30 July 2010

Four Stories (or so) in Five parts with a Sex Theme | Literary Porn Stories by Moctezuma Johnson | 2006

Kama Sutra IllustrationImage via Wikipedia
Instructions on Fucking my Wife.
Although my Ana has nice tits, perky to look at and full in the hand, she’s fat around the stomach and thighs.
            She can give an awesome blowjob but she’s lazy. Her cunt is tight as a vice with her clit hidden like a dragon behind the many folds of her slit. Her ass is full and wonderful. Put the cock in the crack of it and she’ll push till you spurt.


Gian.
Gian has big balls, they are hairless, full of cum and always hot. He has cock to match with a big fat helmet. His tongue is long and wide. He can hold your ass up in the air and lick pussy soft, wet and hard all at once. His ass is full--you’ll grab it while he stretches those cunt lips. Lift those legs up and squeeze those tits together. He’ll lick you till you cream.

The Slut.
Her name was Supaporn. She even had porn in her name. But he didn’t care about her name except that it was further proof she was destined to be smutted. She sat, sluttily, & smuttily, by her computer—so he thought. Nipples out, so he thought. They were as soft as rice cakes marinated all night in chili paste.
            She got up to pee.

The Bowl.
Hair curled down her nose into her mouth. The bathroom was silent save for the radiator




crackling. Her eyes pierced him when the door banged her knee. She fell back, bare-assed, skirt hiked up, and hit the dirty porcelain. He lifted, turned, and plunged her—thrusting his strange cock into her slit. His hand grabbed a chunk of hair, and, with it, pushed her toward the bowl. Seeing the dirty ring of toilet water near, she used every last bit of strength to push back her grime-smeared ass, which made his pleasure so complete he detonated his spunk-bomb inside her.

Gangbang Girl.

My dumb cunt let me rape her, video tape her taking two cumshots and getting cunt torn. She’s so dopey and unsexy sucking my cock. My whore let me slap my big cock against her, beat her with thick meat and she’d plead for me to be nice to her but I’d call her whore and jism on her dirty-whore face. I fucked her ass. She said her pussy was tired so I took her asshole. Slapped her fat ass-cheeks and watched them jiggle then pulled at the stretch marks, lighter than her caramel and cinnamon skin. I’ll sell those videos of her one-day. Or blackmail her into fucking me again so I can make her feel like a whore one last time. I spit on her and made her cry, then unzipped and slapped big dick onto her face like I would slap down sausage onto a cutting a board. Fuck you, whore, I said. Then shoved cock down her throat—gagging her, that stupid virgin-slut. She wants respect. Earn it with balls to the chin and cock head past the larynx. She never wanted sex. Bitch, drop to those knees like you will behind my back. I saw you next to the canal waving at that boatful of guys—eyes wide with gangbang, multiple cocks pounding your swollen cunt, your tits hard as plum pits because the anonymity does it for you yet to me you say be nice I’m your wife. No your not, whore.
            Not anymore. You stopped giving me sex after promising it to me so I started writing things in magic marker on your back secretly while you slept. I covered your back: bitch, slut, pig, whore, cunt, cumrag, cumpig, cocksucker, cumcatcher, sub, worthless slut, dumb bitch, mongoloid, cum target, cum receptacle, trollop, hussy, puta, chupadora, mamadora, (Spanish cocksucker curses). When I’d filled your back with insults I knew we were through. I love the thought that you discovered it one day getting into the shower, or even better that you never see found it but a co-worker’s eyes bulged when he watched your shirt creep up and expose whore written thickly in the small of your back.
            He went to get your supervisor and the supervisor also watched how your shirt revealed that black ink ‘whore’, instantly got hard, and made wisecracks about stuffing you. But this didn’t offend you. It was when your he asked you to his office and said isn’t there something you might do to earn a little more that prompted you to come home crying. You weren’t keen on blowing him—while he slouched in his office swivel chair, or bending over and taking it pleasure less, it was the casual attitude and the offhandedness that offended you—you thought a ménage had self-respect but adultery didn’t.
            Something wonderfully illicit, something decadent offered you something. But just being used for the selfish pleasure of a man, there was no point in that. You had a husband already with that attitude.
Now you are gone, you left that job, and you left me. You are stripping to support yourself. Your breasts have been augmented.
Now you blow your new boyfriend and let him cum on your face. You fuck two or three times a day. Me you never fucked more than once a day. And never on consecutive days. Strange. And I’m a good-looking guy. Now I have a girlfriend who’s a sad nymphomaniac with a Buddhist pussy. She fucked me nine times this Saturday.
            You blow strange guys to make enough cash. It’s hard to equal the luxury I had you living in. You could have been my whore but you wanted to be a good girl. Be nice to me you said. Now, whore, how does it feel dancing on “Salsa Sluts Night” against the cold pole? I was nice to you, you slattern trollop. What went wrong?
I should have invited that boatful of guys over and videotaped them one by one stretching that hole open and then covering you in multiple torrents of jism. Then you would be too embarrassed that the tape may come out, and instead of writing about you, I would be balls deep in that ass calling you my whore.


She was a virgin (I taught her to Blow)

She was a virgin when I met her. She said, “do anything to me except sex.” She was seventeen years old. I took her and leaned her against the wall. Her clothes were already in a heap on the floor. She was sitting on the bed with the window behind her. The sun was setting. I pulled out my cock and pushed it to her lips. Her mouth was closed. “Open,” I said.
She looked up at me.
I pushed it to her mouth, prying her lips apart with cockhead. She took the head in then made some kind of whine. It was a whine of surprise, of spit, or something like gag.
I pulled it back out of her mouth. “Good girl,” I said.
Then I stood up, my cock towering over her, and navigated my balls to her face. I rubbed them all over her face. “Lick them,” I commanded.
At first there was no reaction. I held onto the wall for support. Then her tongue was on them. After she’d really soaked them I pulled away and started to slap her face with my cock.
“Open wide again.”
She complied and again I put my cock in. But this time not just the head. I pushed until she made a retching sound and pushed me back by the thighs. I grabbed her head, remember she was leaning back with no escape, and continued to push it in and out up until that retching sound. Tears streamed down from the corner of her eyes, following the canyon of the side of her little nose.
That’s where I wanted to see my cum.
I fucked her face for a while, but the retching and whining got louder. She pulled away and turned to the side violently. She took a deep breath, and coughed. I turned her back to face me. “Come her you fucking slut,” I said. I beat her cheeks with cock, it was heavy against her delicate face. Her lips were big, so they took the cock slapping as well.
“Don’t,” she said.
“Quiet, whore,” I said. “Tell me you’re my whore.”
“I’m your whore.”
That was easy. I loved this girl, this whore, this virgin, my wife.
I jerked off while holding cock over her, owning her, doing whatever I wanted to her salted face.
“Don’t put it on my face.”
“But that’s the point. You’re my whore, shut up and be a slut.”
She was quiet.
I had her. I jerked off, nearing orgasm. “Who are you?” I said. “Are you my whore?”
“No. I’m your wife.”
She tried to move away but I held her there, in front of my cock. She squirmed desperately, trying to get out of the way. I slapped her with the back of my hand.
“No you aren’t, bitch.”
My cum started in a blast, cream right onto her right eye. Her chest heaved. I think she was crying, or just in shock. “Open your mouth, stick out your tongue.”
She did as told to my surprise and I coated her tongue and gums with hot cream. She looked hot with cum in her eye and on her lips and tongue. Really hot.
She did say do whatever you want beside sex.


Gangbang Girl (the response)

There was a painting that I thought was altogether backwards. It had a forest in muted colors with a laptop computer in front of it sort of floating. In the screen was the same forest but in vivid colors. I thought the computer should have been the muted colors, not nearly as vivid as real life. But I think that technology is another thing that dims our senses whereas this Korean painter, technology amped, argued the contrary.

I am the gangbang girl, my husband is right. I would say ex but we are still married and the truth is when I am drunk late at night I still think of his cock. It was real big. Forgive me because my English is not so good. I was born in Guatemala and moved here when I met him. He was everything to me. I came here for him. Now he has left but I am still here. I came from a good home. He brought me here and now I cannot go home. They will laugh at me. My family is very conservative—divorce is very serious.

I did look at that boatful of guys. My husband’s right. They were hot. I found I really like American men. They are so big and muscled. Of course it was just a wave. But things at the college where I learned English were not always so innocent.

One night two guys put a toilet seat over my head, called me a human toilet and each came on my face. I expected them to do it again and begged them to but they wouldn’t. They said they got all they wanted the first time. They were now looking for new girls, did I know any?

I did look dopey on my husband’s movies. He was right. But he still hurt my feelings. I tried to be a whore for him but he wouldn’t buy me chocolate the next day. I at least wanted a card. Something to show he cared and was appreciative of the extra effort. His cock was heavy, it hurt when it slapped against my face.




The two guys at the University offered me some money to put the toilet over my head. One rolled tape while the other pushed his penis into my mouth while holding my head. They taught me that this was called skull fucking. Interesting, isn’t it? A conservative married Catholic woman getting skull fucked and drooling all over herself in the dirty bathroom of a University. I don’t understand why the bathrooms weren’t cleaner. We paid a lot of money to attend. And if you are wondering why I would let two guys I didn’t really know do that considering my background it’s simple. I wanted to prove that I was in control of my smutification. If that’s what my husband wanted me to be for him that’s what I would be but the ultimate insult would be that I wouldn’t be that with him. He thinks he was the first to fuck my ass, he wasn’t. And they were much rougher with me than anything he ever did to me. One time on camera I took a huge dildo in the ass while sucking a guy off.

(C) 2006 by Moctezuma Johnson

=========================
The Erotic Psycho-Thriller by the King of Hardcore Smut
Thanks for reading. Discover more incredible Literary Porn including The Book of Real & Imaginary Girlfriends, Poisonous Apples, Triangulum Stain (Free at Amazon, B&N, and iBooks), and the Chonicles of Humiliation Backfired Series.  
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