challenge as well as links to the other stories, check out Ruby Kiddell's Erotic Notebook.

Falling Into the Cougar Cage

Barney was eighteen years old and he was very unlucky. Apart from having to share his name with a really annoying purple dinosaur, he was a virgin. This might not have been a problem if he wasn't horny. But he was horny all the time. He had only to see a girl's round ass encased in a tight pair of jeans or firm young breasts bouncing bra-less beneath a t-shirt and his cock became rock hard. This made him very self-conscious. But he kept looking. And he longed to see more than just clothed girls on the streets. Of course he looked at magazines full of naked women. He could jack off to them all day. But he longed to see naked girls in the flesh. That is why he came up with his grand plan.

He might have been timid when it came to women, but he was a bit of a daredevil in other ways. He loved to go rock-climbing and he loved to hang-glide. A few miles from where he lived there was a nude beach over which towered a massive limestone cliff. He decided to hang-glide off of the cliff and glide over the beach so that he could get a bird's eye view of all those naked girls.

From the top of the cliff all of those girls looked like little white or brown ants. In fact he couldn't tell which of the little figures were men and which were women. But he grabbed onto the big kite and walked to the end of the precipice. He took a deep breath, and then he hurled himself forward out into the sunny afternoon sky. While it was a very hot day, thus ensuring that the beach was packed, it was a little windier than usual. Barney had to use all of his strength to guide himself in the right direction. He glided out over the sea and then circled back so that he could fly over the beach at a lower altitude.

Once he was gliding above the beach itself he found that its occupants were a very mixed bunch. There were a lot of fat old men whose leathery brown bellies hid their genitals just as well as clothes would have. And their were old women whose withered breasts hung almost to their knees. But there were also plenty of girls around his own age, of varying degrees of attractiveness it was true, but when he saw the gorgeous ones, with their firm bouncing breasts, jiggling bottoms and their bald or hairy pussies shamelessly displayed, it was all worth it. The feel of his dick sliding across the soft cloth of his briefs inside his denim shorts as it swelled and stiffened was almost enough to make him cum in his pants. Some of the girls even looked up and waved, just inviting him to feast his eyes on their delicious nakedness. This had definitely been a good idea.

But when a girl with a particularly lovely bottom bent down to pick something up so that her bum was presented directly towards him with just a hint of furry pussy peaking out, he forgot that he needed to start pulling up if he were to avoid crashing into the beach. At the last moment he pulled up sharply, but a freak wind lifted him and propelled him far over the local neighbourhood. At some point he was going to have to land, but where? Now he was above a patchwork of backyards and their accompanying houses.

Vesper from Girls Out West

There was a very large swimming pool. Now was his chance. He let go of the handle of his glider and fell into the water. The glider was whipped up by the wind, turned over and then landed on the roof of the house.

"It looks like someone has dropped in for a visit?" said one of three attractive women in their forties who chose this moment to walk out of the house and into the backyard with long drinks in their hands. All three were wearing brightly-coloured bikinis which showed off their tanned bellies and generous boobs.

"I'm sorry," Barney spluttered as he dragged himself from the water. "I lost control."

"We all know what that's like," chuckled the woman, a redhead in a hot pink bikini.

"You really must get out of those wet clothes," suggested a blonde wearing tropical print bathers.

"I'm Rebecca," put in a brunette in black, holding out her hand. Barney looked bewildered. He didn't take her hand, and he didn't take off his wet clothes.

"Brandi is my name," announced the redhead, "and randy is my nature."

"This is my home," the blonde informed him, "and my name is Sue."

"You look ridiculous standing there all wet and bedraggled like a half-drowned kitten," declared Brandi. "You're among friends. Take off the shorts and t-shirt. You can leave on your underpants if you are feeling shy."

"Awww, does he have to?" asked Rebecca with a wink.

Reluctantly Barney pulled his t-shirt off of his well-formed six pack and unzipped and pulled off his shorts. He was very much aware of the fact that his wet black hipsters did nothing to hide the shape of his currently flaccid cock.

"I'll go get you a drink," said Sue. "And I won't even ask to see your I.D."

"Well, we can see everything else," smiled Brandi, looking very directly at the front of Barney's underpants.

Sue came back with a tall glass filled with an orange coloured drink. It had a lemon slice and a paper umbrella. Barney sipped it and realised that it was very strong.

While Barney was distracted by tasting his drink, Brandi came up behind him and yanked down his underpants. He went bright red and quickly covered his dick with his free hand.

"He's so shy," Brandi chuckled, while groping his bare ass.

"I'd almost think he was a virgin," Rebecca told her, "if I didn't know that they were an extinct species."

"I'm not a virgin," Barney replied. "I've banged lots of chicks."

"You like sex, do you?" asked Sue, sidling up beside him and stroking his face.

"I love it!" he declared proudly.

At this point the three women simultaneously reached behind them, unclipped their bikini tops and shrugged them off. Their big soft boobs hung low, the previously unexposed areas pale compared to the tan elsewhere. Then they hooked their fingers into their bikini bottoms and pulled them down their legs. Rebecca and Sue had their pussies shaved bare, while Brandi sported a well trimmed area of flaming pubes.

Sidney at  AllOver30.com

"If you love sex so much," purred Sue, "you'll be absolutely crazy about having a foursome with a trio of sex-crazed cougars."

"That's disgusting!" cried Barney. "You're old! You're even older than my mother."

"So you don't like older women, hey?" queried Sue, while gently nibbling on his earlobe and rubbing her bare pussy against his hip.

"No," Barney replied.

"You're dick's telling us otherwise," said Rebecca in a sing song voice as she pulled his hand away from his cock to reveal that it was now standing fully erect.

"Traitor!" cried Barney to his erection. He put down his drink and gave his cock a hard slap. "Ouch! Fuck!" he screamed, hopping up and down.

"I'm afraid we can't let you do that sort of thing to your cock," Sue informed him. She pulled his hands behind his back. Brandi brought over her bikini top and together they used it to tie Barney's hands together.

"We're members of the SPCP," she informed him. "The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Penises."

"Yes," added Rebecca, "you'd be surprised at the number of penis owners who mistreat what should be their best friend. They squeeze their penis into extra tight pants. And with so many guys, if we don't keep an eye on them, they start beating their meat."

"And it isn't just what they do to them," Brandi explained. "Oh, no, no, no... Deprivation is a big problem to. If we left you to your own devices you would deprive your cock of the joys we want to bestow upon it. That, my little virgin friend, would be cruelty."

"I told you, I'm not a virgin," Barney insisted.

"Cougar's know how to trust their instincts," Brandi told him. "If you weren't a virgin our mouths would not be watering as much as they are at the thought of sucking your cock."

"The first time you have your cock sucked, you want to have it done by an expert," Rebecca informed him. He looked over at her and found that she was sliding two of her fingers in and out of her cunt which was dripping its juices all down her legs.

"How do we decide who goes first?" asked Sue.

"It's your home," said Brandi, reasonably. "You go first, then Rebecca and then me."

"She wants to make sure she's the one who gets a mouthful of spunk," laughed Rebecca.

Sue crouched down between Barney's legs and sucked on his balls, then she licked up the underside of his shaft which was leaking pre-cum onto his belly from its head. She licked up some of the slippery liquid and then slipped her lips over the head of his cock and swallowed it down her throat. The other two were watching closely while squatting down on either side and enthusiastically fingering themselves.

The other two took turns in sucking his cock.

"Oh, God!" he exclaimed as he filled Brandi's warm wet mouth with jets of creamy jism. She pulled her mouth off of his softening cock and then opened it up wide so that he could see her tongue all covered in his love juices.

"If you promise not to run away or do violence to your penis, I'll untie you," Sue informed him.

"O.K.," Barney replied. "I really don't want to run away now. This feels wrong, but in a good way."

So Sue untied him and they sat around chatting and sipping their drinks. Each of the women had her legs spread and was playing with herself as they socialised. Occasionally one would have to pause in her conversation to let out a moan of orgasm.

"You really don't want to squeeze a large cock like yours into a young woman's very tight vagina," Rebecca lectured him. "What he wants is to be stroked by the tender caress of an older pussy which is juicier and less constricting."

And indeed, by the end of the afternoon he had not only fucked all of their wet and tender pussies, but also Brandi's tight butt-hole. (Which just goes to show that the ladies were somewhat hypocritical in their views on putting cocks in tight places.)

"Take this," Sue told him, after he had dressed and gathered up the remains of his hang glider. She handed him a little black book.

"What's this?" he wanted to know.

"It has our phone numbers and addresses and also those of all the other 108 members of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Penises," she explained. "If, at any time, you feel that you might be in danger of mistreating your penis, ring one of these numbers and help will shortly be at hand."

The End

Washed Up : Wank Wednesday

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