BigJimsWornOutTires
Kraken
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I see her nude body passed out on the bed with men surrounded; some naked, some donning their clothes; one fully dressed. The smell of shit and sweat hangs low in the air. Glock N' Clams, her manager, called minutes prior to come and get her. Though that's sugarcoating the context of that conversation. In his own words, "Come pick the whore up."
Ugh. Breaks my heart, I tell you. I did everything I could for her. But this is what she chooses to do. Typical liberal. Though I'm a Republican. Don't ask. It's a crazy world.
For some odd reason, I'm here. As if I still care. And there she is. Legs spread open. Passed out drunk. Ugh. "Let's go!" I shout to her. She doesn't move. I walk over to the bed and kick it. "Move it!" Her head turns in my direction. Bloodshot eyes revealed. Then by natural instinct, her mouth opens wide. Ugh. I think back to when I married her. What the fuck was I thinking? I pondered. Oh, right, midlife crisis and bipolar. Shit happens.
We met in a club down in Soho. The original one. Not that new joint owned by Jews. Ugh. The only place that served champagne that tasted like a shitty cherry cola. I was visiting London at the time trying to find myself. And there she was. Treading and swinging on the dance floor. Though later I found out she was just drunk trying to find her way to the restroom. It appeared as if she was dancing some new technique.
She noticed me and chose to torture her bladder and come talk. When she approached, stumbling, I was ready to dodge her fall. I'm not catching that woman. Fuck no. But the strangest thing happened. It was what she said. "Umm - heeyyy - wanna....wanna," she had trouble there with her words...probably because of the brownness in her tone. And the tons of liquor. "...wanna...wanna....dance! With meeee?"
"Ugh. Sure," I said. But to be honest, I'd just smoked a bowl before coming in and I'm a comical kind of guy. So I wanted to see this fucking drunk dance around for my humor. I'm sick. Don't judge me.
Back then I'd neglected my health. Had been through a nasty divorce in the states. So I wasn't the most physical guy. Skinny little fucker. And when that woman grabbed me! UGH! Nearly broke my spine. I tried wrestling the beast woman off, but she held tight! So tight, I began having feelings for her. Ugh. So we wrestle-danced all night and those fucking lights above us nearly blinded me. I couldn't see anymore! So we decided to go sit at a table - get to know each other a little more if you know what I mean. She hunkers down and pulled me onto her lap. I felt like a man-baby. I liked it! What a woman!
Then it happened. Ugh. It was the way she whispered that invitation into my ears. I still recall it to this very day. "Dear boy, won't you come home with me?"
I gazed into her eyes and replied, "I'm a grown fucking man, woman! What the fuck are you talking about! Boy?" She giggled then laughed hysterically! And so I was about to run for it until she grabbed my penis. Ugh. I'm a sucker for romance stories. I fell in love at that point.
Later that evening, we did some serious fucking! She was pretty kinky too about it. She kept telling me, "Dear boy, I'm gonna make you a man." Ugh. Whatever works for you, beast-woman. I thought to myself during that perverted cosplay. And when we finally got exhausted, she told me some fucked up things she's been doing late at night in London. She would wander around Clapham Junction alone in a mini skirt and tube top hunting down drunk men to rape. Ugh. I kinda felt sorry for her.
"You don't need to rape other men anymore," I said as I held her monstrous hands. "Let me be that sexual assault victim." She smiled and a tear welled in her eye.
"You...you.....ah...I....I like yoooou." She then passed out.
I moved back to the states with her and got married. But she got worst. One penis wasn't enough. So I figured, if you're gonna be a whore, let me profit from it. And she accepted. Later, I hooked up with a pimp, thus her manager today, and we got her some gangbang jobs. She was pleased.
And happy.
But most of all, I was happy. That beast-vagina's like a cash register for the rich weirdos and rappers. Black guys pay the best. Ugh.
Now if you're wondering why haven't I mentioned her name, then you'll have to read the prologue to this series. Or just listen to the song below:
PART ONE:
looksmax.org
Ugh. Breaks my heart, I tell you. I did everything I could for her. But this is what she chooses to do. Typical liberal. Though I'm a Republican. Don't ask. It's a crazy world.
For some odd reason, I'm here. As if I still care. And there she is. Legs spread open. Passed out drunk. Ugh. "Let's go!" I shout to her. She doesn't move. I walk over to the bed and kick it. "Move it!" Her head turns in my direction. Bloodshot eyes revealed. Then by natural instinct, her mouth opens wide. Ugh. I think back to when I married her. What the fuck was I thinking? I pondered. Oh, right, midlife crisis and bipolar. Shit happens.
We met in a club down in Soho. The original one. Not that new joint owned by Jews. Ugh. The only place that served champagne that tasted like a shitty cherry cola. I was visiting London at the time trying to find myself. And there she was. Treading and swinging on the dance floor. Though later I found out she was just drunk trying to find her way to the restroom. It appeared as if she was dancing some new technique.
She noticed me and chose to torture her bladder and come talk. When she approached, stumbling, I was ready to dodge her fall. I'm not catching that woman. Fuck no. But the strangest thing happened. It was what she said. "Umm - heeyyy - wanna....wanna," she had trouble there with her words...probably because of the brownness in her tone. And the tons of liquor. "...wanna...wanna....dance! With meeee?"
"Ugh. Sure," I said. But to be honest, I'd just smoked a bowl before coming in and I'm a comical kind of guy. So I wanted to see this fucking drunk dance around for my humor. I'm sick. Don't judge me.
Back then I'd neglected my health. Had been through a nasty divorce in the states. So I wasn't the most physical guy. Skinny little fucker. And when that woman grabbed me! UGH! Nearly broke my spine. I tried wrestling the beast woman off, but she held tight! So tight, I began having feelings for her. Ugh. So we wrestle-danced all night and those fucking lights above us nearly blinded me. I couldn't see anymore! So we decided to go sit at a table - get to know each other a little more if you know what I mean. She hunkers down and pulled me onto her lap. I felt like a man-baby. I liked it! What a woman!
Then it happened. Ugh. It was the way she whispered that invitation into my ears. I still recall it to this very day. "Dear boy, won't you come home with me?"
I gazed into her eyes and replied, "I'm a grown fucking man, woman! What the fuck are you talking about! Boy?" She giggled then laughed hysterically! And so I was about to run for it until she grabbed my penis. Ugh. I'm a sucker for romance stories. I fell in love at that point.
Later that evening, we did some serious fucking! She was pretty kinky too about it. She kept telling me, "Dear boy, I'm gonna make you a man." Ugh. Whatever works for you, beast-woman. I thought to myself during that perverted cosplay. And when we finally got exhausted, she told me some fucked up things she's been doing late at night in London. She would wander around Clapham Junction alone in a mini skirt and tube top hunting down drunk men to rape. Ugh. I kinda felt sorry for her.
"You don't need to rape other men anymore," I said as I held her monstrous hands. "Let me be that sexual assault victim." She smiled and a tear welled in her eye.
"You...you.....ah...I....I like yoooou." She then passed out.
I moved back to the states with her and got married. But she got worst. One penis wasn't enough. So I figured, if you're gonna be a whore, let me profit from it. And she accepted. Later, I hooked up with a pimp, thus her manager today, and we got her some gangbang jobs. She was pleased.
And happy.
But most of all, I was happy. That beast-vagina's like a cash register for the rich weirdos and rappers. Black guys pay the best. Ugh.
Now if you're wondering why haven't I mentioned her name, then you'll have to read the prologue to this series. Or just listen to the song below:
PART ONE:
The Thirsty Feminoid - A story about triumph and love
It was more than a craving for a salty beverage that ached her taste buds. Intoxication brewed in the night air, and she sensed it. As she prowled through the Quarters, rays of neon lights lit her path, reflecting off her costume jewelry and woven clutch bag. The scent of bum urine and reeking...
looksmax.org
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But everyone fucked Lola. Ofc, I did. And with others. Until I got bored. But she wanted to keep fucking. So I pimped her out. Good for me, good for her, good for the fuckers. Everyone wins in the end.
