The Girl Who Played With Herself : Fuck Me Friday

The Aussiescribbler is back from an unwanted absence during which the word "fuck" has mainly been aimed at his broken down computer. Now it is time for another Fuck Me Friday tale of filthy fun. The prompt word is #peek. You can find out more and read the other entries at Aisling Weaver's site. And if you like what they've given you a peek at, make sure to let them know.

The Girl Who Played With Herself

Lisbeth Salamander never paid porn site subscriptions. That was one of the fringe benefits of being a professional computer hacker. She hacked into the billing company's computers and signed herself up using the names and identities of government ministers or members of the clergy.

Lisbeth had a boyfriend, a young investigative journalist named Michael Plumfist, but she was one horny goth. Being fucked twice a night just whetted her appetite, and if she couldn't sleep she would log onto the net and look for something to wank to.

She loved wanking, and she loved porn. She also liked to be comfortable. Sweden can be pretty cold, but Lisbeth had central heating so she was able to sit cross-legged on her computer chair wearing nothing but her spiky dog collar as she played with herself while gazing at sexy women and men doing all the naughtiest things. She had all sorts of toys, but she liked to use her fingers best. She knew just how to give herself pleasure - gently pulling on her nipple piercings, rubbing around and around on her clit and sometimes sticking a lubed finger up her butthole. She always laughed at Michael insisting on using his own keyboard when accessing information stored on her computer. He was such a tease. Hadn't he stuck his tongue up her butthole plenty of times?

Michael had been working hard on a big case involving government corruption and was sound asleep in their bed, which was up against the far wall. He might be asleep, but Lisbeth suspected he was dreaming of her. How else could she explain the fact that his cock had turned the bed sheet into a tent worthy of Barnum and Bailey? She was tempted to go have a peek, but she knew that, if she did, she wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to touch it, maybe kiss or lick it, perhaps wank it up and down with her fist, or even bounce her cunt on it. If she did that he would surely wake up, and she knew he couldn't get by without his rest. Much better to content herself with a bit of visually assisted wanking.

"Watch real people doing rude things while they look at porn! They don't know anyone is peeking!" screamed an ad for a website.

Lisbeth chuckled to herself. People were so gullible. They wanted to think they were seeing something illicit and the web masters would always promise it, but, of course, it was all fake. They would have a bunch of models sitting in front of webcams masturbating, but not acknowledging the screen, so that it looked like they were being spied on without their knowledge. The oldest trick in the book. But, what the hell, some of them might be cute, and she wasn't going to pay for it anyway.

Getting herself a membership was the work of but two minutes, her fingers dancing across the keyboard with lightning speed. One strange coincidence did impress itself upon the lust-filled landscape of her mind. The real name of the company behind the site was Phoenix, the same name as the manufacturer of her computer. Still, it was a common enough name in the world of business.

The blurb on the opening page claimed that the individuals depicted inside did not even know that their web cams were on. They were truly being filmed without their knowledge. "Ever wondered what girls really do when looking at porn or reading emails from their boyfriends?" it asked. Apparently there were guys on the site, too, but Lisbeth realised that no-one wondered what they did when looking at porn. Everyone knew.

There was a ranking for most popular cams. So Lisbeth went straight to the top of the list, already starting to rub pussy juice around her stiff clit as she double clicked on the link, anticipating some hot action.

What she saw was her own face leering back at her.

*          *          *

Barton Banger was the head of Phoenix Global, the world's fourth largest computer manufacturer. He prided himself that, while his company was only the fourth largest, it was the most unscrupulous. His latest dastardly scheme had been to install web cams in his computers which, when the user was connected to the internet, could be controlled from his central offices in Zurich. Most of the time, nothing of interest was revealed, but sometimes he was able to obtain pictures with which he could blackmail the computer users, and at other times he lucked onto hot individuals of either sex who spent a lot of time wanking to internet porn. These connections provided the basis for his Peek at the Peekers porn site.

The most popular girl on the whole site for the last month had been some super hot Goth chick named Salamander. Hell, Barton and rubbed a few out to her himself. She had enthusiasm. She wanked like a wild thing. And memberships were going up and up through word-of-mouth (or rather word-of-email) because of her.

"She's putting in quite a performance today," he commented to Miss Bergman, his officious secretary.

"Yes she is," she replied matter-of-factly, watching Lisbeth finger herself.

"Do you ever do that?" he asked her, trying to peek down the minimal cleavage revealed by her sensible business shirt.

"When you first asked me that question, Mr. Banger, my answer was that it was not an appropriate question for the head of a major computing firm to ask his secretary," she explained patiently. "The fact that you have persisted in asking me the same question another sixty seven times in no way alters my initial judgement."

"Prude..." he muttered under his breath.

*          *          *

Never had Lisbeth been so glad that she was an expert at one-handed typing. She wanted to find out how this scam operated, but she didn't want to attract attention, so she kept on wanking as she hacked. She didn't have to pretend. She'd never been so turned on in her life. The thought that thousands of guys and probably women too, all over the world were watching her finger herself was driving her crazy with lust. She was the most popular! Perhaps she had been stiffening cocks and clits for months without realising it. She wondered how many litres of hot cum had spurted out of guy's cocks while they watched her writhing around with her finger up her arse. But she mustn't let her excitement interfere with her hacking. She had to find out who was behind this.

"Hmmm... Barton Banger, hey?" she said to herself as she licked the juice of another cum off of her finger tips.

*          *          *

"Is she still masturbating?" asked Barton when he returned from his extended lunch.

Miss Bergman looked up at the screen.

"No, not at the moment," she replied. "She seems to be talking."

"Talking?" queried Banger. "What about?"

Miss Bergman turned up the sound.

"About you, sir," she answered.

"Me?!?!" he cried. "She shouldn't be talking about me! Why would she be talking about me? What is she saying?"

"She appears to be reading out your credit card details," Miss Bergman informed him, coolly.

"My what!!!???" he screamed, red in the face.

"Oh, and your home phone number..." she added.

*          *          *

Once Lisbeth had finished righting wrongs she began to consider the upside of this situation. It would take a while for Banger to close down the network. In the mean time Lisbeth wanted to keep together her fan base. Not everyone would be as happy about having been an unknowing porn star as she was, but she also hoped she could help anyone who did like the idea to keep in touch with their fans too.

It didn't take her long to collect an email list of all the customers and all the "performers". She wrote an email explaining what had happened and explaining that she would use one of the many under-utilized hard drives on a government computer network to keep the webcam switchboard going for any who still wanted to take part. She especially emphasised to her fans that she wanted them to keep watching her. She told them that, now she knew they were watching, she was determined to stick lots of things up her bottom. And she also said that she would love for it to be two-way. She couldn't watch all of her thousand or more fans jack off to her, but she intended to watch as many as she could.

She ended up staying up all night, and when Michael woke up the next day he found that his goth girlfriend was now the mistress of ceremonies of a world-wide web of wanking.

"Don't look! Don't look!" she insisted, as he came over to see what she was up to. "It's a surprise!"

He covered his eyes, but poked her impatiently in the shoulder with his erection. He was, however, careful to keep it away from her spiky dog collar.

"O.K. You can look now!" she said. "Meet my girlfriends!"

Michael opened his eyes to find the whole of Lisbeth's computer screen covered with small windows in which women of all shapes, ages and colours were shamelessly wanking, sucking on their nipples and sticking things up their bottoms.

"Well, say hi!" she insisted.

"They can see me?" he asked.

"Of course," she huffed impatiently, "now wave your lovely cock at them. They deserve encouragement."

A bunch of comments started appearing in a chat window down the bottom of the screen. "Nice cock!" "Don't I make you want to stroke it?" and "Wank that willy!"

Michael laughed and began stroking his hard cock as he looked at all those horny women.

"Why don't you show your girlfriends that you're a sucker for cock," he suggested, gently turning Lisbeth's head and pressing his hard-on against her lips, while taking care to rest, rather than skewer, his balls on the spikes of her dog collar.

She dropped down, opened her mouth and began licking his balls as a river of pre-cum ran down the side of his cock. Then she licked all the way up to the head, making sure to gather up all the glistening liquid as she went. Finally she planted a warm kiss on his sensitive head. But she didn't go on to give him what he really wanted.

"I'll show you how much of a sucker I am for cock!" she cried. "Look at my other friends!"

She hit a button and all of a sudden the screen was covered with images of guys jacking off.

"Billy's my favourite!" she exclaimed, clicking on one frame so that it expanded to fill the screen. On it a fit young man who looked like a surfer was gyrating around while stroking the biggest cock Michael had ever seen. After a minute he cried out, "Oh, Lisbeth!" and spurt after spurt of creamy cum shot out of the end and splattered all over his nut-brown muscular chest.

"I didn't really need to see that!" insisted Michael.

"Oh, but I did!" she teased, slapping him on the arse.

She brought back the bank of women.

"So who's your favourite wanker woman?" she asked.

"You," he insisted, kissing her on the head and inserting a finger up her dripping wet pussy.

"I know that, stupid!" she replied. "I mean from my fan club."

Michael thought a moment and then pointed at a redhead in her mid-forties who had really lovely big soft pale boobs and a cheeky smile on her face as she sat with one leg pulled up so that the foot was on her office chair and the other stretched out along the ground. "She looks like an older version of my gym teacher from when I was in college," he explained. "And I always did want to see Mrs. Stokes masturbate."

Lisbeth made the web cam image go full screen.

"Michael thinks you look like his old gym teacher," she informed the woman.

"I don't believe it!" cried the woman. "I thought it looked like you, Michael. I always wondered what the schlong that flopped around in your gym shorts would look like angry!"

"It's a class reunion!" laughed Lisbeth.

"Now you be good to that boy!" insisted Mrs. Stokes. "He deserves to have his cock sucked. I just wish I could do it! Yum!"

And so that is how Michael Plumfist ended up filling his girlfriend's mouth with cum while his sexy ex-gym mistress looked on and wanked off.

"This could be a great tool for networking in other ways," he told Lisbeth later as they chatted with their fans. "I have to fly to Helsinki the day after tomorrow to research my new story. Maybe we have a fan who lives there who would be willing to put me up."

"There's a girl named Katti who lives in Helsinki. She's only eighteen, but she has her own flat. Here she is," she added, calling up the image of a blonde girl with her hand down her pink panties. "I'll see what she thinks of the idea."

"Very nice," declared Michael looking her over.

"She seems to like the idea," Lisbeth told him. "I'll just turn up the sound again."

"I put him up," said the smiling girl in broken English. "I put him up my bum!"

"There won't be much time for extra-curricular activities," Michael declared. "If I'm going to break the story of price fixing in the pharmaceutical industry of Finland I'm going to need to do some deep probing."

"And if you want free accommodation while you're there I think you are definitely going to have to do some deep probing," Lisbeth pointed out. Then she laughed so hard she fell off her chair.

The End

Dusk : Fuck Me Friday

Fuck Me Friday is organised by Aisling Weaver. Here is how she explains it :

Twitterotica themes have been hanging around for some time, with various writers tackling weekly challenges such as #wankwednesday and so on, and writing challenges far and wide are abundant. This is another one.

The goal is two-fold; for writers, a weekly challenge to keep the, err, juices flowing. For readers, you'll find all the stories linked off at the bottom of each week's prompt. Are you game? Will you try your hand at some on the fly writing? Will you expose your work to new readers, will you read along and find new authors? I do hope so.

So, welcome to the linky love edition of Fuck Me Friday. All you have to do is this :

• Write a story with the prompt as your title. Today's will be : #Dusk

• Tweet it with both the prompt and hashtag #FuckMeFriday

And lastly add it to the links at the bottom of this post. (Note, if you don't want to tweet it or don't have a blog, I invite you to post your story in the comments section. 

Dusk

Dusk was falling. I'd been too slow. I'd taken too long. Would I get to my home before they did? Everything depended on it.

I was the last of my kind. The Omega Man. The last man on Earth.

But why am I tell you this? You must know. After all, I am legend.

Or perhaps you are living in the distant future. Perhaps to you the history of the end of the world as we knew it seems but an unreliable fairy story like those of Arthur and his knights.

It all began with the invention of Soylent Puce, the ultimate anti-depressant. It appeared to have no side-effects and to work instantly. People who had been miserable for years suddenly began dancing in the streets. And they were not the only ones to take the drug. Everyone had had their bad days, but not with a  bottle of S.P. at hand. It was the guaranteed pick-me-up.

Six months after it first appeared on the market, the nearly six billion people who had used it, were dead.

I missed the whole thing. I was away on an eight month fishing trip. By the time I came back, people were dropping like flies.

But I wasn't the only one who didn't take the drug. There was one sub-group in society that liked being depressed. Today the world belonged to me, and to the hordes of goth and emo girls who had no use for S.P.

They only came out at night. They hated the sunlight. The day was mine, the night theirs.

I put my foot down on the accelerator as the sun hit the horizon. The carcass thumped against the roof as I flew over the potholes. It had taken longer than usual for me to find a cow. Once again I wondered about abandoning the city in favour of a rural farm. At first the supermarkets had supplied all my food needs, but now everything was past its used by date.

My home had electricity though. If I moved I'd have to either find another place with solar panels or install them.

I was almost home now. I was going to make it.

Each night I barricaded myself in. I'd turn up my country music as loud as it would go to try to drown out the sound of the girls banging on my door and yelling out, "Neville Roberts! Neville Roberts! Come out! We want your cock!"

They smashed all of the windows and I'd had to board them up.

I pulled up into the driveway, and I was none too soon. In my rearview mirror I could see figures beginning to emerge from the deepening shadows. They were naked, as they always were in the warm weather. Black hair, black lipstick, brooding faces and tattoos of hearts wreathed in barbed wire, pentagrams and broken dolls.

The cow could wait until the morning. I hurried inside.

"Why won't you fuck us, you greedy bastard?" yelled one of the girls.

I was distracted. I'm sure you've done it before. But it was a mistake I couldn't afford. I left my keys in the door.

They had me where they wanted me, and so they bided their time. They waited for more of their kind to arrive.

Half an hour later I was settled in for the evening, swigging from a bottle of Jim Beam, puffing on a cheroot, singing along to Tammy Wynette singing Stand By Your Man while watching Jackass 3 with the sound down on BluRay. "They don't make movies like that anymore," I said wistfully as I watched Steve-O drinking the sweat rung out of the fat guy's jack strap.

At that moment the door burst open and in rushed a dozen naked goth chicks. Two of them grabbed my arms and hauled me out of my seat.

"Take your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty emos!" I cried.

"Don't think we take any pleasure in this, Roberts," sneered a girl with enough rings through her eyebrows to hang curtains from them. I recognised her as the nineteen-year-old daughter of one of my late bowling buddies. Like the rest of the girls she had very pale skin, but she wasn't as skinny as the others, her slim waste was offset by lovely full breasts with large pink nipples and a curvy set of hips. "We need you to impregnate us, so that the human race can have a future."

"No pleasure, hey," I replied, drily, observing that several of the girls behind her were licking their lips and fingering their wet pussies. "You better tell your companions they can't get pregnant from their fingers."

She turned around and addressed them sternly. "I told you we were not going to get any pleasure out of this. If we want pleasure we can get it by licking each others pussies. This is something we do more in sadness than in horniness. A year ago you would have rather died than had sex with a guy with such appalling dress sense," she pointed out, indicating my tropical shirt and baggy sweatpants. "Not to mention someone who listens to country music," she added, flipping off the sound system.

The other girls were unrepentant. "We'll soon have his clothes off, and you've put a stop to the music. That isn't what matters. We want to be fucked by a hot hard cock, and he's the only person left in the world who possesses one," pointed out a skinny girl named Erin, who had a crew cut and pointed studs in her bottom lip.

I realised that the tide had turned. Now I was the freak. Such things are merely a matter of numbers, and there is no minority smaller than one.

Now my life was over. I knew that never again would I be able to sit in my cosy domicile, chewing a rare steak, swigging some whisky, pulling on a cigar and checking out some seventies porn on the tube. But if this was going to be my final stand, there was no reason I shouldn't enjoy it.

"Well, you may take no pleasure in this, Serena," I informed the leader of this band of bare-assed desperadoes. "But I'm going to take great pleasure in sampling the delights you have laid out before me." With that I reached out and groped her soft plump breasts. As I did I felt a pair of hands behind me pull down my pants and my boxers, thus releasing my hard cock, which slapped up hard against my belly and then stood out quivering and dripping pre-cum onto the floor. In seconds they had me naked.

"Do what you must," insisted Serena, stoically, laying down on my bed and spreading her legs wide apart.

"O.K." I said, walking into the kitchen and coming back with a turkey baster and a glass jar. Then, looking down at her, I started stroking my cock and aiming it into the jar.

"What are you doing!?!" she cried.

"Well, you said you didn't want to take any pleasure in being impregnated, so I thought it would be best to do it artificially," I explained.

Serena's pale face turned a deep red as all the other girls laughed at her.

"She wants your big fat cock as much as the rest of us," pointed out a girl with a Louise Brooks haircut and multiple labia piercings, whose name I later learned was Circe.

Louise Brooks

"I think she deserves a spanking for being so hypocritical," I told them.

"Does seeing a bossy bitch get a bare-bottomed spanking from her cock-crazed cronies really spunk up your balls?" Circe whispered in my ear while wiping her cuntjuice-slippery fingers over my lips. "We need you to spunk lots to put us all in the pudding club, so whatever you want to see or do or have done to you just speak up."

"Oh, yeah," I smiled. "Seeing you give her a really pink bottom would definitely help fill this bazooka with baby juice," I told her, grabbing her slim fingers and wrapping them around my stiff cock as I reached down and squeezed the tender cheeks of her bum.

"We can all learn something from Mr. Roberts and his willingness to make a firm stand for future generations," said Erin, who was playing with herself.

"Hip! Hip! Hooray, for Mr. Roberts' firm stand," shouted the rest of the girls.

Meanwhile, two of them grabbed Serena and held her down over a chair while Circe began spanking her butt cheeks enthusiastically. "How dare you, you traitor!" screamed Serena, her face still bright red and her body quaking as she strove to restrain tears of utter humiliation.

Erin pushed me down onto the bed and slid her warm slippery pussy down over my rampant prick. The rest of the girls weren't going to just stand back and wait. The next thing I knew : there was a wide-open wet cunt writhing against my face ; someone was crouched beneath Erin licking my balls ; a girl was rubbing her pussy against each of my hands clearly indicating that they wanted me to finger them ; and wherever else there was room for a tongue or some fingers I was being licked or stroked.

"Rape! Rape!" I cried when I managed to get my mouth temporarily disengaged from pussy.

"I'm sorry," replied Erin. "We'd like to oblige, but I think we are already raping you as much as we can."

With one more thrust of my hips I gave her the hot spurts of cum she craved.

She hopped off and I felt another girl's warm mouth start gobbling on my now semi-flaccid cock.

"Off now," instructed Erin, pushing away the girl had been sitting on my face. "Neville needs to see what Circe's done to Serena's bottom, I think, if he's going to get his cock stiff again."

And, sure enough, the sight of Serena's bright red bottom and tear-stained face melted my heart and stiffened my cock.

"Have you learned your lesson, Serena?" I asked.

"Yes," she sighed. "I was just too embarrassed to admit that I want your cock so much that I don't really want to share it with the other girls. I just want to feel it throbbing inside me for days."

She came over and kissed me passionately. Then the girl who had been sucking my cock moved aside and she climbed on top of me, sliding my cock into her hot dripping pussy. She sank forward, and I relished the feel of her large breasts pressed against my chest. The other girls hung back now and gave us space. They were all lounging around the room masturbating as they watched us. This included Erin, who hadn't cum when she was fucking me. Everyone was turned on, and everyone wanted to cum, but the goal of impregnation had to take precedence over immediate satisfaction.

I managed to fuck seven of the girls that night, which isn't too bad. What got me erect again and again was that Serena whispered the filthiest and most flattering things in my ear as she let me fondle her tender warm butt cheeks. Anytime she cried, "Ouch!", my cock would twitch back towards stiffness.

It is strange that I am still capable of remembering that night with any kind of fondness. Because now I am heartily sick of sex. When it is all they will let you do day in and day out it becomes a crashing bore, not to mention a pain in the balls. And, since my health is a priority, I'm on a the same vegetarian diet as them. And no more booze or cigars. Except on Father's Day. There has to be some kind of reward when you are the father of 12,956 children.

The End