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thedeep
09-21-2005, 03:27 AM
“The Bimbo’s Guide to Thongs and Rollercoasters”
by L I C
(mc,mf,fd)

Synopsis:
The opinions of bimbos on everything from fresh morning thongs and peach garnishes to rollercoaster rides, playing cock goddess, and the art of fly fishing.


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Dress Philosophy
SunUp. Light broke the horizon. The brilliance of a trillion candles burst forth like a flare. The sun dawned, spreading is crepuscular arms out over the landscape. It tried its bet to rouse the world out of bed. I flipped a pillow over my face, and rolled to the side, as the light burst through my bedroom window. The damage was done however, for it had awakened my eyes and I was aware of the coolness that blanketed me.

Sweat had percolated through my skin during the night, a product of midnight dreams, and was evapourating into the scented air of my bedroom. The pricking cold was stimulating whatever part of me wanted to wake up, and sleep became impossible.

I could take a shower. Cold or hot, it didn’t matter, for it all felt good. A girl like me needed to be clean. But then…

No, that wouldn’t do. Guys would like me better if I still had the scent of my own cunny on me. They can smell sex. They love it.

I love it.

I owed it all to a nice girl in Canada. I had met her in Montreal, a great city, full of strip bars and plenty of entertainment to make a girl salivate. I’m not talking about my mouth here. She showed me the way a girl should be, the way to be strong and beautiful at the same time. A new body, new wardrobe, and a new mind later, I was starting to get a hang on things. Being a bimbo, as people called us, wasn’t half bad.

I ticked off a check on my Cock-Counter to represent my latest fling. When I pressed the marker to the white board, it tilted on the wall slightly. Twenty-seven cocks was a respectable resume. Some girls I had been ‘introduced’ to in Montreal had reached fifty, and where they were at now I could only guess. I was jealous. A girl needs a trophy count after all.

Today was a new day, and my last man was spent and gone. Today I would find a new cock. Today would be a ride like any other since my visit to beautiful Montreal, sweaty, hot, and with a mouthful of cum. In a life before I had designed roller coasters. Now I was the roller coaster!

I hoisted my hot body out of bed, and reached over to my thong bin. I prepared for the biggest decision of the day; thongs were important. It was a tough choice, for each day required a different thong. A girl could go crazy trying to pick out the right piece of underwear, as every mood, every hour, even the changing weather, demanded a certain selection to feel right.

Thongs were science. Or at least the closest thing to a science I could care about.

The insight hit suddenly as I neared the bottom of the bin. A flash of pink amidst the blacks and reds caught my eye. I pulled it out and smiled with glee. My little heart shaped thong, my sweet precious heart, swung from my fingers. I dipped my legs through the leg holes and drew it in. Nice and tight. It climbed into the crack of my ass and pressed affectionately against the lips of my pussy. Sexy.

My tits wobbled as I twisted and tilted my hips for a good once over. I loved them. Big girls like these liked to move, a lot, and the gentle smacking my two puppies together was pleasant after a long dull sleep. It was almost as stimulating as a thong up my ass, but not quite. Still, my poor tits had suffered the night, going almost eight hours without a good squeeze. My nipples stood up like tiny brown army cadets. A gentle massage and a few loving words to each baby was enough to tide me over until breakfast.

“How are my puppies? Do you, like, want mommy to make you feel nice? Gawwsh you girls are so…” Self-talking rocked. It made me feel hot. But I didn’t want to go too far too soon. I’d just woken up and I at least wanted these panties to stay dry long enough to get out of the bedroom! Presentation is key.

I took great pride in my body, as any girl should, and my tits were no exception. They weren’t breasts though, no, these were tits. Breasts were something that defined a woman’s body, something modest. These? These were firm heavy in-your-face tits. Tits were accessories.

Tits like these ones couldn’t be controlled. They begged to be eyed and fucked. Men loved them and the more of them I showed the more eager they’d be to unzip their pants. I couldn’t disappoint by hiding them now could I?

What a thrill.

So the key to presenting tits properly was finding the right bra. It’s like setting the foundation for a house. It just makes sense. Of course this required thought too, about as much as I was willing to spare at any one time, about as much thought as I could rescue from my focus on sucking cock or glossing my lips. My bra bin was the biggest drawer in my room, and my collection had by far the most amount of space allotted to it. Sometimes, I felt this made the decision harder, but then how could a girl like me ever survive without a plethora of bras? It wasn’t too big a problem mind you, because with most things, the solution just seemed to jump out at me.

Neon Orange.

I grabbed it out of the drawer and unfolded the parachutes, cups, I mean. I liked calling them that, for each cup could easily fit over my head. ‘Parachute’ only made it seem more grandiose, and tits like these were a source of pride. They deserved embellishment. I was proud of my body after all. Shouldn’t every girl be?

I lifted the cups up under my tits and snapped it on behind me, pulling the straps over my shoulders and watching with awe, as my huge boobs swelled and bulged. Bras can work wonders, and wonders with tits like these became miracles of nature. Big tits were great, big tits that stuck out and had that extra ‘umph!’ when they heaved were better. They were awesome.

To round it all out I need the right shirt. I knew just the one too; it was a no brainer (Ha!). It was hanging on the back of my bedroom door; a white baseball Tee with black sleeves. Across the front, in bold black lettering, was ‘Calcium’. Watching those letters strain and stretch as I pulled them over my bosom was inspiring. By the time I had my arms through my sleeves the letters were so wonderfully distorted they had become faded. My orange bra pushed its presence and colour through the thin white cotton.

The shirt was tight enough to show off my fleshy orbs while also paying tribute to my tapered waist. I was now a tightly wrapped package. Tight clothing was key, but nothing too revealing. A girl needed a lure, but not the whole show, to attract a cock. Show too much, and they’ll be satisfied with just a stare.

It was then that I noticed the stain.

Likely from one of my latest finds. From the size of the mark, he had had quite a bit in him. I couldn’t place the stain of course. Hell, I wasn’t even in the business of asking names. I couldn’t place the mark by taste either, though from what I could sense, the guy had eaten a lot of sugar.

The stain could stay though. A girl wants to give the right impression doesn’t she?

And air-headed little old me nearly walked out into the world with nothing over her thong! Not a problem though, for any outfit fell into place naturally after the foundation. A suggestive pleated skirt of green plaid would round out my look nicely, and make a nice compliment to my round ass. I smacked it lovingly, let out a deep breath of enjoyment, and then I was off. Damn that skirt was hot.

Make up time.

I bolted out of my room and quickly zeroed in on the bathroom across the hall. The early morning tingling of a thong in my ass, before I got used to it, was refreshing. I sprung tits first into the bathroom and was treated to a delicious sight.

“Hi Salli, Hi Cindi!” I chirped. “Good morning!”

“Good morning Bobbi!” they chorused. They lathered each other in the shower, hips grinding, breasts bobbing, and asses shaking as they spanked and rubbed each other in the waters. The shower curtain was pulled open, and a cool mist leapt from the tub.

Modesty? What was that?

It was make-up time. Nothing too fancy, just the basics. Make-up and cock didn’t mix, that was the first thing a girl needed to learn. There was nothing worse than smearing blush when you lapped up a man’s seed. All I really needed were frames for my eyes, and gloss for my lips. Running the small black comb through my lashes did the trick, and soon my blues were framed in manes of black. Then of course came the gloss.

But what flavour?

“Cherry!” chimed Cindi and Salli as they giggled and played with each other.

Tried and true, classic cherry never left me blue. And it tasted oh so sweet, the perfect companion for salty seed.

“Why don’t you come join us?” cooed Salli as she wrestled with Cindi’s soapy blond locks, running her hands lovingly like a brush, while indulging in sapphic bliss.

“Sorry ladies,” I whimpered while tying my brunette strands into a duo of pigtails, “I like, just got ready and everything.”

“Do you need to find some cock?” inquired Cindi, as she cringed in delight as Salli stroked her scalp.

“Like, a girls gotta eat you know?” I declared. And I bounded away; ready to start my day.

My shoes were down the living room steps, by the door.


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Just Call Her Mommy
The new diet was working very well for me. In the week since meeting Bobbi my tits had swollen to a gigantic size, and I was beginning to notice my hips were growing more streamlined as well. It was so exciting, just seeing the other girls was killing me with anticipation, anticipation of one day looking like them. Tits bobbing, asses swaying, pussies peaking out from underneath their skirts, dripping with more than just their eroticism. Blunt but, oh, so fun.

I bit the peach.

I tried to crunch the sweet fruit slowly and quietly, for I didn’t want to drown out the sounds coming from the home theatre screen. In the DVD player, I had ‘Bobbi’s Buffet: Feeling Full’, playing in the disc changer. Needless to say, I had found new things since quitting my job last week to occupy my time. Bobbi’s digitized mouth, four feet wide, was presented for me on the screen, sucking on the three-foot nipple of another woman.

Amidst the sounds of her moaning, could be heard the squelching of her soaked cunt as two of our mutual roommates filled her up with a pair of vibrators. That is what Bobbi called ‘feeling full’, hence the title.

An example for us all to follow. My role model. My mentor. I couldn’t wait to make my own home movie.

It had been just over a week now and it was already becoming clear to me why she held her ‘Montreal Mother’ in such high regard. I had begun to view Bobbi, the founder of my new mindset, in a motherly way. She was going to teach me everything I needed to know, about my own body, about hers, and about cock.

So my role as a child, or student, was just commonsense. A girl needs a parent, a teacher, and someone to get them that sweet job at the sperm bank.

After all, a slut dwelled on the inside of every girl; one only needed the right touch to have it brought out, and the right woman. I certainly felt that I’d seen the light when I was shown the way a woman ought to be. Bobbi had one hell of a touch, and from what I’d learned she was taught by the best.

A girl needs a skill no?

Frankly, my life had needed a change anyway, and a little more fun as well. I was certainly living the dream now. I hadn’t reached my peak yet, according to Bobbi, but she let me know in so many wonderful ways that I was getting there. A girl could find reasons to touch herself just by thinking about it.

Though I already was (Ha!).

She entered the room, nipples first, firm tits second, bouncing cheerfully to the beat of a fresh throng in the morning. I pet myself a little more quickly as she drew closer.

“Good morning Jana.” She jiggled and giggled. Gawd! What a wonderful sight. She certainly woke me up in the morning with her body bound tightly like that, in her legendary ‘Calcium’ Tee and her innocentesque plaid skirt. She was stronger than coffee, and much tastier.

That shirt had gotten a lot of mileage out of it, something to be proud of. When I get into the game like Bobbi, I’m going to have an outfit that says something about me too. Bobbi was certainly of the variety that tried to appear naïve and youthful, and too look helpless and lost unless her ankles were beside her ears. Those glinting lips of hers, shiny in the light of her sexed body bucking on the theatre screen, blared ‘feed me’. A girl, you know, has got to communicate her needs right? That was her look, her front, her persona. There was something so kittenish about her, so….ooooh.

That was a nice feeling.

“Hello Bobbi.” I cooed, as the orgasm faded into the background. I felt energized. She had a way with me, with my head, and with my body, that always left me feeling alive and happy. “We’re out of cream.”

I didn’t mean to be demanding, to beg of her a favour, right after she’d woken up. I really needed some cream for these peaches though. It just wasn’t the same eating them raw and without a garnish. Bobbi however had adjusted to her motherly roles well, for she had three mouths to feed including her own, though Salli and Cindi were actually going out and hunting for their own cocks now. I hadn’t been the first after all, and so my helplessness was totally something she expected.

I think she got off on it, by being my mommy. It certainly made me hot. Her motherly role certainly made the sex sizzling hot.

“I’ll drop by the sperm bank, like, this afternoon maybe if I have time and stuff, and pick some up for you.” she smiled. I loved that bimboish vernacular of hers. I was starting to speak the same way, though not as expertly as she. It was just so natural to talk like that for her, like such a tease, as though the words smithed themselves. Her speak harkened back to the days of sex-crazed teenagehood. She stood over me and ran a finger through my platinum bangs. “Don’t worry sweetie. I’ll bring home some salted-yolky delight soon.”

When a girl has peaches, she just has to have cream. It’s all part of a girl’s basic P’s and C’s. Peaches, Cream, Pussy, Cock, and Porn. Everything a naughty girl like me needs in only two letters of the alphabet.

She leaned in and kissed me on the forehead, her massive boobs crashing into mine, our pleasant flesh rising and squashing as we pressed together, our breathes crafting a sea of wobbling motion. I wanted to touch those tits of hers; the sparks were starting to fly. It was 7:14 in the morning.

But I had one hand in my pussy and another holding a peach in my mouth. My pussy begged attention, and peaches were too tasty to dismiss. What’s a girl to do in that situation? I was frozen, aroused, and I’d have to wait to touch that hot body. She bit off a piece of my peach, her tender lips sucking the fruit suggestively into her mouth.

Hawt.

I couldn’t wait to be as skilled as her, when I would be using lips like that of my own to blow lightly on a cock to make it stiff. And then I’d wrap them around and suck its manly flesh. I needed it. I hungered for it.

A girl’s gotta be fed after all. Fishing for cock was an art.

“Like, Tomorrow we’re going to take you shopping for some clothes.” she revealed dreamily, flicking one of her pigtails and staring at the ceiling. Okay, she was laying it on me now, flirting, as she knew how well she and her hot ass got me going. “And we can like, get you some thongs, nice tight thongs, for that pertty tight ass of yours.” she mused.

Shopping was a big step in the right direction. It meant I was finally ready to start wearing clothes, like one of the pros. It meant I’d finally know the intimacy of a fresh thong in the morning, when it’s still tight and cool from the wash, before being stretched by a day’s bending over. Shopping meant getting my own trademark outfit, the kind of outfit every girl should have, the kind that says ‘this is me’.

Of course, I also wanted mine to scream ‘this is my body’. A girl needs a calling card after all. Bodies like hers, like mine, are supposed to be touched and put on display. They begged to be fucked and handled and rubbed. Why else would they feel so good?

She had more to tell.

“I also think that tomorrow, gawsh, might be the right day for us to go out together, and like, hit the town, learn the ropes. Fresh is better than frozen right?”

“Absolutely.” I said, almost drooling. Fresh cream, milked right from the cow, was always the best. They ask why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?

I can dig that.

Bobbi hurried on; no doubt she was starved for cock. As one got better and stronger like her, one needed more spunk in her step to get on with the day. Just like her ‘Montreal Mother’ she was. She was even beginning to build her own family, which I was happy to say I was a proud member of, and very happy to be calling her Mother.

Her ass cheeks rubbed up and down against each other as she tiptoed down the stairs to the door, skirt flaring and bucking on top of her plump toned buns, the ultra tight band of a thong vanishing between them. Perfect mechanical motion.

That image would haunt me for the rest of the day.

Though in reality, as my hand again found itself between my legs, ‘haunt’ may not have been completely correct.

I bit the peach.

Mmmm. Cherry.


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Tunnel Vision
She had just sauntered, no bounced, in through the door. She was the greatest sight to hit a café on this side of the street since Winter Carnival. They way she carried herself, those titanic juggs especially, that tight toned body, on those dainty pumps was just…hotter than hell. I could feel myself poking at the inside of my pant leg.

Few things had ever gotten me that hard, that fast. I had to see her before the other guys got a hold of her. I could see them gawking already, as I looked about at the other tables. It was time to take charge, be a man, and grab some tail. She didn’t look that smart after all, she was probably just a throw away. The way she pouted her lips, almost slack jawed, made her look so young and naïve.

It also made her mouth look incomplete without anything filling it. I liked my women with their pie-holes plugged, though it wasn’t like this catch would make good conversation anyway. If she shut up and did the deed, she was a winner in my book.

“Hello sweet pea.” I oozed up to her.

She swivelled around and jiggled suggestively. Her gigantic breasts seemed to leap forward with her every breath, her shirt showing fatigue and stretch lines just holding them in. ’Release us!” they screamed.

That’s what I like to think they said, anyway.

Considering the way this girl dressed though, I looked to be in for an easy five-minute quickie. Maybe a good blow back at the apartment, and then ride her like a bike for the rest of the night. Mileage might be a problem, but then she was just a girl, not a day over twenty at most, how many owners could she have had?

“Like, hello sir?” she chirped. What a post. I loved my women dumb, but this was outrageous. Still, young pussy was hard to turn down.

“Well, aren’t we formal?” I played.

“Yes sir, as always. A girl like me should be respectful if she’s to, like, get what she wants.” She ran a finger down the middle of my shirt, her fingernail playing at each button along the line.

Christ! Dumb and blunt, all in one package. This piece of ass would be easy to lure in. I shot the wind a bit.

“You like my shirt?” She was still playing with one of the lower buttons, close to my belt.

“Yes I do. Do you like my skirt?” she asked, flipping her index fingers at the pleats of her catholicesque garb. That was definitely a big affirmative. What she wore rivalled the tabooish dress of the catholic girl stereotype, only shorter and racier. The length of it could barely hide the joints of her hips. Just out from under, I could see the dive of her panties. Hot pink – such a girlish colour.

“I love your skirt little girl.” Damn this was becoming wrong. But since she wasn’t really little, only acting like it, I was well within the bounds of the law. I could only be a few years older than she was anyway. And in a decade since adolescence, this was certainly my hottest catch to date. Hell, I was already thinking she was in the bag. “What material is that?”

I reached out and grabbed it between two fingers, rubbing it and feigning interest, all the while lifting it and sneaking a peak. She giggled. Her thong had a low scoop, and the waistband dove into a heart, the lines almost pointing like an arrow to her treasure underneath. She giggled again.

Fuck, she really was in the bag!

“I hope my appearance pleases you handsome stranger.” She cooed, bucking her hips and thrusting them forward. I was treated to the sight of pure eroticism, a girl of packaged sex, jiggling and giggling and wiggling before my eyes. Her thigh brushed my pant leg, brushed my cock, brushed my heart.

I looked around the café. Three other men, a woman, and a cashier. One of the guys was ordering something and the cashier was attending to him. They hadn’t seen. The woman was holding a baby, and was lifting her shirt to feed, while two lecherous fellows watched eagerly as she exercised her rights. At least I wasn’t the loosest soul in the building.

I was in the clear.

“I love how you look sweet pea. You’re delicious. Tell me, are you hungry?” I growled suavely. She took the hint eagerly. Her tongue flicked at her shiny glossed and reddened lips as the thought passed through her empty head.

“When a girl’s gotta eat, a girl’s gotta eat.” she affirmed. I was about ready to groan and break. One moment I was minding my own business, bored as holy hell, reading the news and sipping caffeine, and the next I was hopped up on lust and horny as a baboon. Every ounce of my heat was backing up in the base of my cock.

It demanded release. That mouth, those lips of hers, they were so…tempting.

“Come with me.” I gasped, my breath failing under the pressure of my anticipation. I grabbed her by the hand and she wobbled after me. I nearly busted the bathroom door off with my shoulder, and I pulled her inside. She giggled as she staggered under the force of my demanding touch, breasts wobbling, booty shaking, skirt blowing and giving me a sweet peak at her thong clad nethers.

I locked the door.

“So about that shirt.” She whispered, maintaining discretion and pulling at my buttons only suggestively. Like a tease. Fuck, just looking at that tight body of hers was enough to bring my mind into a tunnel, where only one light, one thought, was present.

“Start here!” I begged, my fingers furiously yanking down my pant zipper and undoing the belt. She curled those luscious lips, bared her teeth, and peeled off the waist button with her mouth.

She was a pro.

She reached nimble fingers into my pants, pulled aside my boxer flaps, and let loose my cock. So stiff and long as it was it came falling out like a log and thwacked her in the face. Pre-semen marked her cheek, which she promptly retrieved and licked from her finger. “You taste goooood.” she beckoned. She arched her back, flipped up her arms, and peeled her suggestively named ‘Calcium’ shirt over her head. “You carrying anything nutritious in those?”

“Mayyybeee.” she jibed.

Her massive juggs squeezed out of the tight shirt and into the light, heaving as she lifted her arms over her head and threw the garment to the tiled floor. They sprang forth at me, pushed up by her blindingly orange bra. I reached down and touched them, her head turning and back bending as she squealed in tune to my sensuous touch, my hand sinking into her young and firm flesh. Her nipples, chocolate nubs of eye candy, popped forth from the demi-cups of her bra.

“I know what you want.” She hissed. A hand unclasped her bra, and her breasts fell out from the cups of their prison. Young and beautiful as they were, they defied gravity, almost unnatural though I knew they were real, I had felt them. She knelt down for me, arched her back, and pressed in on me more intimately than any woman I had ever known.

Which said a lot, because I had only known this girl for ten minutes.

My cock sank into her cleavage, her smooth creamy flesh swallowing me and wrapping me like a sausage in a blanket. Just sinking into the crease between her fluffy tits had me sputtering like a volcano. No pumping required. My spunk bubbled up through her breasts and covered the tops of her boobs with silky ooze. Fuck! That had been fast, but incredibly hot, at least for me.

It had been strong too, but it was not enough. I craved more. I needed more.

And somehow, though I had just cummed, there seemed more of me to be had.

She grabbed hold of me like a joystick and starting beating like a piston, her hand working hard and fast until another round of spray erupted from me, dousing her bulging chest with ever more of my batter. I splashed her face, my essence dripping from her chin, and her robust tongue slithered from her mouth looking for a taste of my magic. Each glob of me she pulled in was followed with an ‘oh so good’ moan. This is incredible. How is this not over? My head swam with delirium.

“You’re so handsome in delicious. Ready for round three?” she husked. What? Round three? Did I even have anything left?

Her tongue flipped at the tip of my cock, and like clockwork a bead of my pre-cum appeared at its breach. Drips and drops filed out one at a time to be lapped up by her tongue. Then came her lips, sucking and squeezing, tense and hard against the tip of my dick. Down she plunged, lips firm and tight, squeezing my head into her mouth. I heaved under the wonderful tension of her pressing mouth, my cock pressured through a hole too small, lips tight and slippery like the real deal.

“Mmmmm.” She applauded softly. She approved of me; she liked my cock. I liked women who sucked cock so maybe I’d keep this girl around for a while. A pro like this didn’t deserve parking ticket status.

When my dick burst through her chops the feeling was glorious. Her glossed lips wrapped my cock in a glistening film, letting her mouth glide effortlessly over my throbbing trunk while her tongue pulled and poked. I could feel the bumps of her mouth muscle scratching pleasantly, the roughness adding more and more power to the impact of her ministrations. How could it be this good?

She bobbed up and down, twisting her neck and head and bending my stiff member, working its tight rigidity and plying my silver treasure from its end. With each thrust and gobble she moaned ‘Mph’ in delight, and on the tenth time, she sucked it all in.

She sucked hard.

Her cheeks collapsed in as she pulled on me with all her might, slowly releasing me, her mouth slipping from the base of my cock to its head, wrapped in the warmth of her liquid tension. I groaned and grunted, all vision lost, lights swirling and hands in tight fists. The tungsten bulb of the uncovered bathroom light flickered, as my entire essence seemed to be pushing behind the stupendous orgasm that was sure to come.

I grew tense and tired. A great bulge seemed to fire from within me, forcing itself with great effort to the end of my shaft, and then exploded against the roof of her mouth. My cock squeezed in on itself, shelling my seed into the back of her waiting throat.

The shot was so strong; I swore I could hear the splatter through her closed lips. A loud gulp, and some slurping, followed it.

Having her lightly lick and brush my penis clean with her tongue was nice, especially after the exertion of my release. I felt so tired, as though a part of me had left in the orgasm. I sank to the floor, back against the tiled wall, as she wiped her breasts clean with her hands and preened like a cat.

I looked into her eyes for the first time.

I hadn’t even bothered to look at her face much; I had been so fixated on her magnificent body. She had drawn me in, lured me into the tunnel, and taken me back into the darkness of her erotic trap. They say you can learn a lot about someone by the look in their eyes. I’ll tell you this, when I saw her eyes I saw a lot of things. A lot of it I liked.

One thing I didn’t see though, was dumb.


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Man Eater
I ravished his salted yolk. I swallowed as much of it as I could. It fuelled me, sated my hunger. I’d have to remember to strike another notch on my cock counter tonight, for this man did not hold much. I’d certainly be done with him before noon. There would be no leisurely feasting for me. He was all talk, all bravado, but no ‘substance’.

Still he had enough, if only for breakfast. I teased his balls, wrapped my manicured coils around them, plying them for all the seedy milk they could muster. He throbbed, groaned, gawked at his shaft pulsing supernaturally with an unholy load. He splattered himself all over the back of my throat, his tingly sperm coating my insides as I swallowed.

I swallowed him quickly, and by him, I mean ‘him’. His seed and will, bound together. I leeched it out of him, all that he could provide. This was something he was coming to realize, as the feelings of entrapment gripped his soul.

His orgasm swept over his mind, crushed his will and supplanted it with my own, and provided him a new addiction. He was most certainly ‘in the bag’. All men inevitably succumbed. The mark of a good bimbo was how skilled she was with her mouth.

If she’s good, you can tell because she never removes her panties. I’ve never taken mine off. ;)

My cunt? Well, I only ever put it in play for the home team.

For now he’d tide me over, until later today. But he was almost spent in a single blow, and soon he would fade away, his only mark left on the world a notch on my trophy board. I‘d need another cock, another asshole, maybe two, to get through the night.

Wiping him off my tits, licking his syrup from my lips, was in reality my shining moment. This was the best part of my day. I pecked his pecker for one last taste. Breakfast was delicious.

In a life before this I had designed roller coasters. I loved them, as riding them always gave me a thrill. I felt so unsafe on them, so out of control, at the mercy of the ride and where it’s track took me. I had always taken great pride in designing those tracks, meticulously performing my duties with exquisite skill.

Now I was the roller coaster. What made it all so great was the thrill of being used, of being judged, of fooling the fools. But deep down, under the girlish dress and talk, under the looks of innocence and naiveté, I was in control. I knew what would happen. Now the track made its own path.

I was the ride.

Strength obscured by frailty. A hungry girl needs a lure you see. Act wise and men will be cautious. Look wild and exciting, act mindless, like a good ride, and the riders will come running.

A girl, after all, needs to feed.

“You’re mine now.” I declared to him, licking a finger dry of his energizing spunk, curling my tongue as his deliciousness trickled into the darkness of my mouth. He gazed slack jawed into my eyes, as I enjoyed him to the fullest.

Like a stroke of cream run across the peach hue of my throat, his soldiers fell and tumbled down inside me, parading towards the furnace of my belly. I digested him.

THE END


:jo

plify
06-01-2009, 01:02 AM
nice work