BigJimsWornOutTires
Kraken
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She swept her tongue along the firm carriage of that explosive semen apparatus—his fingers twine through her bright crimson hair as his hand urged her head down. The carriage then plumped into her mouth and drove into the back of her throat. A gagging reflex warned that it didn't belong. Her eyes welled with liquid. She demurred, recoiling as the burst ejected.
Just another day for Molly the Jolly Squirting Cougar. Although she's not your typical milf. She carried a black notebook labeled, Bodycount. She kept score and was quite obsessive about it. You were to try to get that book from her's like negotiating roadkill from a vulture, not going to happen without a struggle. It wasn't just a unique trophy collection of wrecked penises but easy guilt-free screws along the timeline.
She's a time-traveling whore.
His hands embraced her pale white face while locking her head in position as her mouth filled with his parasites. She could feel them slither down her throat as she succumbed with a swallow. He exhaled a gratifying grunt though he didn't discern she was finishing at the exact moment on his buddy's penis—who was seven inches deep inside her moist crevice from behind.
Molly the Jolly Squirting Cougar, the time-traveling whore, was trying to get back to the future. Not that old-pedo one with the DeLorean. But her back to the future. And for the time continuum to allow that spurt, she'll need a full tank of fuel.
His buddy kept thrusting as two more men positioned themselves around that dirty time-traveling whore. She grasped a penis as the other pushed the depleted guy aside and penetrated those dick-sucking lips of hers.
Molly the Jolly Squirting Cougar had to get back to the year 2184. Post-feminine raping robots era. So she'll need a full tank in her belly. It's the fuel that jackhammers a rip into the fabric of time. But little did she know, it wasn't the semen but her belly. The Belly of the Time Traveling Whore. Eh?
"I'm cumming," the buddy said, beginning to ejaculate as Molly promptly slid the dick out of her mouth, turned towards him, and leaned forward to capture those seeds. Her tongue stretched out; he immediately grabbed her head and shoved her mouth around his penis.
Molly had dicks all around her. The derision in that room cinched to the smell of body odor, and shit would offend a decent woman. But Molly adapted to that redolence of concupiscence. Five men total was accommodating to get her back to the future. Although they thought she was just your typical cock-hungry slut with a wild imagination, it didn't matter to Molly the Jolly Squirting Cougar. "Like, oh my gad! What...ever." Molly would say eloquently without thought.
In 2099, robots will take over the habitual planets. They imprison the females on Mars and keep the men on Earth to rape. However, most of those guys consider that Sweet! That process continued until the females of Mars died from clamming themselves to death during the following sixty years without spawning. Like how the fuck are two vaginas going to reproduce anyway, right? The joke was on them. But one did survive that gamey wet genocide. Molly.
She was disturbingly happy all the time. Even during sex, she would snicker and giggle when a man was inside. And as you can imagine, not all guys were cool about that.
During a journey of the old west era, she'd met a gunslinger by the name of Benjamine 'I'm Going to Kill You' Williams. Although that name was challenging for people's lips, folks even suggested that he shorten the name up, but Benny was a simple-minded slick salesman that felt the name was good for business. Unfortunately, his sales pitch always concluded the same endgame. Death.
He would sell people items they owned. "How much money you want for your boots?" Once, he asked an elderly, withered farmer at a saloon.
"I ain't selling my boots, but if I was too...three greenbacks."
"Okkie dookie, smokey, pay up!" He insisted on the senior for payment that confused the older man.
"Boy, why would I pay YOU currency for my own boots?"
"Wrong answer, he-haw!" He emptied his barrel into the old gent, then, as a negroe would do, slipped his boots off and shuffled through his urine-stench pockets for money.
Later that evening, he met Molly outside near the horse parking lot. She swiftly charmed him, and they went across the street and got a room for nasty gross sex. But he had a short fuse, as you can imagine. She giggled when he pushed deeper. He thought she was laughing at his little pecker. Poor Molly. He beat her to a bloody pulp. Blackened her eyes and bruised her all over—left her for dead.
After that woman-beating micropenis event, Molly tromped down the creaky wooden staircase adding a few new injuries. Finally, she reached the road and crawled around that old dark western town, hoping to seduce a desperate drunk. Abruptly, a quarrel of noise coming from the saloon alerted her. A man stumbled out, screaming and cussing, "You son bitches! That fucking whore stolen my nuggets!" Several rough fellers pushed him onto the muddy road. Molly knew this was her only chance for a shot.
She squirmed to his vicinity and strived her head up. "I'm your fucking whore," she said and tried to wink her bruised, swollen eye.
"What the good golly molly happened to you?"
"I, um, I fell off a horse outside of town."
"You look like a beaten-up mudshark who been ravaged by those gaddam Indians!" He said, then spat some nasty brown mucus to the side.
"I wish. If he had cum, I wouldn't be here."
"What the huckleberry pie you talking about, little lady?"
"I'll suck your dick for free."
"Hehaw!" He squabbled his overalls off as Molly extended her head up, mouth opened wide. He slid inside there like a professional porn star. She sucked, fondled his balls, sucked some more, gagged, and choked on it. Finally, he came. She swallowed the load, and off she went back to the future.
After Molly recovered several weeks later, she was determined to balance the scale of vengeance. So she went back in time before Bennie's conception and seduced his would-be mother into lesbian sex. Then encouraged feminism—just to be a bitch about it. He was never born. She obliviated him out of existence. That mother, though, was Pearl Hart. She would later kick off the feminist movement that would trigger homosexuality's rise and women's suffrage.
But Molly learned from that experience not to laugh and giggle when a man's inside her. Though now and then, you could see a smirk on her face during sex.
"Okay, I think this should do," sharply Molly said as she cleared her glossy, sticky lips finishing off the last batch. "My belly says it's time to McFly." She gestured the men back away as she squatted to the floor like a subhuman would do, relieving itself in a public shithole in India. She began massaging her clit while bobbing.
"What...the...fuck," one of the guys said. Shocked at what he was witnessing—a naked woman twerking the ground as if there was a dildo with suction cupping it.
Suddenly, she yelped, "UUGGH, YEEAH!" then squirts back to the future.
She arrived in the year 2184. But something was unusual as she observed her apartment. The furniture had been shifted; the usual mess tidied up. Then, she hears a noise coming from her bedroom, its door closed. She nimble to the kitchen seized a knife from a block, slowly crept to the bedroom, and opened the door. "Ugh. Molly, right?" A 6 foot 5 muscular Chad stands in front of her bed. Her eyes locked in on the conspicuous contour along his leg.
"Like, oh my gad! Wa-what are you doing inside my apartment that's been rearranged and cleaned up?" She asked the strange feller with mussed brown hair though his tight clothes scrupulously kempt, revealing every muscle in his body. It was as if he needed other guys to know how toxic a mog he was. Molly liked what she saw as she adjusted her askew buttoned blouse and tucked loose bangs under her ear.
"Ugh. I'm OCD." He said while regarding her lithe figure, raising an eyebrow. "I've heard quite the stories about you."
"Oh my gad," She drawled, her face blushed, observing his eyes undress her. And by instinct, she unfastened the top button of her blouse and proceeded down.
"Ugh, we don't have time for that." He rolled his eyes and gestured her to stop acting like a whore. He turned his back and began to tell a story as if it would be a very long and time-consuming one. But he withdrew from uttering a word and sighed. "Ugh." He looks down at the bed. "I have to lay down for a second." He falls onto it and passes out.
Confusion whirled inside her dull head. Who is this big muscular guy wheeling a big dick? She pondered, scanned the room, ensuring no one else was there. She glanced back, gawking at his body. She proceeds to undress anyway.
Hours later, awakening, he feels Molly's head on his chest. Her leg crossed over his. Ugh. Fuckmuffins. She took advantage of me. And so he thought to himself and gently lifted her head; it awakened her.
"Oh, hi."
"Molly, what the fuck?" said as he sat up. "I would've put out without you having to assault me like that sexually."
She chuckled and replied, "Funny, but no. This is my bed. I sleep in the nude."
"Ugh. Then why are my clothes off?"
She lowered her head in shame and brooded, "I'm a whore."
As they got dressed, Molly couldn't help bend over ahead of him, causing her vagina to brush against his knee. He shook his head in disappointment, asked, "So how did you become this cock craving whore anyway?"
"Excuse me? And not to change the subject, but for the reader's concern, what's your name?" She inquired as she slipped her whore-panties on.
"Ugh. Looksmax knows."
"Oooooh kay, and that is?"
"Big Jim's Worn Out Tire Sale."
"All right then! That sounds like a common name. So to answer your question, I wasn't always like this." She dons the last of her clothing—a white-silky mini skirt.
"Uh-huh. But you're from the land of clammers. Why the sudden desire for men, and like, how was that even possible on a pussy planet?"
"Well, it was kinda weird how it happened," she walked to the window beside the bed and straightened the curtains, continuing, "I wasn't always a time-traveler, you know." Then, she revolved and faced him. "This big guy who wore a mask was the one that persuaded me to try the dick." Her eyes pan down to his crotch then back to his eyes.
"Ugh. You don't say." Suspiciously, he uttered—his eyes sway side to side.
"Yup. And because of being with him caused this time-traveling squirt with me."
"Uh-huh." Big Jim realized he might be this feller. "This big guy, he didn't happen to have a huge dick, uh?"
"Oh, my gad! Are you like inside my head? Yes, he did. How did you know that?" At that moment, he understood what he had to do. If not, a paradox erection would cause a significant distortion in the timeline. "Oh, and the last time I saw him, he left and never came back but left something." She walked to a door, opened and went inside the closet, shuffled around.
She manifested moments later with a creepy full-head mask and hands it to him.
"Okay," he fiddles with it. "Um, I have to use the restroom." She points to a door. He proceeds there and goes inside and shuts it. Freaky-deeky, he says to himself aloud, examining the mask and enrobes it. He views himself in the mirror. Shocka-shocka-boom-boom. He says to his reflection. Ugh, here we go! He begins punching himself in the head like an autistic that opens a portal into the timestream.
A naked woman's silhouette hovered in the distance in the center of the bright white vortex. Big Jim clears his throat and announces in a solemn, brawny tone, "I am Halo of the Cosmos Baron. Paradox from the highborn Abyss. I invoke my privilege for thy seek a time hump. Hear me, hear me, I command thy guide."
The naked woman sighed and returned, "Will you please stop doing that? It gets annoying after a while, Jim. You don't have to speak anything. Just open it, and the rest will be taken care of."
"Ugh."
And off he went!
He arrived in 2162 and opened the bathroom door; two women sat on a sofa, startled by the unwelcomed event. "Oh, my gad, it's a man!" One shouted as he noticed her younger resemblance of Molly.
They blanched at the masked man, appalled that it was a man—alien to them. Only pictures and videos could they see such a rarity.
The robots control the ships and rockets and never transport a male to Mars. They were protecting the females from the violence of men. Though one might ask, why not just kill them all? Because they were programmed to obey a strict rule: Never kill a human. But the engineers underestimated artificial intelligence and didn't anticipate the robots would evolve so quickly into androids. And it was man's fault that led to the genocide. Sexbots. But an imitation of a woman and her fuckholes weren't enough. Man desired them to feel degraded and less superior. They needed them to feel shame and guilt. But something much more disturbing. Man wanted the sexbots to say no and fear them. Disturbed men fancied to chase and rape them. So the programmers gave them free will. The tables turned. The androids ravaged the men and transported the women to Mars for safekeeping. But they were programmed by woke liberals who believed gender didn't matter. The machines thought women could continue to multiply, men as well. They were wrong. Obviously!
An author interrupts the story and screams in a scratchy fraudulent Jewish tone, as if mocking the people with his humous white supremacy character, "TO BE CONTINUE!"
Just another day for Molly the Jolly Squirting Cougar. Although she's not your typical milf. She carried a black notebook labeled, Bodycount. She kept score and was quite obsessive about it. You were to try to get that book from her's like negotiating roadkill from a vulture, not going to happen without a struggle. It wasn't just a unique trophy collection of wrecked penises but easy guilt-free screws along the timeline.
She's a time-traveling whore.
His hands embraced her pale white face while locking her head in position as her mouth filled with his parasites. She could feel them slither down her throat as she succumbed with a swallow. He exhaled a gratifying grunt though he didn't discern she was finishing at the exact moment on his buddy's penis—who was seven inches deep inside her moist crevice from behind.
Molly the Jolly Squirting Cougar, the time-traveling whore, was trying to get back to the future. Not that old-pedo one with the DeLorean. But her back to the future. And for the time continuum to allow that spurt, she'll need a full tank of fuel.
His buddy kept thrusting as two more men positioned themselves around that dirty time-traveling whore. She grasped a penis as the other pushed the depleted guy aside and penetrated those dick-sucking lips of hers.
Molly the Jolly Squirting Cougar had to get back to the year 2184. Post-feminine raping robots era. So she'll need a full tank in her belly. It's the fuel that jackhammers a rip into the fabric of time. But little did she know, it wasn't the semen but her belly. The Belly of the Time Traveling Whore. Eh?
"I'm cumming," the buddy said, beginning to ejaculate as Molly promptly slid the dick out of her mouth, turned towards him, and leaned forward to capture those seeds. Her tongue stretched out; he immediately grabbed her head and shoved her mouth around his penis.
Molly had dicks all around her. The derision in that room cinched to the smell of body odor, and shit would offend a decent woman. But Molly adapted to that redolence of concupiscence. Five men total was accommodating to get her back to the future. Although they thought she was just your typical cock-hungry slut with a wild imagination, it didn't matter to Molly the Jolly Squirting Cougar. "Like, oh my gad! What...ever." Molly would say eloquently without thought.
In 2099, robots will take over the habitual planets. They imprison the females on Mars and keep the men on Earth to rape. However, most of those guys consider that Sweet! That process continued until the females of Mars died from clamming themselves to death during the following sixty years without spawning. Like how the fuck are two vaginas going to reproduce anyway, right? The joke was on them. But one did survive that gamey wet genocide. Molly.
She was disturbingly happy all the time. Even during sex, she would snicker and giggle when a man was inside. And as you can imagine, not all guys were cool about that.
During a journey of the old west era, she'd met a gunslinger by the name of Benjamine 'I'm Going to Kill You' Williams. Although that name was challenging for people's lips, folks even suggested that he shorten the name up, but Benny was a simple-minded slick salesman that felt the name was good for business. Unfortunately, his sales pitch always concluded the same endgame. Death.
He would sell people items they owned. "How much money you want for your boots?" Once, he asked an elderly, withered farmer at a saloon.
"I ain't selling my boots, but if I was too...three greenbacks."
"Okkie dookie, smokey, pay up!" He insisted on the senior for payment that confused the older man.
"Boy, why would I pay YOU currency for my own boots?"
"Wrong answer, he-haw!" He emptied his barrel into the old gent, then, as a negroe would do, slipped his boots off and shuffled through his urine-stench pockets for money.
Later that evening, he met Molly outside near the horse parking lot. She swiftly charmed him, and they went across the street and got a room for nasty gross sex. But he had a short fuse, as you can imagine. She giggled when he pushed deeper. He thought she was laughing at his little pecker. Poor Molly. He beat her to a bloody pulp. Blackened her eyes and bruised her all over—left her for dead.
After that woman-beating micropenis event, Molly tromped down the creaky wooden staircase adding a few new injuries. Finally, she reached the road and crawled around that old dark western town, hoping to seduce a desperate drunk. Abruptly, a quarrel of noise coming from the saloon alerted her. A man stumbled out, screaming and cussing, "You son bitches! That fucking whore stolen my nuggets!" Several rough fellers pushed him onto the muddy road. Molly knew this was her only chance for a shot.
She squirmed to his vicinity and strived her head up. "I'm your fucking whore," she said and tried to wink her bruised, swollen eye.
"What the good golly molly happened to you?"
"I, um, I fell off a horse outside of town."
"You look like a beaten-up mudshark who been ravaged by those gaddam Indians!" He said, then spat some nasty brown mucus to the side.
"I wish. If he had cum, I wouldn't be here."
"What the huckleberry pie you talking about, little lady?"
"I'll suck your dick for free."
"Hehaw!" He squabbled his overalls off as Molly extended her head up, mouth opened wide. He slid inside there like a professional porn star. She sucked, fondled his balls, sucked some more, gagged, and choked on it. Finally, he came. She swallowed the load, and off she went back to the future.
After Molly recovered several weeks later, she was determined to balance the scale of vengeance. So she went back in time before Bennie's conception and seduced his would-be mother into lesbian sex. Then encouraged feminism—just to be a bitch about it. He was never born. She obliviated him out of existence. That mother, though, was Pearl Hart. She would later kick off the feminist movement that would trigger homosexuality's rise and women's suffrage.
But Molly learned from that experience not to laugh and giggle when a man's inside her. Though now and then, you could see a smirk on her face during sex.
"Okay, I think this should do," sharply Molly said as she cleared her glossy, sticky lips finishing off the last batch. "My belly says it's time to McFly." She gestured the men back away as she squatted to the floor like a subhuman would do, relieving itself in a public shithole in India. She began massaging her clit while bobbing.
"What...the...fuck," one of the guys said. Shocked at what he was witnessing—a naked woman twerking the ground as if there was a dildo with suction cupping it.
Suddenly, she yelped, "UUGGH, YEEAH!" then squirts back to the future.
She arrived in the year 2184. But something was unusual as she observed her apartment. The furniture had been shifted; the usual mess tidied up. Then, she hears a noise coming from her bedroom, its door closed. She nimble to the kitchen seized a knife from a block, slowly crept to the bedroom, and opened the door. "Ugh. Molly, right?" A 6 foot 5 muscular Chad stands in front of her bed. Her eyes locked in on the conspicuous contour along his leg.
"Like, oh my gad! Wa-what are you doing inside my apartment that's been rearranged and cleaned up?" She asked the strange feller with mussed brown hair though his tight clothes scrupulously kempt, revealing every muscle in his body. It was as if he needed other guys to know how toxic a mog he was. Molly liked what she saw as she adjusted her askew buttoned blouse and tucked loose bangs under her ear.
"Ugh. I'm OCD." He said while regarding her lithe figure, raising an eyebrow. "I've heard quite the stories about you."
"Oh my gad," She drawled, her face blushed, observing his eyes undress her. And by instinct, she unfastened the top button of her blouse and proceeded down.
"Ugh, we don't have time for that." He rolled his eyes and gestured her to stop acting like a whore. He turned his back and began to tell a story as if it would be a very long and time-consuming one. But he withdrew from uttering a word and sighed. "Ugh." He looks down at the bed. "I have to lay down for a second." He falls onto it and passes out.
Confusion whirled inside her dull head. Who is this big muscular guy wheeling a big dick? She pondered, scanned the room, ensuring no one else was there. She glanced back, gawking at his body. She proceeds to undress anyway.
Hours later, awakening, he feels Molly's head on his chest. Her leg crossed over his. Ugh. Fuckmuffins. She took advantage of me. And so he thought to himself and gently lifted her head; it awakened her.
"Oh, hi."
"Molly, what the fuck?" said as he sat up. "I would've put out without you having to assault me like that sexually."
She chuckled and replied, "Funny, but no. This is my bed. I sleep in the nude."
"Ugh. Then why are my clothes off?"
She lowered her head in shame and brooded, "I'm a whore."
As they got dressed, Molly couldn't help bend over ahead of him, causing her vagina to brush against his knee. He shook his head in disappointment, asked, "So how did you become this cock craving whore anyway?"
"Excuse me? And not to change the subject, but for the reader's concern, what's your name?" She inquired as she slipped her whore-panties on.
"Ugh. Looksmax knows."
"Oooooh kay, and that is?"
"Big Jim's Worn Out Tire Sale."
"All right then! That sounds like a common name. So to answer your question, I wasn't always like this." She dons the last of her clothing—a white-silky mini skirt.
"Uh-huh. But you're from the land of clammers. Why the sudden desire for men, and like, how was that even possible on a pussy planet?"
"Well, it was kinda weird how it happened," she walked to the window beside the bed and straightened the curtains, continuing, "I wasn't always a time-traveler, you know." Then, she revolved and faced him. "This big guy who wore a mask was the one that persuaded me to try the dick." Her eyes pan down to his crotch then back to his eyes.
"Ugh. You don't say." Suspiciously, he uttered—his eyes sway side to side.
"Yup. And because of being with him caused this time-traveling squirt with me."
"Uh-huh." Big Jim realized he might be this feller. "This big guy, he didn't happen to have a huge dick, uh?"
"Oh, my gad! Are you like inside my head? Yes, he did. How did you know that?" At that moment, he understood what he had to do. If not, a paradox erection would cause a significant distortion in the timeline. "Oh, and the last time I saw him, he left and never came back but left something." She walked to a door, opened and went inside the closet, shuffled around.
She manifested moments later with a creepy full-head mask and hands it to him.
"Okay," he fiddles with it. "Um, I have to use the restroom." She points to a door. He proceeds there and goes inside and shuts it. Freaky-deeky, he says to himself aloud, examining the mask and enrobes it. He views himself in the mirror. Shocka-shocka-boom-boom. He says to his reflection. Ugh, here we go! He begins punching himself in the head like an autistic that opens a portal into the timestream.
A naked woman's silhouette hovered in the distance in the center of the bright white vortex. Big Jim clears his throat and announces in a solemn, brawny tone, "I am Halo of the Cosmos Baron. Paradox from the highborn Abyss. I invoke my privilege for thy seek a time hump. Hear me, hear me, I command thy guide."
The naked woman sighed and returned, "Will you please stop doing that? It gets annoying after a while, Jim. You don't have to speak anything. Just open it, and the rest will be taken care of."
"Ugh."
And off he went!
He arrived in 2162 and opened the bathroom door; two women sat on a sofa, startled by the unwelcomed event. "Oh, my gad, it's a man!" One shouted as he noticed her younger resemblance of Molly.
They blanched at the masked man, appalled that it was a man—alien to them. Only pictures and videos could they see such a rarity.
The robots control the ships and rockets and never transport a male to Mars. They were protecting the females from the violence of men. Though one might ask, why not just kill them all? Because they were programmed to obey a strict rule: Never kill a human. But the engineers underestimated artificial intelligence and didn't anticipate the robots would evolve so quickly into androids. And it was man's fault that led to the genocide. Sexbots. But an imitation of a woman and her fuckholes weren't enough. Man desired them to feel degraded and less superior. They needed them to feel shame and guilt. But something much more disturbing. Man wanted the sexbots to say no and fear them. Disturbed men fancied to chase and rape them. So the programmers gave them free will. The tables turned. The androids ravaged the men and transported the women to Mars for safekeeping. But they were programmed by woke liberals who believed gender didn't matter. The machines thought women could continue to multiply, men as well. They were wrong. Obviously!
An author interrupts the story and screams in a scratchy fraudulent Jewish tone, as if mocking the people with his humous white supremacy character, "TO BE CONTINUE!"
