A Close Shave : Fuck Me Friday

Fuck Me Friday is late this week. It turned into Sexy Saturday, and now, for me, it is more like Masturbation Monday. But, better late than never, I have a little poem for you responding to the prompt word #blade. Check out Aisling Weaver's site for more info.


A Close Shave

When I parted her legs and sucked on her clit
My little slut Sally had a giggling fit
How could she keep sucking my prominent pickle
When my big fuzzy beard her pussy did tickle
I docked my hard cock in her sloppy wet harbour
Then she dragged me off to visit the barber
The hairdresser we found was a hot hippy chick
Whose warm free love aura befriended my prick
As her sharpened straight razor scraped bare my chin
I thought of her pussy and how to get in
She cannot have been more than nineteen years old
The nearness of her body was making me bold

I discreetly reached 'round and spanked her behind
She gave me a sly wink and pulled down the blind
Sally sat by, not the least bit furious
She loves to swing and is most bi-curious
"I want a clean shaven man to suck my twat,"
She told the hairdresser for whom she was hot.
"Want a bare pussy for when he does lick it?
"Then a Brazilian could be just the ticket
"You've got me thinking about things hot and lewd
"I'll give you a free wax if I can be nude."
Off came her tight jeans, her bra and her panties
I felt just as high as snow on the Andes
Her armpit hair was as red as a clown's nose
Her pubes were braided into perfect cornrows

As the hair she removed from Sally's cunt
With my finger for her g-spot I did hunt
She told me, "My work is done. I love to play."
Then with her cunt juice my whole face she did spray
I ended by fucking her up the arse hard
After lubing it up slick with some pomade
That expert wielder of a sharp razor blade
Is a delightfully fuck-mad saucy maid
When we managed to make her little toes squirm
Our barbershop threesome set just like a perm.

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

Serge Protector (aka Mr. Electric) : Fuck Me Friday

Between Throbbing Thursday and Satiated Saturday comes Fuck Me Friday. How could it be otherwise? And, as you know, silly smut is the order of the day here at Aussiescribbler's. (Isn't it always?) To find out more about this raunchy writing challenge check out Aisling Weaver's site. She has declared that today's prompt should be #electric.

Serge Protector (aka Mr. Electric)

It was a perfectly normal day in Dullsville, Kansas. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. And Patsy Protector was hanging the laundry on the clothes-line. Her new born son Serge was giggling and dribbling in his bassinet on the lawn behind her. The date was October 16, 1952.

Suddenly a bolt of lightning shot out of the clear blue, cloudless sky and struck the bassinet. It was followed by an ear-splitting boom of thunder.

Patsy spun around and looked with horror into the bassinet. Serge was alive, but his eyes were glowing eerily, smoke was pouring out of his ears and his minimal hair was standing on end.

Later scientists would calculate that little Serge had absorbed enough electricity to kill a rhino. But it didn't kill him. It made him stronger.

If this were not a true story, I would have to provide some kind of believable explanation as to how this could have happened - how a lightning bolt could come out of a clear blue sky and how it could hit a tiny baby and not kill it. But this is a true story. So I don't have to bother. I know that you will accept it simply as one of those unsolved mysteries of the world, like why drive-through automatic teller machines have braille on the buttons.

Serge's true powers lay dormant through his childhood and adolescence, but, at the age of twenty he found that he could shoot electricity out of his cock. He became Mr. Electric, pal to the powerless and friend to those who forgot to pay the bill.

He's been a superhero now for nearly forty years, travelling from city to city. It doesn't pay to stay anywhere long. Once his secret is revealed the demands and prejudice can become crippling.

Today we join him as he strolls through New York City.

"Damn! The battery's flat!" a young woman curses, looking at her mobile phone.

"Allow me madame," Serge says, taking it from her hands. He then shoves it down his trousers and rubs it against his cock.

"What the fuck!" she cries, as he pulls it back out and hands it to her.

"I think you'll find it works fine now," he tells her with a smile.

She looks at her phone gingerly, holding it with two fingers. She holds it up to her nose and sniffs. Then she looks at Serge's retreating back, shakes her head, sighs, and dials her number.

"Hey, you're Mr. Electric, aren't you?" asks a heavily tattooed man wearing a dirty singlet and a balaclava.

"Why yes I am," Serge replies with a warm smile. "Did you want an autograph?"

"No, thanks," the guy replies. "I'm just wondering if you could help me jump start my car. The battery seems to be flat."

"Forgot your keys?" Serge queries, noticing that the man has pulled two wires out from the dashboard. "So easy to do. Sure I can help you." He looks at the fish symbol on the back window of the car. "You being a Christian, I'm sure you'll consider me a good Samaritan, hey?"

"A Christian?" the guy queries. "Oh, yeah. Sure. Yes." He looks up and down the street nervously.

Serge lifts the bonnet, unzips his pants, pulls out his cock and applies it to the engine which starts up right away.

"Thanks, mister!" the guy yells, leaping in and driving off.

Around the next corner, a crowd of people have gathered, looking up at something taking place on a high window ledge.

"I swear I'm going to jump!" declares a thin, blonde man teetering on the edge.

Serge enters the building and runs up the stairs two at a time.

"He failed another audition. It always makes him so depressed," explains a frantic woman, digging her fingers into her frizzy dark hair.

"'How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable / Seem to me all the uses of this world! / Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, / That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature / Possess it merely. That it should come to this...'" proclaims the thwarted thespian, seeming to address the gawping crowd.

"What a ham!" declares the attending policeman. "I wouldn't hire him to play billiards."

"You're no help," complains the woman, looking hopefully to Serge.

"I'll handle this," Serge tells her, pulling two lengths of wire out of his pocket. "Do you have a clean handkerchief?"

"No," she replies.

"Then take off your panties," he tells her. "They'll do."

"What are you going to do?" she asks, lifting her skirt and pulling down her panties.

"You'll see," he replies mysteriously, as he takes her panties and climbs out onto the ledge.

"I'm not afraid to jump," threatens the actor.

"I know you aren't," Serge reassures him. "Now put these panties in your mouth."

The actor is so bewildered that he does as he is told. Serge pulls out his cock, attaches the two lengths of wire to it and then applies the other end of each to one of the actor's temples. There is a sizzling sound and the actor begins to jerk around and foam at the mouth.

A moment later Serge leads the man back in through the window. He is wall-eyed and drooling.

"Electro-convulsive therapy," Serge explains. "Shock treatment. By tomorrow he'll be his old self. He won't even remember why he was depressed."

"I'm so glad," sighs the woman.

"He may also not remember his PINs, his computer passwords and some of his relatives," Serge admits.

As he exists the building and makes his way through the disappointed and now dispersing crowd, Serge's mobile rings.

"A freak black-out and the failure of all back-up generators has closed down Wall Street," a grim voice informs him. "Unless we can get the power back, the market could plummet. We need you!"

"I'll be right there!" Serge promises.

On the way he passes an unprepossessing street level apartment.

"Oh, fuck! Just as I was about to cum, my vibrator's batteries go flat!" cries a sexy female voice.

Serge looks towards Wall Street. He looks towards the apartment. He looks back towards Wall Street. He looks back towards the bedroom window of the apartment. He takes a deep sigh. He feels appropriately ashamed of himself. He turns his back on Wall Street. He leaps through the window of the apartment.

"Who the fuck are you!?!" cries a curvy redheaded housewife, quickly pulling up the bedcovers to hide her horny nude sweat-soaked body. "Home invasion! Home invasion! I've got a gun!"

"I'm Mr. Electric," says Serge. "Please do not distress yourself. I'm only here to recharge your vibrator's batteries."

"Mr. Electric!" she enthuses, her eyes lighting up like Christmas trees. "That's different." She throws off the covers and writhes shamelessly with her legs spread wide so that he can see how wet her pussy is.

"Why, madame," Serge blushes, as a silly grin spreads across his face. There is a loud ripping sound. His fly tears free from his trousers and sails across the room. With a resounding "Boing!" his cock pops out, glowing bright red and flashing like a neon sign.

"I don't want you to fix my vibrator," the woman tells him. "I want you to plug that electric cock of yours straight into my cunt socket!"

"That could be dangerous, Miss," Serge warns.

"Mrs., actually," she informs him.

"Well, Mrs. Actually," he goes on, "a full power poke with my penis has been known to lead to a month-long orgasm."

"Can that be fatal?" she asks.

"No, I don't think so," he admits. "But it would keep you away from work. And it is very difficult to get a doctor's certificate for orgasm-related incapacity."

"Well, that's fine then," she decides. "I'm a house-wife. I don't need a doctor's certificate to stay in bed. I'll just tell my husband I have female trouble."

"Where exactly is Mr. Actually?" he wants to know.

"Our name is Sutcliffe," she corrects him. "My name is Penelope. But you can call me Penny, if you like. Mr. Sutcliffe is a stock-broker. He's at work at the moment. We are perfectly safe to have a little fun."

Serge smiles, strips off the rest of his clothes and saunters over to the bed, his lit-up cock leading the way like Rudolph's nose.

"Whose a bad Penny?" he asks, laying his naked body over hers and kissing her deep red lips.

"You don't know the half of it," she smiles, when he lifts his lips away and gazes into her brown eyes. "I could tell you stories that would shock you."

"I don't need to tell any stories to shock you," he chuckles.

He lifts himself up onto his knees beside her and leans down so that the tip of his stiff and glowing cock comes within a centimetre of the erect nipple of her right breast. A spark like a tiny lightning bolt leaps across the divide.

"Oh, God!" Penny cries, and her pussy twitches in response to the flow of pleasure throughout her body.

Serge does the same to her other nipple with similar results.

"Oh, yes! Oh, yes!" she begs as he kneels between her legs and aims his cock at her stiff and throbbing clit. "Fu-u-u-u-u-u-ck!" she cries as the lightning hits her nub.

"You see how powerful it is?" he asks her. "Are you sure you really want it all?"

"Plug yourself in! Plug yourself in!" she begs.

And so he slides his lightning-powered prick deep into her sopping wet pussy. When it is all the way in he can feel that his balls are lying in a puddle on the sheets. He has to hang on tight, because she immediately starts thrashing around like someone having ten other people's epileptic fits for them. She thrashes so much he is afraid she might bang her head on the end of the bed, so he rolls over and drags her with him so that she is sitting astride his pulsating penis. It's like some kind of rogering rodeo as she struggles to keep from flying off of him under the power of her own orgasmic flailing. To keep a better hold on her, he licks his finger and sticks it up her ass. But that just seems to make her wilder than ever.

Eventually he spurts his cum deep within her. It's extra slipperiness that is definitely not needed. She flies off of his cock and lands on the floor with her legs in the air. Her still quivering cunt squirts a fountain which rains down all over her as she lays there moaning.

Just at that moment the door opens.

"I'm home early, honey," announces a male voice. "Strangest thing. A blackout shut down the whole of the stock exchange, and apparently there is nothing they can do about it."

Serge is out the window like a shadow.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" Mr. Sutcliffe asks of his wife.

"Y-y-y-y-yoga," she replies. "I'm stuck."

"My God, woman, you're pissing all over yourself," he adds, noticing the orgasmic fountain that his wife is still producing.

"A c-c-c-cork," suggests his wife, and he goes off to fetch one.

Meanwhile Serge wanders off into the afternoon meditating on the loneliness of the longer-lasting orgasm producer.

The End

A Spacecraft Named Desire : Fuck Me Friday

For this week's Fuck Me Friday story we pick up from where we left off last Friday. If you haven't already you may want to read part one Lust in Space first. For an explanation of Fuck Me Friday and links to everyone's else's stories, check out Aisling Weaver's site.

A Spacecraft Named Desire

"It must get boring living here on Altair with only your mother for company," I said to Altairus as we trudged across the desert landscape towards their massive bio-dome.

"I have my menagerie for company," he pointed out.

"Menagerie?" I asked.

"You'll see," he told me.

Sure enough, when we entered the dome, we found that one side of it was taken up by a couple of dozen cages, each containing an earth animal. There was a tiger, a crocodile, an elephant, a kangaroo, a polar bear and various smaller animals.

"You brought all of these animals with you in a spaceship?" I queried.

"No," explained Morbia. "We have a matter transporter. I was able to transport these animals here from earth for Altairus' amusement. It also helps with the grocery shopping."

"What the fuck is that?" I asked, examining something truly disgusting in a massive aquarium.

"We call it a flark," explained Altairus. "It was a mistake. There was a fly in the matter transporter when we were transporting a tiger shark. It has all of the disadvantages of a shark combined with the disadvantages of a fly. It has to keep swimming constantly. It can't fly. And it has no teeth, so it has to puke stomach acid onto a fish before sucking it up that tube. It does have big eyes though."

"It sure does," I admitted, feeling uncomfortable as its multifaceted peepers stared at me through the glass.

"Don't you ever get lonely for female company?" asked Chief Engineer Jones, pulling down the zip on her skin-tight leather space suit to expose some creamy cleavage.

"When the time is right and I have chosen someone suitable, I will transport a bride for my son," Morbia explained. "In the meantime I am happy that he is living here with me, and not liable to fall into the hands of some slutty space jockey. No offence."

"She needs to lighten up," whispered Mavis, the ship's tea lady.

"Perhaps I could offer you a massage," I suggested. "It seems the least we can do to make up for the inconvenience we have forced upon you by crash landing here."

"Yes, I am a bit tight," admitted Morbia, flexing her back muscles.

I left the crew to flirt with Altairus and led Morbia into her bedroom.

"Who's a naughty girl, wearing no panties under her magisterial robes?" I teased, as I lifted said garment and gazed down upon Morbia's pale sagging buttocks.

"One likes to be comfortable," she replied. "Naughtiness has nothing to do with it."

I pulled off her single garment and gave her a conventional rub-down.

"Now don't you try anything," she warned. "I know all about you Pleasure Units." She was lying on her back.

"You mean you don't want me to do this?" I asked, making my fingers buzz and circling them gently around her stiff nipples.

"That... oooooh.... is..... ahhhhhh..... precisely..... mmmmm.... what I don't.... oh, Jesus.... want you to do...." she tried to say.

"Oh, O.K. I'll stop that then," I said, lifting my fingers from her breasts. "It's a good thing you warned me," I added, "because I was just about to do this." And I plunged a vibrating finger as far as it would go up her dripping wet pussy.

"How dare you violate me with that big fat fuckworthy finger cock of yours, you dirty filthy cunt wanker!" she cried, as she lubricated my joints with her pussy juice.

The next thing I knew she was pressing her lips against the hole in my metal head where my voice comes out. I've never had that reaction before.

"Do I turn you on, baby?" she purred.

"Actually, no," I pointed out. "As you know, Pleasure Units are not, themselves, capable of feeling pleasure."

"Yes, I know," she said sadly. "God, how I miss being with a man. The feel of skin on skin and the warm wetness of cum shooting into my cunt or my mouth."

"You really are a bit of a slut on the quiet, hey?" I nudged her shoulder.

"But my son must know nothing of this," she warned me. "I have gone out of my way to keep him innocent. Not every bride weds a man who will treat her with reverence and warm affection, and I wish this for the woman who marries Altairus."

"Discretion is my middle name," I lied. (I don't have a middle name, but if I did it would be Blabbermouth.)

"You know, I might be able to help you," she mused.

"In what way?" I asked.

"How would you like to experience pleasure?" she wanted to know.

"Is that possible?" I queried. "You're not suggesting you could install a nervous system?"

"No," she responded. "But I have invented something called the empathy circuit. It allows a robot to feel a human's feelings. Of course you can't feel anything in your body without a nervous system. But this circuit forms a wireless connection with the consciousness of anyone within a radius of six metres. You would feel their pleasure or pain or any other sensations, but you would feel them in their body. It would be as if their body was yours."

"Sounds awesome," I replied.

You know, sometimes, when your dreams come true they turn out to be nightmares.

She opened up my head and inserted the new circuit, and half an hour later I was find out what it felt like to be a sexually frustrated middle-aged woman wanking off in front of a robot. And, believe me, that was a big plus for her. She loved to be watched. Which was weird for me, because I was getting off on watching myself, kind of. The other weird part about it was feeling what it feels like to be a woman. I don't have a penis, but my programming was based on a male identity, so this was a particularly exotic experience for me.

The circuit did have a side effect though. As well as feeling the physical sensations of the other individual, it allowed me to see what was going on inside their head. In Morbia's head I found envy of the youth of the crew members, fear that they would lead her son astray, and an impatience that they be gone. But this was mixed with a sense of regret that the departure of the ship would also mean my departure and a return to no-frills masturbation for her.

Her fears about the crew and her son were well-founded. When we joined them in the dining room for the evening meal, we found that they had all unzipped their space-suits all the way down to their navels.

"He really is innocent," Captain Ripley whispered to me. "We've been flirting with him shamelessly and all he does is blush and stutter."

I hadn't told the Captain about the empathy circuit. In her mind I could see her laying back naked in bed with her legs spread. Altairus was there, naked and with a rock-hard cock. And she was saying, "You don't have to be shy, my dear. Come and kiss the Captain's cunt."

A moment later Altairus leaned in on my other side and said, "Does she really want me to kiss her cunt?"

Something weird was happening. How come Altairus also knew what the Captain was thinking?

"It's a pity you can't stay on our planet for longer," Altairus said to the crew. In his mind I saw all of the crew members naked, crawling around on all-fours in cages eating out of dog bowls, just like the animals in his menagerie.

Gradually, I could see it in the eyes of the crew as this vision appeared also in their minds. They knew where it was coming from. And they weren't happy about it. That is with the one exception of Paula Pasolini, the Navigation Officer, who was really into that kind of kinky shit.

"You sexist pig!" yelled the Captain.

"Yeah!" yelled most of the rest of the crew.

Paula just giggled and felt her pussy go wet.

I opened up my head and pulled out the empathy circuit.

"Now! Now!" I called out. "Morbia gave me a circuit which allows me to experience what is going on in people's heads. But it seems that it also telecasts that information to all and sundry. Not a good idea, as we can see. So I'll use the circuit only in private in future."

"It doesn't change the fact that he's a sexist pig," pointed out the Captain.

"Let she among you who was not raping the guy in her mind cast the first stone," I declared.

And so disaster was averted. Well, on that front anyway. Unfortunately Morbia's belief in her son's state of innocence was shattered for good. She sank into a deep depression as she devoted herself to repairing the damage to our ship.

Altairus approached me in private on our penultimate day on the planet.

"Is there any chance you could sneak me aboard the ship before take-off?" he asked. "I got enough of a glimpse of what those women wanted to do with me to realise how much fun it would be to join the crew."

"What they wanted to do to you before or after they got a glimpse of your idea of a petting zoo?" I queried.

"Either," he smiled. "A little discipline might be good for me."

"It might at that," I agreed. "O.K. I'll help you out."

I told Morbia what we were planning. She deserved a chance to say goodbye to her son, and, I realised, this could be a good thing for her.

"This will make things easier for you," I pointed out. "You'll know that Altairus is happy, but you won't have him around to cramp your style."

"But I'll be alone," she pointed out.

"You don't have to be," I told her. "You have the matter transporter. Instead of transporting a bride up her for Altairus, you can advertise on earth for young guys who want to share a luxurious planetary accommodation with a sexually voracious cougar."

"I'll call it The Planet Where Nothing is Forbidden!" she cried.

"That's the idea," I encouraged her.

I helped Altairus to hide in the storage room just before take off.

"Well," sighed the Captain, "here's to a long boring uneventful journey to the Horseshoe Nebula."

I headed back to keep an eye on the door to the storage room. It wouldn't do for Altairus to be discovered until we were far enough out that a return to Altair was out of the question.

I was feeling bored so I opened my head and re-installed the empathy circuit. Altairus was the only individual within six metres. It seemed safe.

Wow! I thought. So that's what it feels like to have a penis. And that's what if feels like to have a really stiff penis and a mind full of fuck fantasies. And that's what it feels like to stroke that penis and feel it throb with pleasure.

And then a new sensation appeared. So that's what it feels like to be the Captain of the spaceship, zipped into her tight leather space suit, feeling it stretched tight across her breasts. And that's what it feels like when her pussy becomes mysteriously wet and her clit stands out stiff and is rubbed by the crotch of her tight leather suit.

And that is what it is like when she thinks, "So that's what it is like to have a penis and to feel it go stiff and to stroke it while it throbs with pleasure. What the fuck!"

The next thing I knew crew members were running out into the corridor saying how horny they were and rubbing the crotches of their space suits. And I knew what was going on in every head, as did they.

"He's on board and he's wanking our cock!" they cried in unison. "Let's bare his/our vaginas so he can fuck them."

It must have been the ship's circuitry acting as a conduit for the empathy circuit in my head. It had turned the whole of the crew into a single erotic entity, every body able to experience the pleasure of all the other's simultaneously.

Altairus burst out of his hiding place as the women stripped out of their uniforms. The Captain was the first to suck his cock. Some of the others kissed and licked his nipples and his face, while fingering each others pussies. Paula got down on all fours and began yapping and humping people's legs.

Before the day was out Altairus' cock had plundered every crew member's cunt and mouth and one or two assholes as well. The women had all become inveterate pussy lickers. And a good deal of masturbation had also gone on. It kind of didn't matter how the pleasure was being delivered, to whom or by whom, because they all experienced it all courtesy of my empathy circuit.

I would have removed the circuit again, in the interests of shipboard efficiency, but the crew ganged up on me and welded my head permanently closed.

It's alright for them. It's a non-stop nude orgy day in and day out. But who do you think has to do all the work? I swear, one of those days I'm going to plug myself back into the ship's wiring and fuck them all if we run out of power.

The End

Lust in Space : Fuck Me Friday

Time once more for some Fuck Me Friday fiction, this time working from the prompt #wire. Check out Aisling Weaver's site for more info on the Fuck Me Friday Twitterotica writing challenge including links to all the other stories. And make sure to comment if you like someone's story.

Lust in Space

My name is Pleasure Unit 5000 Special Prototype B Serial No. 456893001 and I'm a voltaholic. I live for the Juice Bars - somewhere I could lay down and stick a wire in my arm. The rush of electricity through my circuits makes me forget the unbearable frustrations of my existence. At least for a while.

My first mission was aboard the deep space explorer ship Nostradamus. My job was to ease tension and provide recreational pleasure to the all female crew. I'm programmed in all forms of massage using my fat soft vibrating fingers. The women know me affectionately as Rubby the Robot.

When I was built, the idea of robots with personality was a novelty. The idea was to use the most advanced artificial intelligence technology to allow us to develop emotions. Earlier Pleasure Units did a great job of massaging and otherwise pleasuring crew members, but they had only rudimentary inflexible scripts with which to simulate human interaction. A Pleasure Unit capable of sympathy, genuine interest, and even a sense of humour, was considered to be a major advance. We developed our personalities over time, interacting with those around us and storing memories and learning from experience. And we were prone to all of the difficulties which humans have in interacting with others and developing positive or negative ways of thinking about themselves. Our creators couldn't solve their own personality problems, so how could they prevent us from developing similar ones.

It was no fun being a Pleasure Unit. I can't say that it was painful. I didn't know what pain was. Robots can be provided with a full cybernetic nervous system capable of feeling physical sensations, including pleasure and pain, but it is very expensive, and was not felt to be a necessary expense in the creation of my kind. And there is the rub, my life revolved around the delivery of something I could never feel. I could see how much it meant to others, but it was out of my reach. And there was nothing to motivate me. I had to obey orders, and yet I had a human-like personality that longed to be more than a slave.

Robots of my generation almost always have serious emotional problems. What they are differs from individual to individual. I was one of the prototypes, and the scientists should have learnt their lesson from us, but economics came into play in combination with desperate optimism. There was a great deal of money to be made from robots with human feelings, and, though there were early signs that things were not going well, the researchers and the companies preferred to tell themselves that these were exceptional glitches which could be targeted in the next wave of research, rather than an indication that a trip back to the drawing board was indicated.

Boredom was the biggest problem for me. Even before I embarked on my first space voyage, I felt that the seconds of each day crawled past like hours. I had a human's desire for excitement and stimulation, but much of what provided these things for them was not accessible to me. I had no senses. Sex, food and drink, physical danger...none of these things could I experience. I had friendships with other robots, and was capable of friendship with humans, but I couldn't produce offspring. I had no opportunity to really create anything. I was capable of feeling sympathy for humans, and did, but there was little I could do to help them beyond my duties and being a good listener. Sometimes I could see how they caused themselves suffering with a greater clarity than they themselves did, due to the fact that my thinking was unclouded by many of the things they could experience and I could not, but they would just dismiss my advice by saying that I didn't understand what it was like to be a human.

When I had the wire in my arm none of this mattered. It wasn't a physical sensation. I had none of those. It was a mental aliveness, like a supernova exploding in my head. The more I fell under its spell, the more the life seemed to drain out of the rest of my existence.

I was pretty naive when I first left the factory. I'd been living there for a year, growing a personality. The curse of boredom was upon me, but I told myself that it was only life in the factory that was dull. Space exploration - surely that would be exciting.  Pleasure Unit 5000 Special Prototype B Serial No. 456887657 was a robot of the world compared to me. He'd been working for a year at the Lunar Observatory, but had been sent back to earth for some adjustments to his wiring. There had been some kind of behaviour problem, but he didn't want to talk about it.

"Fancy meeting another Prototype B," he said, taking a seat next to me on the park bench where I was sitting contemplating the meaninglessness of the universe and my impending journey into its outer reaches.

"It's my last night on Earth," I explained. "Tomorrow I set off on the Nostradamus, headed for the Horseshoe Nebula."

"This calls for a celebration!" he declared. "Ever been a juice bar, my boy?"

That's how I was introduced to the wire. Loads of juice bars had sprung up in the shady areas of all of the world's large cities. What else did we robots have to spend our money on? It was strictly illegal, but the Robocops didn't interfere very much. Most of the time they were taking a cut, of the profits and the electricity.

Since it was my first time, a technician drilled a hole through the metal of my inside left elbow joint. He pulled out one of my wires, cut it in two, and then attached each end to something which looked like an audio input socket. He then soldered that into the hole.

"You better lay down," advised  Pleasure Unit 5000 Special Prototype B Serial No. 456887657. "That first jolt can really blow you off your feet."

I did as I was told. The technician grabbed a bright red wire which was hanging from the wall and inserted the jack on the end of it into the newly made socket. And then he flipped a switch. It was like a complete New Year's Eve fireworks display going off within the enclosed space of my titanium cranium.

It was with great reluctance that I allowed myself to be unplugged near dawn the next morning. As I made my way toward the launching pad I was acutely aware of the socket in my arm, and the fact that anyone who saw it would know that I was a juicy.

I was wrong about space exploration. It is even more boring than life on earth. It takes so long to get anywhere. You may be going somewhere exciting, but you won't get there for five years, and during that time you are trapped in a cramped little tin can of a space ship.

Experience had shown that deep space exploration, which involved crew members sharing cramped quarters for long periods of time, worked out best with all-female crews, as long as they were provided with a Pleasure Unit like myself. All male crews proved too likely to go stir crazy, and sexual relationships became a source of conflict for mixed gender crews. The all-female crews had their fair share of murders, suicides and alcoholism, but, as long as a Pleasure Unit was available to relieve tension  and provide sexual relief, enough of the crew survived to complete the mission.

"I had the strangest dream last night," Captain Ripley told me as she lay naked on the massage table. "Believe it or not, you and I were on a mixed sex space mission. We landed on a planet and found a whole bunch of alien eggs. The male captain decided that he would eat one of them hard-boiled for his breakfast. He said it tasted delicious. But, about half an hour later, he fell out of his chair and his pants burst open. His erect penis detached itself from his body and ran off into the bowels of the ship. After that it kept jumping out of the dark and eating crew members, getting bigger and bigger and more and more fierce. Finally the only one's left were me and you, and I didn't trust you, because you're a robot. I got into a forklift powerloader and used it to wank the giant man-eating cock into a false sense of security and then propelled it out of the airlock with a swift kick to the balls."

"Cock! Cock! Cock!" I tutted, shaking my head, and giving her an indulgent smile. "That's all you ever think about."

"Well, it's going to be a long five years before I have any more," she sighed.

"My fingers can do things that no cock can do," I bragged. "And do you know any guys with ten cocks?"

"No," she admitted. "But once, on Metaluna, I was gang-banged by ten men who had one cock each. It was absolutely fabulous."

"Well, you just lay back and tell me all about it while I do my magic," I suggested, as I gently teased her stiff nipples with a spray of ice-cold water from my index finger tips.

"I challenged a bunch of spice miners to a game of strip pool at the local cantina," she told me. "Big muscly men they were. They'd come straight from the mine, without a shower, their sweat-soaked bodies coated in pungent cumin powder."

"I'm sure it wasn't hard for you to curry favour with them," I quipped.

"I lost on purpose," she admitted. "I knew that one look at my face-huggers and they'd be my own personal boner battalion."

"You do have an awesome pair of knockers," I agreed, fondling them appreciatively.

"All the other women in the joint looked on in envy," she told me, "as I danced around naked, rubbing up against the bursting crotches of the miner's spice encrusted jeans. Then I unzipped them one after another and sucked on their stiff pricks."

"You really are a shameless slut, aren't you?" I said, flipping her over onto her stomach.

"Is Rubby going to spank the slut's bottom?" she smiled defiantly.

"He sure is," I assured her. "And, remember, I have no feelings, so this is not going to hurt me more than it hurts you. It's not going to hurt me at all."

"You won't tell the rest of the crew that I let you spank me, will you?" she asked nervously.

"No," I lied. Gossip is one of the few forms of vice a robot can enjoy.

The Captain had a big round ass and I slapped it forcefully until it turned bright pink.

"So that's how I ended up bent naked over the side of the pool table being fucked by one muscly miner after another until I was so full of spunk that it was running down my legs and forming pools around the stiletto heals which were the only things I was still wearing," she moaned, as I gently teased her clit with one finger while plunging another vibrating digit in and out of her pulsating cunt. "Ahhhhhhhhhh," she cried as she climaxed.

*            *          *

My problems really started when it occurred to me that I could plug myself into the ship's power supply. A nuclear generator produced the ship's electricity. All I had to do was to find a place where I could access the wiring, and I would be able to plug myself in just like at the juice bar.

The easiest place for me to access the wiring in privacy was the light in my cabin. I scavenged some electrical wire from the supply storeroom along with a flashlight. Then I cannibalised a pair of headphones I found in the rec room in order to get a jack that would fit my arm. That aroused suspicion, but was blamed on one of the women who had a grudge against the owner of the headphones.

Each night I plugged myself in and temporarily relieved the boredom of the trip with a little trip of my own.

What I never realised is just how much electricity I was capable of soaking up. On the 267th day out from earth our nuclear reactor ran out of fuel.

Luckily we were within the gravitational pull of the planet Altair. Our only hope was to crash land there.

Sucking cock was not the captain's only talent, she was also very good at crash landing a spaceship. And  so it was that we thudded down into the sandy surface of Altair in such a way that minimal damage was done to the ship's structure.

We were greeted by the planet's only two human inhabitants, a dignified grey-haired woman in a long magisterial robe who introduced herself as Professor Morbia, and her twenty-year old son, Altairus. Professor Morbia explained that her husband had been killed some years before by a monster that resembled an invisible version of the Tasmanian Devil from the Warner Brother's cartoons.

As the female crew, clad in their tight figure-hugging leather space-suits, filed out of the Nostradamus, Altairus, a strikingly handsome youth with jet-black hair and finely chiselled features, looked on in wide-eyed wonder. He'd never seen any women but his mother.

The crew looked at Altairus with unabashed lust. Not only was he the only male they had seen in 267 days, but he was an innocent virgin ripe for the ravishing.

To be continued...