Juicy Piece

The seething passions that lurk within many individuals are often hidden beneath a veneer of normalcy, exposed only under extremely tempting conditions.

The woman who, after a few drinks at a party, takes on all corners, male and female alike. The man who, during a strip show at a stag party, climbs up on stage with the girl and performs with her in front of his friends. The couple who surreptitiously join the neighborhood mate swappers.

Eugenia Saunders is one of these outwardly normal people. But when she begins a new job, she also discovers depths of depravity she previously would never have considered herself capable of. And so she tries at first to deny her real self, seeking refuge behind other facades, but ultimately failing.

JUICY PIECE — a fictional story about a society that refuses to face many of its real problems.


The reflection of Madame Fellatio of Honey Pot magazine (Do-you-need-advice-on-your-sex-life? Are-you-horny? Got-something-kinky-you-want-to-share? Write-to-Madame-Fellatio-and-she-will-help-you) stared at me from the electric coffee pot as I sat at my desk. The shiny metal cylinder beamed Madame Fellatio’s perplexed facial expression. I looked at it for almost five minutes before I noticed how severely the anxiety showed on her face.

The lines creasing her face concerned me. A young woman only 25 years old shouldn’t carry such an obvious burden in the expression on her face. The problems of her job were glaringly obvious in the troubled mask she wore. The frustration was building day by day, and her normally pretty face was marred by the lines more and more frequently.

Looking at her reflection in the coffee pot, I wondered how long it would take for the lines to become permanent, indelible souvenirs of the frustration of the job, the awesome responsibility of being Madame Fellatio.

Increasingly, when my brain came to a deadening halt and I couldn’t coax a word out of my typewriter, I sat and stared at Madame Fellatio’s troubled face. I would become so mesmerized with the daily evidence of the frustration of her occupation that her identity seemed to be totally her own, as if she were not a creation of Melville Shark, the money-grubbing publisher and editor of Honey Pot magazine, but a kind of patron saint for all the people in the world who were hung up on sex, her existence fueled by the sex problems of others, a freaky legion who depended on her to ease their guilt and shame.

“Hey, Madame Fellatio,” I could hear Shark’s crass voice slithering the way it did over my shoulder, the voice I imagined a snake would have if one could talk. “Time to get cracking. We’ve got a deadline to meet.”

I looked at her face for a reaction to Shark’s command, but it remained frozen in the shiny metal of the coffee pot, failing to respond to his call for action. I wondered how long she could ignore Shark, who was notorious for his losses of temper and sharp tongue whenever things didn’t go his way.

Although my back was to Shark, I knew his face was turning red and the spit was bubbling around the corners of the thin slit of his mouth as he got ready to cut loose with a sarcastic stream of abuse. My eyes remained trained on the reflection of Madame Fellatio, fascinated by what her reaction to Shark would ultimately be. I wondered how long she could take it — the letters, the job, the deadlines, Shark screaming at her.

“You dumb cunt!” he exploded from somewhere behind me. “I can put you back in the unemployment line where I found you!”

Her face showed nothing as he raged. It was only when her reflection was joined by his purple face in the cylindrical mirror of the coffee pot that she showed any reaction. She looked as though she had just smelled something bad.

I could have gone on watching the drama unfolding on the silver screen of the coffee pot indefinitely, I suppose, reacting to it as though I were sitting out in the audience, unseen by either of the players. However, Shark did not permit that to happen, and brought me to my senses by screaming my name.

“MI right, I’m warning you, Eugenia,” he bellowed, “unless you’ve got that column on my desk by 3:00, then you’re out on your ass! There was a Madame Fellatio before I hired you, and there’re plenty more living on tuna fish sandwiches who’d do anything for a weekly paychecks.”

As I heard his footsteps clatter out of the room, the mask of Madame Fellatio dissolved, and for the first time I saw myself, Eugenia Saunders, looking at me from the coffee pot. I realized that I had been watching myself again — spying on myself like I was two separate people — instead of doing my work.

That was the strangest part of it. I would forget Madame Fellatio was actually me. That for eight hours a day, five days a week, I was paid over $200 to sit in front of a typewriter and answer letters from the sex-starved readers of Honey Pot magazine concerning every type of sexual hang-up and activity conceivable. As I sat there and looked at the troubled reflection that belonged to both of us, it didn’t seem possible that Madame Fellatio and I were the same person. It didn’t seem possible that my brain could send the messages to my fingers to press down the correct keys on the typewriter to create the answers the people who wrote the letters wanted to read. I couldn’t believe they were writing those letters to me. And I couldn’t believe I was answering them.

Although the deadline was less than an hour away, I was still working on the answer to the first letter I had opened today. I had gotten as far as: “Any type of sexual activity is healthy as long as both parties agree to it…” But I found it impossible to continue. The letters were no longer funny. I could not go on finding the same joke funny thirty times a day for months on end. And on most days I received more than thirty letters, all of them alike, all of them pleading for understanding, all of them begging for answers.

On my desk were piled those I had received this morning, all of them unopened except the one I had been drearily puzzling over all day. I picked another one up and opened it, reading it to search for some inspiration, hoping that this letter would be the exception to the rule and inspire me to write a decent enough column to temporarily get Shark off my back.

“Dear Madame Fellatio: I have something on my mind that I’ve been wondering about and I thought maybe you could tell me whether I’ve got anything to worry about or not. I’m not supposed to be trading your magazine because it says on the cover in small print just under the price that it’s not supposed to be sold to minors, but I go to a drugstore out of my neighborhood where they don’t know me and pass as eighteen. I hope this doesn’t disqualify me from getting my letter answered.”

“I’ve been doing something that always makes me feel real good, but so far nobody knows about it except me. Although it makes me feel real good, some little voice in the back of my mind tells me sometimes that if my mom or dad or and other adults found out about it, I’d get into trouble. So I guess the only thing I can do is tell you about it and wait for your answer.”

“I suppose when I see their panties, I should just keep right on going instead of thinking about their pussies, but my dick won’t let me. My balls suddenly seem like they’re on fire, and my cock gets so stiff it practically rips my pants. All of a sudden all I can think of is getting one of those girls off by myself so I can pull off her panties and rub my prick against her cunt. I imagine filling her tiny mouth with my cock, jamming it down her throat so far that she can’t scream while my fingers press between her legs and massage her cunt.”

“It’s always easy to get one of the girls to come with me.”

“Once I get her alone and pull out my long stiff cock the girl always stays. She’s fascinated by my cock and balls and always wants to touch it. Nobody can tell me they don’t like it when they’re that age. Innocent, hah! They love to feel my cock, and in no time at all have forgotten all about their candy bar and want to taste my sweet prick instead. When I’m with a girl, I love the way my hard cock slides into her sucking mouth, the way her tongue laps at my prick like it was an all-day sucker while my hands are busily pulling her panties down under her dress. I’ve done this so many times that I know exactly what to do, exactly how to turn her on good, and while she’s sucking my prick, my fingers almost immediately find the almost microscopic nubbin of her tiny clit. But it isn’t long before I’ve teased it into maturity, massaging and rubbing her bare pussy until it’s inflamed with hot blood and engorged with sticky juice as gooey as maple syrup on the flapjacks my mom makes me every morning.”

“While I’m squeezing her clit and finger-fucking her, at least two fingers thrusting deeply into her pussy-hole, I shove harder and harder with my prick in her mouth. It’s always unbelievable how much hot cock a girl can take in her mouth. But before I come, I like to pull out and stick my prick between her legs, pressing the swollen cock-head right up against the slit in her cunt so I can rub my throbbing meat against her pussy. I make her lie down and tell her to spread her legs so that the gash of her pussy is wide open and I can see everything. I stick my prick inside just enough so her cunt can swallow my cock-head, and then I make her rub my balls with her fingers.”

“I like to come inside her tiny cunt, knowing that I’m the first one to spray her insides with hot sticky sperm and make a woman out of her no matter how young she is. Once they feel my dick stuffed tight inside of them they can’t get enough and a lot of them beg for more, pleading with me to stick my cock up all the way inside them, splitting them in two with my big tool.”

“It’s amazing the way they know how to move their hips and wiggle their little asses without anyone telling them to. They just seem to know how to fuck no matter how young they are. When I come inside of them, they lift their hips to catch it all inside of them, tipping up their pussies so I can pour my thick cream in their cunts like I was shooting it in them with a hose. No matter how young or inexperienced a girl is, the walls of her pussy always grab my cock like she has an extra hand between her legs and jerk me until my balls are bone dry.”

“When my prick has finished spurting in her pussy, I always pull out and stuff it into her rosebud mouth so she can lick off the last of the cum… you know, sort of like dessert. I like it when my cum dribbles gut of the corners of their mouths and smears and slicks all over their faces just like when kids eat ice cream or candy. Sometimes the sight of my cream on their faces gets me so excited that my prick stands up as if I hadn’t just come, and I have no choice but to fuck the cutie I’m with all over again.”

“The thing is, although this is the only kind of sex that turns me on (I even think about girls with their legs spread apart showing their pussies when I’m doing my time in the toilet jerking off), something tells me that I’d have a hard time explaining my desires to anyone… except, of course, somebody as understanding as you, Madame Fellatio. I knew you’d understand after I read your answer to that letter in your column from the man who liked to have sex with insects.”

“I’m wondering if I can go on like I have been now that I’m getting older (I’ll be eighteen in a couple of months). What’s made me start to think about it is that a girl my own age has asked me to go to a school dance (one of those Sadie Hawkins dances where the girls ask the guys). I’m afraid to go because I haven’t the faintest idea how to act around a girl my own age. I lock myself in the bathroom and try to get my prick hard by imagining this girl’s hairy cunt and big tits, but all it does is make my cock shrivel up even smaller than it was in the first place. But meanwhile the girl is bugging me to go to the dance with her. And, what’s worse, her family is friends with mine, and my parents know she asked me and expect me to go with her. If I do go ahead and accept, I’ll feel like an idiot the whole evening. What’ll I do if she expects me to make out with her and I can’t handle it? And if I say no, everyone will think I’m weird because at school everyone thinks she’s a fine-looking chick, and she has a reputation for putting out.”

“I’m waiting desperately for your answer, Madame Fellatio. Should I go to the Sadie Hawkins Day dance with this girl? P.F., Delaware.”

I stopped reading. Suddenly the answer to all of these letters came to me. Christ! Christ was the answer. Only Christ could help these people. But although for the first time since I’d become Madame Fellatio I felt that I had the answer to the problems of my readers, it did not make me happy. In fact, it made me feel more insecure than ever. Because now that I realized clearly what the answer was, I knew even more clearly that I must stay away from it. Everything he stood for was a conscious slap in the face to everything that was decent. Not just Honey Pot, but all of his publishing empire — Man’s Guts, Split Beavers, Rosy Rears, Blowhole, and The National Leer — were based on a glorification of sex and the physical. As the masthead of Honey Pot stated in bold type: “This magazine is dedicated to turning you on.” Each of his magazines routinely carried an article putting down religion in every issue. When I had first been sent to him by the employment agency to be interviewed for the job, Shark had smiled and said, “The Xaviera Hollanders, the Linda Lovelaces, and the Madame Fellatios are the priestesses of the 1970’s.”

A copy boy came up to me to tell me that Shark wanted to remind me that he expected the copy on his desk at 3:00 sharp. I felt like I was being held prisoner at my desk, chained to my typewriter, and that the only way I could become free was to give Shark what he wanted. I bent over the typewriter and began pounding the keys, letting my fingers do my thinking for me as I drew a shade over the workings of my mind.

But before I had written a dozen words, Shark leaned over my shoulder. “The same old stuff,” Shark said. “Why don’t you give them something new?” He picked up the letter from the mother with the eighteen-year-old daughter and niece.

“Do not let things overwhelm you just because they are different,” he dictated. “Do not be so quick to criticize something you haven’t tried. Much of the generation gap that is so epidemic these days occurs because children and their parents have so little in common. Has it ever occurred to you that this might be your golden opportunity to get really close to your daughter? If you join your daughter instead of blindly criticizing her, you might start a whole new, improved relationship with her.”


When I finished typing and felt I had miraculously finished another column, I called the copy boy and had him deliver whatever it was I had written so I wouldn’t have to face Shark. I had no idea what it said, just being thankful that it was completed.

It was Friday, which meant I was liberated from Shark and his magazine for two days. But it wasn’t until I got across town and inside my apartment and had closed the door behind me that I felt I was finally safe.

After, however, I had settled down with the evening paper, I realized that I wasn’t much better off on my own than I was under Shark’s thumb. The paper was full of stories about people doing things. Many of them terrible things, of course, but doing things nonetheless. But I did nothing. At work I was like Shark’s robot, doing exactly what he told me under threat of being fired and having to walk the streets looking for some job even more demeaning than working for him. And on my own time I was like a hermit, going nowhere and doing nothing, so terrified had I become of mankind on the basis of spending eight hours a day wallowing in the perversion those letters to Madame Fellatio represented.

I didn’t trust anybody. I’d sooner trust myself alone with a rattlesnake than I would with a man. There was no doubt about it, being Madame Fellatio had distorted my whole view of life, and what’s worse, up until now I could see no better alternative on the horizon.

The fact of the matter was that I had come to believe what Shark had said the day he hired me: that our contemporary saints were hookers and pornographers, which meant that the rest of us were following in their footsteps.

In the meantime, I was becoming more and more tense and frustrated, both mentally and physically. I was a young woman in the supposed prime of my life, yet unable to swing with my contemporaries. I was living an existence more suitable for a ninety-year-old woman in an old folks’ home.

Even worse, I often gave in to the temptations of the flesh. Despite all my vows of decency, I found myself throbbing between my legs, the mound of my cunt uncontrollably pulsing with desire, becoming sopping wet with sticky fluid from the slightest stimulus. The sight of a slight bulge in an actor’s pants in a television program would instantaneously make my pussy abruptly drench my panties with cunt juice, so that I had no choice but to peel them off. Then I would run to the mirror where I could sit in a chair and spread my legs while I watched myself plunge my trembling fingers into the slit of my foaming pussy and violently finger-fuck myself.

In order to satisfy the uncontrollable desires of my cunt, I had secretly collected a shoebox full of sexual paraphernalia, with which I periodically satisfied my screamingly sopping cunt. They were disgusting items that vibrated and plunged inside my pussy, things I had sent away for from ads in Shark’s magazines.

As I sat in my chair reading the paper, my mind abruptly turned to the contents of that box when I came to the movie page and felt my cunt instantly start to throb and foam from an advertisement showing Burt Reynolds in a pair of tight pants.

I put down the paper to escape the appetite that had suddenly consumed me and started the sticky juicing in my cunt. But my mind was unable to shake itself free of the image of my nine-inch-long prick-shaped vibrator buzzing its way between the parted lips of my pussy, pushing inside my spasming, sopping fuck-hole and filling me to the brim with tingling ecstasy. I couldn’t help myself from loving the way the vibrator shook my pussy into a frenzy, turning loose my cunt juice so that by the time I was finished fucking myself, my cunt was a swamp of musky, sticky fluid over which I had no control as I came and came again.

But not tonight, I told myself, I wouldn’t give in to my carnal desires again tonight. I had a weekend to get myself together before I went back to face Shark again. Perhaps if I resisted the temptation calling to me from my pulsing cunt, then I would have the backbone to face Shark on Monday and tell him what I really thought.

I yearned to be free of the trap in which I found myself, the compressing walls of my steaming, convulsing cunt seeming to press against my whole body, their stickiness adhering like tape to my arms and legs and holding me prisoner as I fought to get free. But finally, through extraordinary effort, I forced myself from my chair and struggled towards the door. When I tried to open it, it seemed as though it were made of lead, fighting my efforts to escape as it drew strength from my obstinately throbbing cunt, resisting my efforts to be rid of the temptation that made me the slave of the frothing gash between my legs.

As I struggled with the door, I closed my eyes and imagined myself without a cunt, with just a smooth slope of pink flesh between my thighs… no hair, no pulsing folds of puffy red flesh framing an oozing gash, no blood-engorged clit springing erectly like a miniature spike, begging to be stimulated to orgasm. My pussy answered my attempts to mentally destroy it by unleashing a new outpouring of syrup secretion.

But this time I was determined not to become the slave of my own cunt. Gathering myself together, I forced the door open and fled into the hall. I made it all the way into the street before I became fully aware again of the gushing, hairy wound that was my cunt and the sopping condition of another ruined pair of panties.

Once I was halfway down the block, I realized that I had made a mistake by coming outside. I had left my apartment hoping to escape the lure of the shoebox and the dildo and vibrator it contained, but in the process had wound up exposing myself to the stimulus of every man who walked down the street past me. If I could not resist the impersonal picture of a man in a newspaper, or a flickering image of a TV screen, I was helpless in the face of the real thing on the street. It seemed like a conspiracy had been hatched to tempt me to the fullest and prove that Shark was right, that sex was all that mattered, as man after man passed me, each of them seeming to wear tighter pants than the previous one, their bulging pricks leaping out at me from under their clothing.

By the time I had walked two blocks, I couldn’t take a step without the squishing from my cream-engorged pussy echoing through the still night air. I was sure that every man who passed me on the sidewalk heard the squeeze-box of my pussy and knew that I was blazing with desire, hopelessly horny. The cunt-cream had long since saturated the flimsy crotch of my panties and was now dribbling down my legs, coating my trembling thighs with hot, sticky juice.

This man… that man… then another one who passed by me: I imagined all of them without clothes, naked on top of me, their long, thick pricks zeroing in on the hairy, slitted gash between my open legs, zooming towards my wide-spread cunt and penetrating it, splitting it in two like a knife hacking through a piece of ripe fruit with their thrusting cock-heads and thick, pulsating shafts. I could hardly move, imagining there was a stiff cock already inside my cunt, stretching my hole with its throbbing girth as it fucked me while I walked.

Immobilized by my involuntary fantasies, I ducked into an alley and threw myself against a grimy wall, the musky smell of my own sex wafting up to my flaring nostrils from my steaming cunt. The alley was as filthy as the inside of a garbage pail, but to me it seemed as erotic a setting as a plush bedroom with satin sheets on a canopied bed and a mirror on the ceiling. In my incredibly horny condition it seemed the perfect atmosphere for being fucked and sucked… but then in my hopelessly turned-on state so would the deck of an aircraft carrier or the floor of the stock exchange.

My sexual frustration had finally caught up with me as I yearned desperately for anyone to appear and fuck me with anything, just so long as I could release the terrible pressure building like a volcano in my frantically bubbling cunt.

Realizing I would have to take matters into my own hands, I moved stealthily to the place where the alley entered onto the street and pantingly waited for someone to come along. The first person who happened along was a teenager, walking innocently down the street. Even from a distance and in the dark I could pick out his head of red hair. But what made my mouth water was the tight-fitting blue jeans he was wearing and the unmistakable bulge that sloped out from their skin-tight crotch. I knew that there was no power in the universe that could prevent me from getting him off the sidewalk into the hidden alley so I could see what was underneath those jeans. I could almost taste the sweet meat of his prick in my mouth as I licked my lips in anticipation and moved closer to the sidewalk.

When he was close enough so the sound of his sneakers shuffling along the concrete echoed in my ears, I stepped out of the alleyway where I would be clearly visible to him when he passed by but concealed from anybody else on the street. As I heard him approaching, I removed my blouse and tossed it behind me, my tits heaving with throbbing expectation, swelling with such pulsating anticipation that the spongy white flesh spilled over the top of my bra, my nipples gouging like spikes against the soft cotton fabric.

Realizing that he was within mere feel of seeing me for the first time, I quickly reached around and unhooked my bra and pulled it off, leaving me naked from the waist up. My firm, round tits tumbled into the guy’s view as he walked unsuspectingly in front of me while they were still bobbing. I heard the guy gasp as I cupped my throbbing tits with my hands and offered them to him, my nipples straining erectly in his direction as though they were magnetically attracted to him.

“Sonny,” I said, my eyelids closing as I imagined the thrilling ecstasy that would be mine in a few seconds if my wanton boldness succeeded, “will you please fuck me?”

When I opened my eyes again, he was standing there soundlessly, framed by the entrance to the alley, his cock swelling against the crotch of his jeans so much that its thrust bulk had already forced his fly halfway down. Desperate not to lose him, I moved closer to the guy and then dropped to my knees before him. My hand trembling like a leaf, I reached out for the tab of his zipper and eagerly pulled it down. Immediately I hungrily noticed that he was even harder than I had expected, his cock and balls pushing out so boldly in his crotch that they seemed to be splitting his seams.

“Are you going to suck it?” he asked squeakily, his voice sounding strained and tight.

“If you want me to,” I said seductively. “I’ll suck your prick if you promise to get on top of me after I’m finished and fuck me.”

Oh, how I loved speaking in this manner!

“Would you like to stick your big, hard prick in my pussy and fuck me?” I asked, taking great pleasure in murmuring the words with the maximum wantonness I could muster.

“Uh, sure…” he gulped in reply, obviously panting for breath because of the excruciating excitement as he spoke, although by now I wasn’t looking up at his face. My eyes were uncontrollably riveted to his bulging cock. “Sure,” he repeated. “I’d like to do… do it to you. You sure are some woman, ma’am. You sure shook me up there for a coupla seconds coming out of the alley all unexpected like that.”

Trembling with wild anticipation, I snaked my hand inside and wrapped my slim fingers around his fat cock, using it as a handle to tug him further into the alley where he wouldn’t be noticed. I almost drew my fingers back in shock because of the intense heat of his incredibly aroused prick. As I wrapped my fingers around his pulsingly thick cock, it seemed hotter than any prick I had ever held. I couldn’t wait to keep my promise to suck it and greedily taste it as I pulled him farther and farther into the dark alley.

His rigid cock was out of his jeans now, held firmly in my pressing hand as I parted my lips and thrust my slobbering mouth over the twitching, swollen head. The moment he felt his cock being sucked he became frantic and, grabbing my head, began to fuck me furiously in the mouth.

Reacting reflexively to the violent bucking of his hips and jabbing of his sharply stabbing prick, I pulled away, and as I did so, his jackhammering prick struck me repeatedly on the cheeks, nose and chin. Oh, it was all too wonderful, I felt, too wonderful to be true. But it was truly happening to me, and the more I teased him by holding my lips back from his frantically thrashing prick, the more he tried to ram it down my throat. I was so hot and excited that I was already having mini orgasms, one following on the heels of the other as the liquid embers glowing in my spasming cunt did their best to dissolve what was left of my steamingly drenched panties.

Grabbing his jeans at the waistband, I yanked down hard on them, while at the same time he crashed down on top of me, his cock flailing wildly in the direction of my lips like it was equipped with a sonar device. Somehow, I managed to pull his jeans down to his knees, as he groped on top of me, desperately trying to impale my face on the lunging sword of his prick.

But I knew now that I was too hot to take the time to feel his cock in my mouth, promise or not. My cunt cried out to be stuffed with the full length of his young, stiff dick, pleading to be filled and fucked with his throbbing teenage meat. While he flailed on top of me, his prick bouncing off my face and his orange crotch hair scraping my lips and nose, I lowered my hand to the sodden crotch of my dissolving panties and ripped them apart, exposing the steaming, hairy cavern of my juicing pussy.

I spread my legs as far apart as they would go, sending my skirt to my waist as I felt the flesh pull tautly across my trembling thighs while my cunt drooled and hunched out reflexively, literally reaching out with its pussy-lips to the young, thick cock I knew I had to have inside me in order to survive.

I grabbed ahold of the stabbing shaft of his cock with both hands, clutching it so tightly that my fingers gouged into the rubbery flesh as I literally pulled the rest of his body by the handle of his prick toward my foaming cunt.

When his hips were at last locked against mine, his cock was so unbelievably hard that when it stabbed fiercely against my ultrasensitive cunt, it actually caused pain, seeming to raise welts on the tender flesh of my pussy-mound with its obviously inexperienced, overanxious thrusts.

I had to reach between us and grasp his thick, meaty shaft firmly in order to steer his wildly stabbing cock into the bubbling slot formed by my juicy pussy-lips. Immediately his prick shot into my cunt-hole all the way to the hilt, just as I had hoped it would, his tight balls crashing in hot fury against the upturned cheeks of my wiggling ass. He had a long, thick cock, its girth meaty beyond his years, as I had no difficulty in wrapping my cunt-lips tightly around its fat shaft, clasping it wetly in a perfect frenzy of rapture.

He fucked away at my willing cunt with lightning speed and a penetration that was complete with every sharp stroke, stabbing all the way through my pussy and pounding against the end. I had another series of quick, little orgasms that left me gasping for air while I pumped my constricted cunt up and down on the teen’s machine-gunning cock, tightening my pussy muscles like a vise to create such an intense friction that it would only be seconds before his prick spurted with jizz, splattering my blazing cunt-walls with buckets of hot, sticky sperm.

Suddenly his prick seemed to miraculously grow another inch, stretching and filling my aching, drooling cunt before it exploded with a long, continuous spurt of cum, irrigating the canal of my cunt with a river of flowing fuck-cream. The length of time he required to stop squirting into my pussy was almost unbelievable as I used every trick I could muster to try to drain him of every drop.

This teen was no masturbator, I gleefully told myself as he turned my pussy-tunnel into a swamp with his still spouting cock. I knew enough about the habits of guys to know that this one was no jack-off artist. This teen had too many buckets of cum stored up in his smooth balls to have been shooting it into a handkerchief or into wads of toilet paper. It thrilled me to think I was getting perhaps years of stored-up cock-juice.

Finally he stopped spurting his monster prick up my cunt, but his cock remained as unbelievably hard as ever as he continued to fuck me without missing a stroke, his prick shooting in and pulling out of my hole at a terrific rate of speed. The incessant chafing of the base of his prick against my thrusting pelvis, maddeningly rubbing my hard clit, drove me wilder and wilder while his thickly erect shaft continued to course ceaselessly through the swamp of my pussy.

It was now that I really started to come seriously, the spasm being so intense, that if he hadn’t been on top of me, I would have doubled up and screamed with ecstasy. As it was, I whimpered uncontrollably from the stabbing sensations that riddled my convulsing body, and then, exhausted when I had finished coming, lay limply beneath his still thrusting body.

“Sweet Jesus,” I murmured as I realized I no longer had any control over the situation. “Is he going to fuck me forever?”

His naked body continued to pump away at my clutching cunt as though his cock was powered by an engine, and before I knew it, he was once again pouring his scalding goo inside my pussy.

I came again. This time I screamed instead of whimpering as my cunt muscles wrapped around his bludgeoning prick, trying to squeeze it like it was a piece of wet laundry going through a wringer. But he paid no attention to this, oblivious to everything other than the berserk urge to keep on furiously fucking. Incredibly, he strove to bring forth a third rush of sperm within the unbelievable space of a few minutes.

Although I had already come massively, I found myself moving my body along with his as though I had just started fucking, summoning up the energy from some unknown depth to buck my cunt up at him and wriggle my ass, hoping masochistically that he could once again manage to scald my cunt-walls with his boiling jizz. I writhed beneath him and felt his miraculously hard prick reaming out my thrillingly aching cunt, I found myself anticipating his sperm as though it would be the first time he’d come inside me.

Now I pressed my hands, palms downward, on his smoothly hare ass to hold him in place between the slippery sweat, sperm and pussy juice slickened well of my squeezing thighs. I wrapped my legs around his, hooking my toes underneath calves for a firmer grip, striving to make him shoot off his monster prick inside my clenching pussy just one more time, greedy for another load of teenage jizz.

Finding his mouth with my lips, I began to kiss the teen passionately as he fucked me with the kind of wild, reckless fury that only a young stud could possess. God, how wonderful it was to have a tireless teenager on top of me, pumping his ever-swollen cock into my cunt.

“Oh, dear, are you really going to fuck me forever?” I moaned, begging him to say yes not with words but with the incessant pounding thrusts of his iron-hard cock.

He replied by placing his hands under my ass and clutching my cheeks fiercely as he continued with his frantic fucking thrusts, his cock going so deeply within my hole that each brutal stroke of his prick made my body shiver from head to toe and back again, reducing me to a quivering mass that was only good for one thing-being fucked as hard as possible.

“Oh, my God,” I groaned, my face quavering under the vibrating influence of still another orgasm. “You’re going to kill me, fucking me this way. God, I love it! Fuck me to death!”

His immense cock spurted in my cunt at that precise moment as I once again thrilled to the bruising impact of his tireless prick.

“Oh, Jesus!” he cried, the first words he had uttered since I had steered his luscious prick into my cunt.

His cock squirted once more, and then he shuddered and finally stopped fucking me. One last orgasmic wave washed over my helplessly willing body, and then I too went limp, collapsing under his weight.

He lay still on top of me, his entire weight resting on me, his energy finally drained, making him too tired to hold himself up any longer. I didn’t mind, though, as I basked in the afterglow of a perfect fuck, grateful for the hot, young, sweaty body on top of mine. It was heavenly as I lay still and wondered just how long his prick would remain hard inside my cunt. When several minutes had passed and his cock still showed no sign of wilting, I sighed and patted his ass gently, marveling that the rest of his body could become so limp while his prick remained as hard as a rock within my aching pussy.

“You are a very good fucker, young man,” I told him gently.

“You’re… awful good… yourself,” he panted.

“Tell me,” I asked softly, “doesn’t your prick ever go soft on you?”

“I don’t know,” he answered softly. “This is the first time. I’ve ever had it up… up…” He was so flustered he couldn’t finish. I could feel his cheek burn with embarrassment against mine from trying to admit that he was a virgin.

“You mean up a cunt!” I finished his sentence for him.

“Yes,” he shyly admitted. “It goes soft, but not when I’ve got it stuffed up the pussy of a beautiful lady like you.”

“Thank you, dear,” I said gratefully.

“I think I could fuck you all night long, ma am,” he told me. “You don’t mind me talking… well, uh, dirty like this to you, do you?”

“No,” I enthusiastically admitted. “I love to hear you say those things. Say it again.”

“Fuck?” he gulped. “Pussy? Are those the words you want to hear me say?”

“Use them in a sentence,” I urged, my passion unbelievably rising again.

“I like to fuck you in the pussy with my cock,” he gushed breathlessly. “I like to feel my prick in your hairy cunt.”

“Thank you,” I replied gratefully. “You’re a nice guy. I enjoy having your prick rammed up my cunt. But I have a question.”

“Uh… uh… what, ma’am?” he stammered, his nervousness returning. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You did just perfect,” I reassured him. “I just can’t understand what’s keeping your prick so hard, though.”

“You are,” he declared. “You’re the neatest girl I ever met.”

“Do you want to have me suck your prick… with my mouth?” I rasped throatily, kissing the side of his cheek as I breathed the words, “Can I lick your cunt while you’re sucking my cock?” he asked eagerly. “With my tongue? Can I stick my tongue inside your hot, wet pussy?”

I smiled as I felt the exhaustion flee from my body, the full force of passion returning in a rush. I found myself anticipating yet another eruption of his syrupy jizz, this time hotly filling my sucking mouth and washing stickily down my throat to fill my stomach.

“Yes, yes,” I begged, “stick your tongue in my pussy while I suck your prick. Let’s do it now!”

He grasped his rigid cock in a trembling hand and pulled it with a pop from my sopping cunt, crawling backward on his knees before he dropped flat on his stomach, burying his face in my muskily dripping gash. I closed my eyes to experience the total feel of what he was doing to me, and when three inches of his stiff tongue stabbed up my spasming pussy, I had a quick, savage orgasm as I realized he was tasting the sweet nectar of his own sperm with which his spurting prick had filled my cunt.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” I breathed with sheer delight, “you make me so terribly, wonderfully hot. Do anything you want to me.”

He did not answer me verbally, once again possessed by the demon sex. He twisted his stiff tongue around in my cunt like a corkscrew as he turned his body around so that he was on his hands and knees, his legs straddling my upper body. As he ate my drooling cunt, I gazed longingly up between the spread cheeks of his smooth, white ass directly over my face. Grasping his waist with both hands, I pulled my head up between the sweating crack of his spread cheeks, and with my heart pounding dreadfully, kissed his puckering asshole repeatedly.

With the taste of his ass still tingling in my mouth, I slid my tongue down his crack and went for his tightly hanging balls, greedily getting one and then both of the slippery eggs inside my mouth, sucking them so hard I thought they were going to turn inside out.

After I had sucked, nibbled and teased his swollen balls to the verge of bursting, I was ready for the main course. “Ahhh,” I cried, releasing his nuts, “give it to me, baby!”

He lifted his body slightly, pushing his prick backward a little until I caught the knobby end of it with my swollen lips. While he continued to lick and suck my gaping pussy, his cock entered my mouth and I felt it growing even larger and harder against my tongue and gums, the bulging head pushing all the way down my slippery throat; I struggled to breathe properly, raspily choking from the burden that drove down my throat like a saber.

“Suck me!” he cried into my cunt. “Oh, Jesus, suck me off!”

I had every intention of doing exactly that. His prick was so hard and long and thick and lovely and delicious… I could have sucked it nonstop for a week. His bare haunches pressed against my face and I could smell the musky scent of his flesh as well as the sexy odor of his wet cock and balls. I was so deliriously happy that I sighed even as I sucked his cock. Then I grasped the cheeks of his ass fiercely, hanging on for dear life as I moved my head up and down, madly mouth-fucking the guy’s thrillingly rigid cock. Frantically, I worked my lips back and forth in blissful suction, using every trick at my command to make him come for a fourth time. He moaned beyond control as he fucked me in the mouth, doing an equally intense job down below with his stabbing tongue in my gratefully oozing cunt.

Once again I had a wildly exhilarating orgasm, and for the first time the teen came simultaneously with me. His cock went off in my mouth with the force of a geyser, the torrent of his hot cum striking the roof of my mouth so intensely that I was forced to swallow in slurping gags as he continued to fill and re-fill my mouth repeatedly. While I choked from the massive gobs of sperm that filled my throat, my pussy-walls constricted mightily around his tongue as I writhed in total, unrestrained coming. I felt my senses reel and my body swoop and soar from the thrusting forces pounding at each hole, reality ebbing rapidly from my consciousness as I asked myself one last question before I collapsed: “Where is he getting it all?” I moaned thickly, wrapping my tongue around his still surging dick to form the prick-and-sperm-muffled words before the blackness overtook me.

When I regained consciousness, he was gone. There was no telling how long I had been lying there. He had taken the trouble to drag me behind some garbage pails so nobody would discover me and try to take advantage of me in my fuck-induced sleep. That teen was a gentleman to the end. His parents should be proud of him.


The weekend flew by after my intoxicating encounter with the nameless teen in the alley. Fucking that clean, innocent teen had made me clean and innocent inside. I felt the grime that had accumulated on my soul from being Madame Fellatio five days a week starting to fade, replaced by the sparkling memory of the teen’s graceful, shining prick inside my cunt and mouth, and the remembrance of his endlessly spurting sperm that bathed my insides with its stickiness. His cum had been like a detergent that had scrubbed me clean, making me temporarily feel that life wasn’t such a bad deal after all. And if I could be as happy as this just from sucking and fucking a teenager, then there was hope for the miserable souls who wrote in to Madame Fellatio.

But my new-found euphoria evaporated the instant I walked into my dingy office. Shark was too cheap to hire a regular janitorial service, and trash dating all the way back to the middle of last week was littered and crumpled around my office, a half a cup of coffee having started to turn a poisonous shade of green on top of my desk. Roaches feasted on the crumbs from my last Friday’s lunch, totally unconcerned when I came into the room as they continued their munching.

I sat down, and instead of brushing a path of cleanliness across the top of my desk, I flopped back in my chair, already exhausted at nine in the morning, and watched the roaches feast. I was just getting to the point where I could recognize one roach from another when I was suddenly startled upright in my chair. When I glanced over to the roaches on my blotter, I saw that for the first time they were frightened and were scurrying away.

“Well, well,” Shark smirked, “if it isn’t the Dear Abby of the crotch-set, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and rarin’ to go. Got the sunshine machine ready, poopsie?”

I felt like joining the roaches, but instead I managed a weak and hypocritical smile and mumbled, “Yeah, sure… I left it out in the hall.”

“Ho, ho,” he laughed, which I knew was a put-on, because when something really amused Shark he went “Heh, heh.”

“Listen, Shark,” I said, suddenly feeling testy, “the only time you play the part of jolly good fellow is when you have some ulterior motive in the back of your mind… some new thing you want to get away with.”

“Madame F,” he said with a phony wail, putting his arms out and his palms upward in a stagey gesture of innocence. “Would I do something like that, boobie?”

“You would and have,” I snapped.

“Well, now that you mention it,” he said quickly, the, hail-fellow-well-met facade dropping like a trapdoor, the lines of his face suddenly slanting down instead of up, the thin slit of his mouth closing like a steel trap, “there is something I want to talk to you about… Ah, let me amend that, something I want to tell you.”

“Yes,” I sighed, weary before he actually told me what it was, feeling certain in advance that it would be some atrocity and I would have to put my brains and guts in a turmoil while I decided which was more important to me — my integrity or my paycheck. So far I’d been weak enough to always pick the latter. But the new insight I’d felt about Christ on Friday, which came back to me now fully as I sat in the chair and office where it was conceived, suddenly gave me the courage to hope that this time I could survive Shark with my integrity intact.

“Frankly, little lady,” he said with the oily glibness he always adopted whenever he was certain he had the upper hand, “the freaks are getting tired of the stuff in your column.”

“How can that be?” I replied, struggling to hold my own, praying for Christ to back me up. “They’re the ones who write the damn letters. If they don’t like reading them, they should stop sending them.”

“And we’d be in the used-corduroy business,” Shark snapped. “The freaks are what makes us go…”

“You, Shark, you,” I interrupted. “I think I’m stalled.”

“Listen,” he hissed, “the letters stay as they are. It’s the answers that have to change.”

“How do you mean?” I asked defensively. “Well, you have to make them different. The fact is we’re dealing with space-age letters and we’re using Jewish-mother answers,” he rambled. “We’re still giving him that old crap about anything two consenting adults do. That’s for liberals during the ’50’s, not his generation of weirdos. These people are strange. They don’t want to be patted on the head and brushed off with an Ann Landers one-liner when they write you about the guilt they feel from fucking the family cocker spaniel in the ass.”

“Well, what do they want?” I asked impatiently, knowing that as far as I was concerned I had the answer, Christ, although I despaired over the lack of hope of getting across the message of Him to a heathen like Shark.

“I dunno,” he said in a rare moment of naturalness and fallibility, although for all I know it was just a clever ruse designed to nudge me toward going along with whatever he had up his sleeve.

“Sure, Shark,” I challenged him.

“No, I kid you not,” he said.

“Then how can we change if you don’t know the answer?” I asked.

“I didn’t say I was completely baffled,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t know all of the answer, because part of it is obvious. We have to come up with a new, more startling response to these letters… something that will really grab the reader in counterpoint with what the freaks write.”

Suddenly I saw an opportunity being presented to me on a silver platter that I wouldn’t have thought possible a few moments before. “Don’t worry, Shark,” I said, practically saluting him in my sudden enthusiasm. “I can handle it for you. I’ve got something great in mind.”

“No kidding?” he said, obviously surprised. “What is it?”

“No, I won’t tell you.”

“Why not, afraid I won’t like it?” he leered.

“Maybe,” I admitted in the understatement of the year. “You said yourself you don’t know what’ll work, it just needs to be different. So you admit you’re no expert on specifics, so what you think isn’t important. If you let me just go ahead on my own, I’ll be able to develop my idea without feeling you’re looking over my shoulder.”

“Okay,” he said, kicking the leg of the desk like a child reluctantly conceding a point, “I guess you can do it. But I’m warning you, boobie, don’t fuck up.”

“Total control?” I asked expectantly.

“You better believe it… and total responsibility,” he said, pronouncing the last word like it was a death sentence. “I’m going on a vacation for a week or so. Before I leave, I’ll tell the printer to pull off the column we already have scheduled, and if you get a new column into him by Thursday morning, he’ll be able to substitute it in the next issue.”

“You mean the first time you’ll read it is when the magazine hits the stands?” I asked, straining to hide my amazement.

“Right on, Madame F,” he said. “But just remember, I can afford a month of fucked-up Madame Fellatio, but you can’t… See you sometime next week.”

His warning sailed harmlessly over my head as he stalked out of my office to his vacation. The instant he was out of sight I turned and opened the drawer in my desk containing the stored letters, terribly anxious to begin my mission to save the readers of Honey Pot for Jesus Christ.

No sooner had I transferred the letters from the drawer to the desk-top and arranged them into a workable pile than a new shipment was rained over me by the careless mail boy, who just dumped the bag over me without looking. After I’d retrieved the letters from the floor and put them on the desk with the others, their enormous pile blocked my view of the door. I was totally sealed off from the sleazy environment of the rest of the offices of Shark’s magazines, completely absorbed in the crusade that I was sure was going to turn my life around.

I spent the next three days poring over the letters, searching for ones suitable to answer. I wanted to pick letters that seemed to have been written by people who actually appeared to want to change. I wanted my answers to do some good, for the call to Christ to be genuine. But so far, in my desire to do exactly the right thing, I had only been able to handle one letter in a manner which I thought was acceptable. I had put everything I felt into my answer to the first letter, and now I felt I was drained. Obviously, I was too inexperienced at doing the Lord’s work to take on such a big job at once entirely on my own. I needed guidance from someplace, but I was at a loss to ascertain where. Working over the puzzle in my mind I re-read the only letter I’d been able to satisfactorily answer, searching for clues which would point me toward further knowledge.

“Dear Madame Fellatio: I’m not a regular reader of your magazine, but I feel like it’s the only place where I can tell somebody my problem and maybe they will try and understand it.”

“To begin with, part of the reason I’m not a regular reader of your magazine shows up part of my problem. I’d like to be, but I’m afraid if I was, every time I bought a copy, the newsstand attendant would suspect the reason why I was purchasing it. The fact of the matter is, although I try and help it, I’m hopelessly aroused by the pictures of naked women your magazine features.”

“You’re probably saying: there’s nothing the matter with liking pictures of naked girls with their legs spread showing their open pussies, that’s what the magazine’s for. Well, maybe it is if you’re a guy. But I’m a girl, and I know there must be something dreadfully wrong with how my mouth waters whenever I see a picture of another girls open pussy and bare tits. If I’m alone with a copy of your magazine, before a half an hour has passed I’m completely in the nude and spreading my thighs in front of a mirror so I can gaze excitedly at my own cunt, watching myself masturbate as I manipulate the juicy folds of my pussy, comparing my frothing slit the whole time with the glossy cunts I’ve just been drooling over in the magazine.”

“I know it’s wrong to be turned on by another woman, but I don’t seem to have any control over my feelings. I guess I could use that as an excuse, but it just makes me more disturbed. I’ve tried and tried to get interested in cocks, but they seem brutal and slimy to me, like huge, spitting snakes that are trying to tear me in two. Truthfully, I can’t imagine one of those monsters ripping up my cunt. I’m sure it would shred me to pieces.”

“Up until recently I’d managed to keep some of my self-respect by never having actually engaged in a lesbian act despite all my explicit fantasies and the temptation in everyday life. But then I met Margo, and even that last vestige of decency was lost to me through her firm tits, rapidly darting tongue, and sizzlingly pliant pussy. When she propositioned me after we had only been introduced ten minutes before, and then backed up her offer by abruptly unbuttoning her blouse and thrusting her honey-colored tits in my face, there was no way my achingly aroused body would let me resist her. We were quickly at my apartment in bed, totally naked, our tits and cunts squeezing and squishing against each other in sexual frenzy, fucking and sucking like there was no tomorrow.”

“But there was a tomorrow, of course. There always is, unless you commit suicide or something (and I’m so depressed I’m thinking about it, Madame Fellatio). After meeting Margo, my ‘tomorrow’ told me that I’d broken down the last baffler of decency and that I was a hopeless pervert. I didn’t know what to do. My body was drawn magnetically to Margo’s charms. My mind kept picturing the split lips and ripe gash of Margo’s pussy, the glistening thrust of her cunt through the frame of her dark, curly pussy hair resembling a peach in a bucket of meat. But my conscience begged my body to recoil from the thrill of lesbian delights. My cunt, stronger than nay brain, won out. My ‘tomorrow’ found me a hopeless lesbian.”

“To make it worse, Margo turned out to be nothing but a cheap hustler. She used her body to lure me to her cunt, and then when I sucked her juicy gash, programmed me to do her bidding. After two weeks of our mouths constantly being at each other’s cunts, tits and asses, I got out of bed long enough to discover that Margo had been robbing me blind. When I openly accused her of taking advantage of me, she gave me the finger, put on her clothes, and split. Logically, I should have been happy to get rid of such a leech, but all I could feel was a dead sensation in my breasts and a throbbing in my cunt as she walked out the door, characteristically wigging her ass in a way that drove me wild.”

“After a while, I psyched myself into believing that Margo leaving was all for the best. With temptation out of the way, I could go back to being normal. But, Madame Fellatio, I haven’t been able to make it, and that’s what’s driving me crazy. Am I really queer?”

“Every day I make a vow to go straight. But then I find myself out on the street, knowing that because the weather’s warm the women will be dressed in light clothes and I can get a better look at their bodies. I’ve stopped wearing panties because I’ve ruined every pair I have creaming in them in the street while I undress with my eyes every woman who passes me by.”

“By afternoon I’m crazy, dying for any kind of cunt. I’m not like Margo, I can’t proposition anybody. What if they turned out to be a policewoman and arrested me? Or worse, a male officer in drag on a stake-out? Lately, I’ve been hanging around in residential neighborhoods after school lets out and getting the only kind of pussy that can’t say no, young pussy, so desperate am I to have the sweet taste of cunt in my mouth. I’m degenerating by the minute, I’m afraid. Right now I’m sitting here typing this with only one hand; that’s because I’ve got the other one between my legs, finger-fucking my horny cunt into another frenzy, but soothing it at the same time for not having another pussy to rub against.”

“If somebody doesn’t help me soon, I’m afraid I’d end up with short hair and a tattoo, with a leather jacket, and wearing bus-driver’s pants and driving a taxi. And now, if all this isn’t enough, effeminate men are starting to be attracted to me. A man wearing a dress leaped out at me from the corridor yesterday and said he’d been watching me in my apartment at night from across the way with high-power binoculars. He begged me to go out with him. He says he knows what I want. How could he? I’m not even sure myself. What should I do about this man? He’s waiting for an answer. T.P. California.”

“Do not fear,” I had answered. “Christ is looking over your shoulder. If you continue to look back at your past sins, you will finally see Him, waiting for you to accept Him. Then your sins will be washed away and you can start afresh.”

“Look upon the invitation from the man in the dress as an opportunity. Get him to acknowledge that neither of you are perfect, and then persuade him that you can both do something better by attending the church of your choice. Get to know the Lord together, feeling His grace wash the sins from your bodies. Then, after you’re saved, it may very well turn out that this man is essentially decent, and might make a good provider for you and any family you might care to raise together.”

“God bless you, child.”

“Yours in Christ, Madame Fellatio.”

There was no doubt about it, I was on the right track, but I was also like the girl who had written the letter. I wanted to do the right thing, but I was still too shaky to be on my own. I needed guidance. Divine guidance.

Without stopping to get my coat, I dashed from my office, stumbling down the stairs because I was too impatient to wait for an elevator. In the street I called for a taxi and directed the driver to take me across town to the neighborhood where I was raised, and the Catholic church I used to go to.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” a priest with a beard obscuring his face asked me when I burst into the rectory, panting in anticipation.

“Is Father Coughlin here?” I said, asking for the priest to whom I had given a thousand and maybe more confessions during my youth.

The expression on the priest’s face seemed to change, although I couldn’t really be sure because of his beard. He remained silent.

“Is Father Coughlin… is he still here?” I asked shrilly, sensing something was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” the bearded priest said, looking sadly downward. “He passed away a year ago. We all loved him so.”

“Oh,” I said sadly, sounding like a balloon someone had let the air out of in my disappointment.

“But life must go on,” the bearded priest said.

“I’m surprised to hear you say that, Father,” I remarked. “That sounds more like something a Protestant would say.”

“Well, I mean it goes on before we reach the Kingdom of Heaven, and we must do our best during our short stay on earth in order to prove our worthiness to enter the Lord’s Kingdom.”

“Oh, right, check,” I said, relieved that he wasn’t one of those young, modern priests, despite his shaggy beard, who wants to turn the Church into a haven for homosexuals and the like.

“Have a seat,” he offered. “I certainly can’t bring the experience to your problem that Father Coughlin could have, but I’ll do my best. And, besides, we have the same boss, if you, heh, heh, know what I mean.”

Hmmm, he laughed just like Shark, but I put it out of my mind.

“My name is Father Marmelstein, and before you raise your eyebrows too high, I had a Jewish father but a Cuban mother, who returned to her faith and became a devout Catholic after my father died when I was very young,” he explained rapidly. “Now what is the problem you wish to share with me?”

Suddenly it occurred to me that I had never actually told Father Marmelstein that I had a problem. For all he knew, I was looking for the bathroom when I came into the rectory. It must have been something about my pinched face and my searchingly desperate eyes that tipped him off. But, anyway, he hit it right on the head, and I abruptly became putty in his hands.

All my resistance to confiding in a stranger vanishing in the face of his masculine authority, I blurted, “It’s like this, Father Marmelstein…” and proceeded to rapidly tell him the story of my predicament, trying to go easy on the details of the magazine I worked for.

However, Father Marmelstein, who insisted I call him Rick, seemed to sense that Honey Pot was all about, and teasingly insisted, “Tell me more about this magazine you work for. These letters you mentioned wouldn’t be about sex, would they?”

“Yes,” I admitted, my head downcast, afraid that he would take offense and refuse to advise me.

“Really?” he said with obvious interest. “Tell me. In these letters do they use the vernacular?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You know, those words for the private parts of the body. Four-letter words they call them. Cunt for the place between the woman’s legs, and cock for what a man has. You know.”

I nodded my head. “I know, and I must confess, Father, that the letters contain such words.”

“And your answers,” he said. “Do you use these words in your answers? Prick, pussy, tits, ass, and the like. Fuck, blow.”

Silently, I nodded my head in abject confession, as he continued to recite a litany of filthy terms, all of which I had shamefacedly used at one time or another.

“Screw, twat, box, snatch, dick,” he droned, filling the air with one filthy term after another until the room echoed with them and sounded like a children’s chorus singing some obscene round.

Finally he ran out of words and started to repeat himself, coming back over and over again to cock, cunt and fuck, eventually slipping into a canticle of those words only, endlessly chanting them as though he were reciting some obscene mass. Something told me to leave the rectory, but when I tried to move, I found myself nailed to my chair, my pelvis involuntarily thrusting towards the seat, my cunt directing my body to stay put. I pressed my thighs together and felt them squish as I realized for the first time that my pussy was absolutely frothing with a thick lather of cunt-juice. I instinctively put my hand on my lap to feel the radiating warmth of my steaming cunt, and closed my eyes and took a deep breath to be able to endure the torment between my legs.

I noticed Father Marmelstein’s eyes dart to where my hand rested over my crotch, and wondered if he knew what I was going through. When he finally stopped looking at my cuntmound, he rose from his chair and walked towards me, still droning his arousing chant, “Cock, cunt, fuck, cock, cunt, fuck…”

The closer he got to me the more I noticed the shocking bulge distending his cheap, shiny, black priest’s trousers. I was alarmed, sure that I was seeing things, for I knew it was against the laws of man and God for a priest to have a hard-on. But then my overwhelming curiosity got the best of me, and I could not resist reaching out and touching to see if the bulge was real or just some cruel figment of my imagination.

My God, it was real! A thick, swollen cock pulsing throbbingly just under the threadbare fabric of his pants. I winced in shame as I uncontrollably conjured a mental image of his glisteningly erect prick thrusting pinkly out of his trousers, contrasting shockingly with his shiny black priest’s clothing.

“Cock, cunt, fuck, cock, cunt, fuck,” he continued to say, changing the drone into a seductive croon as he seemed to be telling me something, almost as though God were speaking through his lips. At least that’s what I told myself I wanted it to be as I obeyed the implicit command that seemed to be filling the room and undid Father Marmelstein’s zipper.

His cock burst free instantly, making me wonder if a priest’s vow of poverty meant he couldn’t afford underwear. It was a magnificent dick, long and swooping, with an exceptionally purple, heart-shaped head and a throbbing cum-tube that ran down the underside of the shaft like a pipeline. Immediately I thought of the old joke, “As worthless as tits on a nun,” and wondered about this ten-inch priest-cock.

There was only one way to find out. I threw my mouth around his twitching prick, slurping my lips hungrily over it as I pushed its knotty cock-head all the way into my constricting throat while I tasted its salty shaft with my lapping tongue. The instant I swallowed his prick, Father Marmelstein began bucking his hips, rhythmically undulating his pelvis towards my face as he expertly fucked my mouth, showing that he knew exactly what to do with his heavy-duty dick.

Down below I could feel my cunt foaming with hot desire, pleading to be stimulated and not be neglected for the sake of my sucking mouth. I instinctively dropped my hand to my waist and started to slip my fingers under the top of my skirt towards the juicy mouth of my horny pussy. But as I felt my fingertips at my navel, Father Marmelstein reached out and stopped me. I thought I was finally in trouble, until he said, “Let me do it, my child.”

With abject willingness I spread my legs for him, feeling my skirt ride up around my hips as I thrust my pussy towards him, the soggy fabric of my panties stuffed wetly inside my sopping gash. While his stiff prick remained imbedded in my mouth, he threw his hand between my thighs, slipping his fingers under my panties and crushed them against the puffy folds of my cunt and my throbbingly aroused spine of a clit.

Wanting his balls, I reached inside his fly and easily pulled them free, one at a time, and marveling at their hairy bigness. I wanted to taste them, but was reluctant to give up an inch of the sweet-flavored cock I had buried all the way down my throat.

Seizing upon the only solution possible, I drove down even harder on his prick, cramming at least half of it down my throat as I swallowed all of it, leaving just enough room for my lips to grasp one slippery ball and then the other and just get them inside my mouth, stuffing them warmly and wetly in along with his stiff cock.

His crotch hair scratched into my eyes as I drove my face as deeply as possible into his groin, his pronged cock and pulsing balls wonderfully trapped in my grasping mouth. I drove into him like a football lineman making a tackle with the face, bending back his pelvis so that his prick and hairy balls thrust even deeper into my mouth, his swollen cock skidding farther down my throat.

Down below, my beaver provided a nest for Father Marmelstein’s five wriggling fingers as they diddled in my swollen, juicy cunt. My clit, my pussy-lips, the mouth of my fuck-hole, all of them were stimulated into a peak of frenzy as his greedy hand devoured my cunt. Repeatedly, I drenched his hand to the wrist with gushes of pussy-juice, creaming uncontrollably in my sexually insane state.

Suddenly I realized that I wanted more of him than I was getting with, my mouth and his hand. I wanted to fuck. I wanted to feel his stiff prick imbedded to the balls in my steaming cunt. I wanted him to come inside of me in the natural Christian way, bathing my pussy-walls with a halo of shimmering sperm. I wanted to lean back on my chair and prop my ankles up on his desk, spreading my legs so far apart that my cunt was an open red wound, a foaming whirlpool frothing to suck in his long, hard dick. I wanted him caught in the trap of my legs, all his attention focused on the crimson gash of my slobbering cunt. Then my legs would wrap around him, squashing his crotch against mine, the tangle of our pubic bushes mingling as his broad, swift prick tore into my fuck-hole like a sword, searing the walls of my spasming cunt.

I quickly dislodged his enormous cock from my mouth, momentarily dizzy as fresh oxygen blasted into me once I had that monster prick out of my throat. I hunched my cunt-mound up at his hand, gesturing with a vertical wink of the hairy eye of my pussy for him to move back against the desk as I shoved my chair closer. I abruptly shot my legs straight out, trapping the helpless Father Marmelstein with them, creating a fleshy V that stretched the skin on the insides of my thighs taut.

But the look of bewilderment on Father Marmelstein’s face suddenly turned to rapture as his eyes bugged out at the ripe, pared melon of my juicy cunt, oozing sensuously at him in the nest of glistening hair between my open thighs. As he moved in closer towards me, I could see the vertical slit at the end of his cock flare in anticipation, his twitching prick and pulsing balls seeming to be electronically endowed, his cock and balls part of a robot programmed only for sex.

In an instant, so fast there was only a pink blur, his cock was inside my cunt, sliding easily up the pussy-juiced walls of my fuck-canal, surging all the way into my cunt and nudging against the puckered entrance to my womb.

I wrapped my legs around him as I had planned, crushing his waist so that he would have no choice but to cram his cock inside my hole deeper and deeper, my cunt-lips already lapping greedily against the firm spheres of his bloated, straining balls.

As his prick plowed into my cunt, he pressed his hairy face to mine and darted his tongue between my lips, brutally soul-kissing me. As his tongue shot down my throat just as his cock had done, I could smell the sacramental wine on his breath. Its essence enchanted me, making me sure that what I was doing was right. That I was involved in a truly religious experience.

Suddenly I realized that I wanted to be baptized, truly baptized in the natural sense by the divine fluid from his balls, his prick shooting inside my cunt and ridding me of my sinfulness as his cum slid down my pussy-walls. I wiggled my ass for all I was worth, desperately striving to get his rocks off, aching so much to feel the explosion of his holy sperm inside my cunt that I didn’t care whether I came myself or not.

Deeper and deeper the barb at the end of his prick probed, reaching depths within my cunt that I hadn’t known existed, touching new points of carnal stimulation that made my body quiver. And then, just when I thought his cock was going to penetrate my womb at last and fill my cunt like a sacred vessel with his jizz, I astonishingly felt his prick abruptly pulling out of my hole as he broke the wall of my legs, the inside of my pussy and my cunt-lips reluctantly yielding their pulsing prize.

My senses reeled and I shuddered when I looked up and saw that I was suddenly face to face with Father Marmelstein’s twitching, leering cock, his hand pumping the bowing prick-shaft furiously. I opened my mouth in shock, but before I could make a noise the bomb at the end of his prick exploded, splattering a payload of scalding jizz into my gaping mouth and all over my face. I could feel gobs of sperm dribbling gloppily onto my blouse, their thick wetness quickly saturating the fabric and sticking to my skin as he continued to get his rocks off, his dick spitting and spurting all over my face.

I felt cheated, robbed by his sudden maneuver, my pussy still stunned by the surprise removal of his cock. In a fit of ruefulness I angrily thrust my hand between my legs, literally grabbing ahold of my clit like it was a miniature switch and fucking myself to an automatic orgasm, a flush starting between my legs and completely enveloping the rest of my body by rapid degrees, relieving me of the sexual tension I would have felt for weeks if I had not done something about it.

When I was finished coming, I opened my eyes and saw Father Marmelstein trying to stuff his wilting cock inside his pants. A ball and a curve in his rubbery shaft still wouldn’t go in as he hurriedly pressed at his crotch.

“Wait a minute, Father Marmelstein,” I found myself blurting out at the sight of his spent prick. “What’s going on here?”

“Going to make trouble, huh?” he said crisply, still stuffing at his fly.

“Uh, well, no… it’s not that…” I stammered, instantly intimidated by the return of his priestly manner.

“I should hope not,” he bit into his words. “This is a severe sin, a mortal sin that will cause more than several dark splotches on the linen of your soul. No, it’s more than dark splotches, it’s a cancer that will eat at the moral fiber of your soul after what you’ve done.”

Seeing that he had finally managed to stuff his cock and balls back into his pants and zip up his fly, I reached down and hurriedly pulled down my skirt, closing my knees and smoothing down the fabric over my thighs. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said primly.

“How about tempting a man of God?” he hissed, and then shouted it again, emphasizing each word as if he were reading holy scripture.

“But… you… you…” I fumbled, straining for the moral courage to tell my side of the story, but just producing repeated stuttering gasps.

“Thank God He intervened just in time to have me pull my… pull out of wicked temptation at the last moment so I wouldn’t complete the vile act to which you so wantonly tempted me,” he declared self-righteously.

“Complete the vile ad!” I suddenly shouted, out of control of myself. “A Catholic is bound by God to only have an ejaculation inside a woman’s vagina for the purpose of procreation!”

“That’s if you’re not a priest!” he yelled back. “Priests aren’t supposed to come anywhere. And if they do, certainly not in a woman’s pussy. Case closed… Now get your ass out of here, or I’ll have you run in on a moral’s charge, heh, heh.”

When I heard that last speech and that smug little laugh, it occurred to me how much Father Marmelstein reminded me of Shark. They were both heathens. I’d come to the wrong place for advice. I’d have to take a crash course on studying the Bible tonight and answer the rest of the letters on my own. Good or bad, the answers would be entirely my own.

I got up and left wordlessly as Father Marmelstein picked up the phone and asked for St. Vincent de Paul as though nothing had happened. I made a silent vow never to return to the Catholic church. I’d find my inspiration elsewhere. Perhaps in my own soul.


I took one last look at the stack of typewritten pages before I stuffed them into the large manila envelope and took them over to the printer. I’d been up all night, but I felt euphoric instead of tired as a result of the work I had done. I had finally narrowed it down to four letters to go along with the one I had already answered, and found myself breezing through the answers, totally unaware of the time.

As I pressed down the metal clasps on the manila envelope and started out of my apartment, I recalled the last letter I had answered, realizing that in my intensity to complete the job I’d begun I had memorized the entire letter and my answer to it. Now I thought about ft as I went out in the street and hailed a cab and sped across town towards the printer’s.

“Dear Madame Fellatio: I’m a eighteen-year-old guy that reads your magazine in the barbershop, where I don’t go to get no haircut but hang around in the little town I live in (which I can’t mention cause the folks back home might figure out who was writing to you). I got the idea about writing you after something funny that happened to me last week. Before then I thought I seen something like this coming, but when it actually happened I was still plenty surprised.”

“Well, my daddy’s been hitting the old bottle pretty regular lately, and most often as not he gets drunk in town or at somebody else’s house and just stays there until he sleeps it off Momma’s been alone more nights now than she’s been with my daddy. Well, not exactly alone lately on account of I been there too. See, I’m grounded by the court for taking a joy-ride in Fester Coolidge’s ’49 Chevy pickup truck and the judge put me on probation if I’d agreed not to go out of the house after dark.”

“So last week Daddy conked out again somewheres, and Momma and I sat there watching the supper get cold while we sat there all the way into ‘The Rookies’ without having ate no dinner. Now when we been home like this alone Momma’s done some pretty peculiar things, such as sitting in the same chair with me, or even sitting in my lap. And I noticed lately that she don’t ever wear no underpants when she’s around me. The way she sits, when I pass by her on the way and back to the commode or kitchen I can look right up her dress and get a perfect eyeful of her hairy cunt. (Excuse me, but the only words I know for these sex terms is all what they call dirty, but I don’t know no better so forgive me for writing this way.)”

“I know you’re not supposed to say this about your mother, but whenever I get a look at her pussy, my cock always gets hard right away. I spend the rest of the evening trying to keep away from her so I won’t get too turned on and get horny for my own momma and embarrass myself. But then she sits in the chair with me or on my lap, and I can feel her pussy against me, specially when her dress rides up which it usually does.”

“But last week when Daddy didn’t come home made all the other nights look like Sunday school. Because right after the third killing in ‘The Rookies’ Momma got up and said, ‘I want to show you something, Sonny.’ She was gone a few minutes and then, Goddamn, if she didn’t come back into the room wearing nothing but a little old see-through nightie that showed everything she got.”

“I felt my cock shoot up under my jeans when I seen her naked body. I couldn’t believe my own mother had such high, round tits and such a flat belly. She looked so cute and sexy, just like one of them cheerleaders at the basketball games at school. But without the halter or the tights so I could see everything she’s got, especially the fuzzy bush of her cunt, the part of my momma that I got to admit excites me the most.”

“‘How do you like it, Sonny?’ she said, twisting around so I could see every part of her body showing naked under that flimsy, little old thing she was wearing. I couldn’t answer with words, but the bulge in my pants did it for me. She spotted it immediately and stopped her showing off to come sit down beside me and drop her hand on my lap.”

“Wow, my peter grew from an anthill into a mountain when she touched it through my jeans like that. Momma or not, all of a sudden all I knew was that jf I didn’t get my cock and balls outside of my pants they’d bust like a pig bladder. She could have been anybody all of a sudden, just so long as that anybody had such a neat body and pointy tits and furry pussy.”

“But before I could do anything about it on my own, Momma took my cock and balls out of my jeans all by herself. Her eyes bugged out of her head as she looked at my stiff prick and she said, ‘My, we’re almost all grown up, aren’t we? Where does the time go? Seems like only yesterday you was just a little baby crawling around on the floor with the littlest pecker I ever seen.'”

“Before I could think of anything to say back to her, dag nab it but she completely swallowed my cock, stiff as it was and all. When she had me in her mouth all the way to my nuts, I thought she was going to tear my cock and balls off me the way she was sucking with her mouth like she was a sump pump or something. I was sure my nuts were going to burst… turn inside out the way she was sucking.”

“It’s a big chair we was sitting in, and before I knowed it Momma had started shifting her body around, keeping my cock in her mouth the whole time and twisting it like a corkscrew between her tight, sucking lips. Pretty soon she’d managed, I guess because she’s such a little woman, to swing around with her knees on my legs and her backside staring me smack in the face, while, up front, her neck craned backward to stick her face right on top of my crotch, her mouth and throat bear-hugging my swollen prick. Between the spread cheeks of her ass I seen right away a tight rosebud, and knew of course that it was her asshole. But just under it was the real treat, the black hole of her pussy. But it weren’t black at all. The hair was soft brown, sort of like a cocker spaniel’s, and down the middle of it ran a split of raw, pink meat, slobbering over with some kind of stickiness that, when I poked my tongue in it and tasted it, was just like melted sugar.”

“‘Oh, Sonny,’ Momma mumbled, having trouble making herself understood what with my cock ten inches down her throat.”

“‘It’s hard to hear you,’ I slurped from between the cheeks of her ass, where my nose pressed against her asshole and my tongue lapped against the foaming gash of her cunt.”

“‘Stick it in,’ she slurred. ‘Stick your tongue in Momma’s cunt, Sonny, let me feel it inside my pussy.'”

“Well, I always like to do what my folks tell me to do like the preacher says you ought to, so I shot my old tongue right up there in my momma’s juicy cunt. Mmmmmm, it tasted better than one of Grandma’s chocolate cakes up there in my momma’s pussy. And right at the same time she was down there at my cock, still trying to tear it off my body with her mouth. I couldn’t help myself as suddenly it was too much for me and I came right then and there, right in my momma’s mouth.”

“Man, I could hear her gurgle the stuff down while I just kept on spurting it like I wouldn’t stop. I thought I was sure to choke her with my come, but finally it stopped, and when she tumbled off my prick and onto the floor I could see my come dribbling out of her mouth and nose.”

“‘Your cock’s still up, it’s still hard!’ she screamed, looking like her face was wax and melting with all that come dribbling off it. ‘Quick, stick it up my cunt before you lose it!'”

“Lose it? Well, what Momma don’t know won’t hurt her, I guess. Fact is, I’m known for never losing a hard-on. In jacking off contests with the other guys my age around the county I ain’t never been beat. Anyway, even if I’d’ve been inclined to lose it, I sure wouldn’t have after she spread her legs as far apart as they would go and gave me a full view of her open pussy. Man, I practically did a swan dive on top of her. I landed smack between her legs, my prick ramming inside her cunt all the way to my balls soon as our bodies pressed together.”

“Every dirty thing I ever imagined while I was jacking off, every picture and every line in every fuck-book I ever seen, every story anybody ever told me about doing it, every wet dream I ever had… well, all of them suddenly come to my mind at once, telling me just how to fuck Momma like I’d been doing it for twenty years. My hips just moved on their own, pounding my prick into Momma’s cunt, and then just pulling back enough to let her push her pussy up at me, throttling my dick the way you kill a snake. She kept wiggling her ass the way I hear whores do, driving my cock deeper than ever inside her hole, so far that if I’d been in my right mind I would’ve been scared I was going to split my own momma right in two. As it was I was out of my mind and just kept pumping away. The jizz started to rise again in my balls and I could feel them tighten up against the bottom of my cock.”

“She cocked her hips in a funny way that drove me nuts and all of a sudden I was coming again, filling her pussy with sticky come. Her body shook under me and suddenly she damn near shattered my ear drums by screaming, ‘I’m coming, I’m coming too, darling! I’m coming at the same time as you! Oh, shoot it in me, Sonny!'”

“I thought we’d fuck forever, but finally I stopped spurting come and she stopped wriggling around all over the floor, but my dick was still hard as ever, and I started fucking away again, wanting to come a third time. ‘No, no, Sonny,’ Momma moaned. ‘I’ve had enough. The next time your daddy gets drunk, then I’ll be ready again.'”

“So now what happens is that Daddy goes on the wagon. Turns out he weren’t drunk at all that night Momma and I fucked. He was at an A.A. meeting. Now he’s been home every night for a week, sober as a judge, running his mouth the way he always does drunk or sober about some conspiracy the government is running against guys like him. I know Momma is back to fucking him because once or twice I heard their bedsprings squeak through the wall between my room and theirs. I thought about drilling a hole to see what was going on, but when I thought I heard Momma groan, ‘Stick it in me, Amos, stick your cock in my cunt all the way to my throat,’ I decided I couldn’t take what I might see.”

“The situation now is that Daddy’s next A.A. meeting is next Thursday, which is the first chance Momma and I’ll have to be alone since we first fucked. But in the meantime I met up with this new girl in town. She’s hardly been here a few weeks and already she’d got herself picked as cheerleader. And she wants me to go to the school dance with her the same night as Daddy’s A.A. meeting.”

“What should I do, Madame Fellatio? I’m afraid if I don’t get with my momma, she’ll decide I’m just a kid and go back to my daddy permanent. On the other hand, I ain’t never gone out with no cheerleader before and that’s every guy’s dream. I’ve creamed in my sleep more than once over dreaming about them cheerleaders. If only Daddy was drunk every other night like he used to be I wouldn’t have this problem. I’ll tell you, I’m so desperate I been thinking about tempting him… you know, getting hold of some liquor and leaving it around where he’d be sure to find it.”

“I know it ain’t Christian to think such things about my daddy. So you got to help me. Please. Z.Y. South Carolina.”

“Why not look upon this as a golden opportunity?” I had replied. “And, just remember, true gold comes only from God.”

“Did it ever occur to you that this girl you’ve mentioned, if she is upstanding enough to have become something so morally exalted as a cheerleader in such a short time, must be a true believer in Jesus Christ? By all means keep the date with her, and use the opportunity to find out what church she is a member of and ask if you might accompany her to services the following Sunday. I will be very surprised, Z.Y., if she says no.”

“When you have made witness to Christ, then approach your mother and tell her frankly that you have found something far more exciting and rewarding than what you previously did to each other. Take her to church and prove to her that the joy of Christ far outshines the so-called joy of sex. Try telling her that the greatest orgasm is belief in Christ, and see how that turns her on.”

“As for your father’s alcoholism, start praying for him, as his only salvation will be God, as A.A. will teach him since it is just like a church. I’m sure that with faith in God by all, you will all live happily ever after.”

“Yours in Christ, Madame Fellatio.”

Oh, I loved it! There was no other way to describe my feelings as I recalled the last line. But what I loved was not myself, of course, but the divine guidance of Jesus who had actually written every word of my answer.

After I dropped off the copy at the printer’s, my heart was still singing, and I decided that, with no deadlines to meet, I’d pass up prematurely depressing myself, which would surely occur if I went back to my dingy office. I felt that since helping others had put me in such high spirits already, I’d keep myself in love with the world — Sharks.


“So that’s it,” Melanie said after she had brought me up to date and finished telling me about her latest abandonment.

“It must have been terrible for you,” I said sympathetically, “but now all that’s behind you because you’re finally in a warm and caring environment.”

“Yeah, right on,” she said enthusiastically, and then leaned closer, and in a confidential voice, asked, “Hey, lady, you got any grass?”

For a moment I was puzzled. Then it suddenly occurred to me that she was talking about dope, and that she was in danger of slipping back into her old ways unless I gave her some guidance.

“Oh, you little rascal,” I chuckled. “I realize you were probably just kidding around. However, something that’s illegal is no joke. If you want to turn on, as I know you teens sometimes like to do what with the stress and strain of the modern world and all, why not use something that’s not against the law and can’t get you into trouble?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, obviously interested in what I had to say. “What’s that?”

I wanted to tell her about the joy of Christ, the greatest high known to the human race, but I didn’t think she was ready for it on our first night together. So instead I said, “Well, for example, when I’m feeling depressed, I have some little red pills I get from my doctor on a prescription, making them perfectly legitimate, and wash a few of them down with a little vodka on which I’ve paid a state tax. Now that’s the mature, safe way to handle nervous tension.”

“Oh, wow, reds!” she cried, obviously pleased by my understanding of her problems. “Lemme at ’em!”

“Well, perhaps a few wouldn’t hurt,” I said. “After all, tonight is a kind of celebration… our first night together and all. All right, they’re in the medicine cabinet. You go get them while I get the drinks. But no vodka for you until you’re twenty-one, little lady. You can have a Mr. Pibb.”

When I came back into the living room from the kitchen, she was still gone. “Did you find them?” I yelled towards the bathroom.

But the answer came from the bedroom. “I’m changing into something a little more comfy to get stoned in… uh, to celebrate in.”

I sat down and drank a couple of ounces from the vodka and tonic I had in my hand. When my head started to spin in instant intoxication, it occurred to me that I’d been so busy I’d hardly eaten anything today, including dinner which I’d just picked at in my enchantment over having Melanie.

My head spun even faster and sent my senses reeling when Melanie walked into the room in what she felt more comfy in. All it was was a man’s T-shirt, all torn and ragged, with “Only Schlitz is Better Than Love” emblazoned across the chest. The hem only made it to the bottom of her crotch, so that every time she moved or jiggled I could see the thin bush of her pussy between her narrow, honey-colored thighs. At the top, her nipples poked sensuously, exploding stiffly from the soft roundness of her tits. Instantly I felt my cunt go wet, drenching my panties and painting a flush across my face.

“Somethin’ wrong?” she asked with apparent innocence.

“Uh, no… no… of course not,” I said, unsuccessfully trying to avert my eyes from her mouth-watering cunt. “It’s just that this drink hit me unexpectedly hard. I’ll be all right in a sec.”

“Here,” she said, throwing the jar from the medicine cabinet to me, “pop a couple of reds and that’ll slow you down.”

Not stopping to wonder how she had suddenly become such an expert on my red pills, I took two of them out of the bottle, which I noticed was already open, and threw them into my mouth.

“Ummm,” I sighed, washing them down with my vodka, “I feel better already.”

“Me, too,” she almost sang as she floated around the room in a kind of little dance. “I’ve already had six of the little mothers.”

“Don’t you think that’s a lot…” I suggested tentatively, my voice trailing off from uncertainty.

“Remember, I didn’t get any vodka,” she reminded me. “And, besides, you’ll catch up.”

I don’t know if I ever caught up to her in taking the most pills or not, because after a while I had taken enough of them to feel absolutely marvelous and didn’t care about anything but the pleasure coursing through my body. It was like I was trapped in a web of euphoria and was unable to do anything but enjoy myself. I stopped worrying about the constant foaming between my legs and just let my cunt gush away, feeling the pussy-lather ooze down my thighs and glaze them like sticky syrup. I twisted around in my chair every time Melanie moved so I could always have a full view of her, and as I did, my skirt eventually wriggled up around my hips, leaving my sopping crotch in open sight.

“Wow, what got into, you?” Melanie said, coming up and peering between my spread legs at my sopping cunt.

“The sight of you,” I honestly replied, my eyes swimming in my head from the sight of her flimsy T-shirt clinging to her lithe body.

“Wanna see more?” she asked eagerly, like a little puppy dog anxious to please.

“Sure,” I said, wanting to give her an opportunity to build up her self-confidence, which had to be damaged after her sordid experiences.

“How about my pussy?” she said, lifting up her T-shirt triumphantly.

My mouth drooled at the sight of the soft mound of her cunt, the soft slope just barely covered by her flaxen pussy hair, the slit of her pussy a mere indentation between her legs. I felt no alternative but to reach out to her and show Melanie how much I loved her already.

“No, no, hands off,” she laughed, dancing backward to elude my grasp. “First you’ve gotta check out my titties.” She pulled the T-shirt over her head and threw it to the floor, standing totally naked before me. Her tits were more than handfuls, but their sensuous slope and rosy, pink nipples were a sure sign of maturity. There wasn’t an ounce of excess flesh on her anywhere.

“Now can I touch you?” I begged.

“Not yet,” she teased. “First you’ve gotta show me what you’ve got.”

“You mean take off my clothes?” I asked, feeling a wave of amazement come over me.


For an instant I couldn’t believe this was happening, but then the combined influence of the vodka and the red pills suddenly staged a sneak attack on my senses and reduced my reason to a shambles.

“I love it!” I exclaimed spontaneously and immediately started peeling off my garments, not stopping until I was clad only in my juice-drenched panties.

“Oh, I’m crazy about your tits,” Melanie said. “They’re the grooviest of any of my foster mothers. Too bad you don’t have a dick to go along with them, but I’m sure something can be worked out.”

“Or in, as the case may be,” I giggled as I took off my soaked panties from my body and stood naked before Melanie. “Now, can I touch you?”

“Yes, yes!” she cried, running into my arms and squashing her tiny tits against my big jugs, our nipples immediately rubbing against each other. “Touch me! Touch my tits! Touch my cunt!”

I did, throwing one palm like a suction cup against her tits, squeezing them together, and throwing my other arm over her back and across her ass so I could reach between her cheeks and snake my fingers into the creaming slit of her cunt. I could tell that our ages made no difference when it came to pussy flow — my fingers were drenched with cunt-juice.

“Quick, quick, into the bedroom,” she whispered urgently in my ear. “I want to be in bed with you. I want to feel you on top of me. I want to feel your tongue in my pussy while I eat yours.”

We flew hand in hand to the bedroom, diving onto the bed like it was an Olympic-size pool and landing in each other’s arms, our gushing pussies rubbing maddeningly together.

“Now, now,” she urged, “sixty-nine, let’s sixty-nine. I can’t wait to taste your cunt.”

We hurriedly maneuvered so that she lay flat on her back, her nakedly perfect teenage body directly beneath me, my haunches straddling her so that the parted cheeks of my ass placed the dripping gash of my pussy right in her face.

“Go down on me at both ends,” she said rapidly, and I instantly complied, sending my cunt plopping juicily against her mouth, and hurtling my face into the steaming crack of her wide-open cunt.

Her tongue was a marvel as it flicked in and out of my juicing pussy at a fantastic rate, its pistonlike darting a testimony to the boundless energy of youth. As she reamed out my cunt with thrusts that were more and more daring, it felt as satisfying as any man’s cock inside my cunt, expertly hitting all the right places and staffing a series of miniature orgasms within me. The orgasmic intensity starting to dominate my body forced me to instinctively answer her pussy-thrusts with a tongue-fucking of my own. I stabbed at least three inches inside of her fuck-hole, immediately feeling the dewy walls of her cunt tenderly clasp me.

The worn was eerily quiet except for the repeated slurps of our cunt-lapping, each of our mouths lathering up a froth inside the pussy pressing against its lips Melanie’s cunt tasted unbelievably sweet and pure as I licked away at it, hopeful that she was finding my pussy as delicious as I was finding hers.

Her clit was full-grown and rubbed insistently against my teeth and gums. Finally I gave in to the spike-like nubbin of glistening, pink meat and started lapping it exclusively, teasing her clit into greater and greater hardness with my flicking licks and playful rubs.

Down below, her face was virtually all the way into my bloated gash, her nose firmly jammed in the bottom of my cunt while her lips and mouth aggressively nibbled inside the entrance to my fuck-canal, turning the tissues of my pussy into an inflamed mass of raw nerve endings.

I was coming once every few seconds now. Each climax built on top of the other until my naked body was racked by frenzy, my mouth and cunt stimulated from the outside while the rest of me was burned by my inner fires.

Apparently Melanie could sense the orgasms that were rapidly developing into a barrage against my senses because she let go of my cunt and called up, “Don’t come too much yet.”

“Oh, darling, I’ll never stop,” I mumbled into her sopping pussy.

“I want to stick it in you before we stop!” she cried as she pulled off me. “Get on your back.”

“What’ll you use?” I asked as I rolled over on my back, automatically spreading my legs so my cunt was out in the open, begging to be fucked.

“I’ll check the fridge,” she said, and was gone before I knew it.

When she returned, her eyes glowed like she had just discovered gold. But their attention was obviously riveted to nothing more exotic than the long Polish sausage dangling from her trembling fingers. “Wow,” she said, her mouth forming a perfect little O to go along with her Orphan Annie eyes, “we can both use this mother at the same time.”

I couldn’t imagine what she was talking about until she got on the bed and greedily began stuffing one end of the sausage up her horny cunt. Her dainty pink pussy-lips bent wetly, flexing in and out as Melanie jigglingly lodged six inches of the Polish sausage inside her cunt-hole.

“Here,” she said handing me the free end, “stick it up your pussy.”

The urge to be joined to her, pussy to pussy, by a moist tube of fresh meat forced me to scramble next to Melanie, fraying my legs wide open and grabbing for the remaining length of sausage. Instantly I felt its cool neck slide inside my hole, my steaming cunt boiling the meat so that when it finally came out of the oven of my pussy, it would probably be cooked enough to eat. I looked down at my cunt, breeched by the pink tube of the cocklike sausage, and across to Melanie’s pussy, equally stretched with the round meat.

“Wiggle your ass,” she said to me, “make it work like a live prick inside my cunt.”

I instinctively did as she asked, moving my hips in a slow circular motion that sent the long sausage twisting up her cunt like a roto-rooter. The way she sighed, twisted and moaned you would have thought she had the world’s biggest, liveliest cock up her pussy. Her trembling became spasms as a result of the surging force up her cunt, and as she shook, her vibrations coursed back through the bond of meat connecting us and I suddenly felt the substitute prick dancing with life inside my cunt, too.

Now we were both twitching our asses, grinding away at each other and taking what the other had to give, both of us fucking and being fucked simultaneously. The firmly packed meat stabbed farther and farther into the tunnel of my cunt as our crotches pressed closer and closer together, until, finally, the strands of our pussy hair intertwined and the wet lips of our cunts were touching, the long tube of sausage buried within us.

We each put our hands on the other’s waist and pulled even closer, forcing our bellies and hips tightly together, teenage body straining lithely against the ripe curves. My firm, ample tits swamped hers, burying her boobs under an avalanche of warm flesh, her sharp nipples stabbing erectly into the underside of my jugs. We soul-kissed, our tongues, still reeking of each other’s cunts, stabbing pungently into each other’s mouths. Down below, the mouths of our pussies sealed each other like gaskets, fusing together as we fucked, reaming each other out with the foot and a half of hard meat between us.

I had been coming steadily all along, but now one whale of an orgasm surfaced within me. Suddenly I found myself totally haywire, all my sensations, all my feelings, and all my emotions centered in my twitching, juicing cunt. I squeezed my pussy muscles like a vise on the hard meat inside me and felt it start to give. In a minute it was crushed, the tough link of sausage turned into patties inside my meat grinder of a cunt.

As I creamed and convulsed, I stole a glance and saw that Melanie was having the same experience, her eyes rolling like a slot machine as she lifted her head back and thrust her adolescent cunt at me, pounding our clits together so that the seal of our pussy-lips was broken, and our cunt-juice foamed in a thick lather at our crotches.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” she cried. “I’m coming one last time! Hold me, let me come in your arms!”

Our tits crashed together and then we collapsed and shuddered in each other’s embrace. We drove our cunt-mounds together, gouging the thick hunk of meat joining us against the mouths of our wombs as we felt our climaxes suddenly shared. Orgasmic power flowed between us through the connections of our tongue-fucking mouths, our pressing tits and stabbing nipples, and our meatily welded cunts. We trembled convulsively in each other’s grasp as the coming reduced us to quivering wrecks, total slaves to the agonizingly perfect domination of our bodies by our erotic instincts.

Finally we were through and stopped, running down as though we were machines whose springs had unwound. As we fell away from each other, my legs splayed and I exhaustedly threw an arm across the front of my naked body, my hand dangling on top of my oozing cunt. Immediately I could feel the juices flooding from me, drenching my fingers with their stickiness. I couldn’t resist the temptation to taste my cunt and drew my hand to my mouth and lapped the dripping gop sticking to my fingers. The surprise tanginess of the sausage mixed in with my pussy-juice startled and delighted me, and quickly my hand was back at my cunt, gouging for another load of goodness.

Melanie saw what I was doing and cried, “Look… look!” pointing to the space between us on the bed.

I looked to where she was pointing and gasped deliriously, “Oh, my God!”

What was left of the sausage was lying on the bedspread, all but a few inches of it gouged off and missing.

“It’s in our cunts!” Melanie shrieked with joy.

“Let’s have a midnight snack!” I cried, completely invigorated within a few magical seconds.

We sprang upright and leaped at each other, wrestling off the bed and onto the floor until each of us found a place in the other’s crotch, our mouths greedily eating at our cunts for the succulent stew of Polish sausage and pussy. Immediately my tongue found a chunk of the savory goodness and passed it to my ravenous mouth. Greedily I wolfed down the pussy-juice marinated sausage, piggishly going for more as I felt Melanie doing the same thing in my cunt, splitting my snatch apart with her tongue and mouth to get at the goodies.

The more pussy I ate the more I came, giving Melanie more and more treasure to mine in the mother-lode of my cunt. In my own mouth, dessert was the continuous cream Melanie was spewing in my face as I ate her pussy, both our twats foaming so uncontrollably that the section of the carpet on which we writhed was sure to still be a swamp in the morning.

We rolled and moaned, ate and sucked, devouring each other’s pussies until we were blinded and stilled by exhaustion. At last we lay quiet again, my head resting on the pillow of Melanie’s cunt, my cheek pressed against her wet pussy-lips. Her hand nestled between my thighs, one finger symbolically stuck inside my cunt, turning me on even in my aching semiconsciousness. Finally, the black curtain of sleep descended over me and I was out like a light, content that I had brought some happiness into this poor teenager’s unfortunate life.


When I woke up naked on the floor, wallowing in a sticky pool of my own pussy-juice, Melanie was gone. I got up and hurriedly covered myself and looked frantically around the apartment for her.

But she was definitely gone. And the more I looked around the more I discovered that Melanie wasn’t all that was gone. My wallet, my Sony portable color TV, my clock radio, my tape deck, my microwave oven, and my Crockpot were all missing, and my medicine cabinet was cleaned out.

Slowly it dawned on me. Melanie had ripped me off! I started to say out loud, “The little bitch,” but was quickly seized by regret and a longing to have her back immediately, under any circumstances.

I started for the phone to call the agency to tell them that Melanie was gone, but on the way I stopped short as something occurred to me in a blinding, sobering flash. I was acting like one of the people who wrote to Madame Fellatio. Like the one who’d gotten mixed up with the lesbian named Margo and then had been taken advantage of by her. Yes, I could clearly remember the plaintive words of her desperate letter: “Logically, I should have been happy to get rid of such a leech, but all I could feel was a dead sensation in my breasts, and a throbbing in my cunt as she walked out…”

Yes, there was no doubt about it, I was acting just like that over Melanie. It depressed me for a moment, but then I suddenly realized my actions must have been inspired, a calculated ploy by God to force me to have the same experiences as my correspondents so I could have genuine empathy and really reach them!

Immediately I knew why God had put me through this experience and what my mission was. Instead of just writing an answer, I would reply in person to the most wretched letter I could find. I would bring Christ personally to the poorest soul I could find. My heart sang as I dashed in to take a quick bath before I put on my clothes and raced to the office to find the letter.

I didn’t even notice what time of day it was as the cab sped me towards the office. The sky was gray and murky, but I assumed that was because it was about to rain as I ignored what was going on outside and concentrated on the good I was going to do once I found the letter I was looking for.

The cab dropped me off in front of the building and for the first time I noticed that there was nobody on the street. I walked to the entrance of the building and tried to push the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. I turned around in frustration and noticed the sky again. Now I realized that it wasn’t going to rain at all, it was just very early morning. I decided not to let it bother me, figuring that the solitude would give me a better chance to discover the one letter I was looking for. The only problem was how to get into the building.

I remembered an emergency exit in the back. Shark had fixed it up without telling the landlord so it would open from the outside and he could get in and out of the building whenever somebody came around to serve him with a summons in an obscenity or a libel case. I went around to it and let myself in, trying to focus my eyes in the darkness after I closed the door behind me. I was disoriented at first, but by the time I was in the lobby I knew where I was and headed towards the elevator. As I fumbled for the up-button, I suddenly felt as thought I was sure I’d heard something. Not anything loud, just a soft padding.

“Probably rats,” I distastefully concluded aloud. “And probably all from Shark’s office since he never has them cleaned.”


My office was just like I’d left it, embalmed in time because of Shark’s stinginess about hiring a regular janitor. (I suspected that the old woman who came in to supposedly clean the place once in a blue moon was probably some relative of Shark’s… perhaps his mother.) The roaches had started a regular colony by now on my blotter, and didn’t bother to move when I walked in and interrupted them.

Thinking kindly of the roaches as just some more of God’s wondrous creatures, I let them be and turned my attention toward the reason why I had come up here — finding the perfect letter to answer in person. Only then would Madame Fellatio be sanctified.

It was funny, but the closer I came to realizing the potential of her ability to spread the word of Christ, the more I identified with that fictional character, coming to think of myself more and more as Madame Fellatio instead of Eugenia Saunders. I was certain God intended for me to truly become Madame Fellatio.

I riffled through a stack of letters, glancing at one and then another in my quest to find exactly the right one. Finally, after over an hour’s reading, I found the one I wanted, and read and re-read it with glee.

“Dear Madame Fellatio: I don’t know where to begin, but for my own good I’d better start someplace quickly because due to a childhood accident I haven’t any arms or legs and am writing this with a Bic pen clenched between my teeth.”

“Oh, don’t think I’m complaining about my handicap. At the special school I went to before I dropped out after the eighth grade, they always used to tell us kids not to think of ourselves as handicapped, but as exceptional. And I guess that’s true, because how many people do you know who have no arms and legs? No, what I’m writing you about is my father. He’s the reason I’m not in that special school anymore, because he pulled me out and took me on the road with his carnival where they show me off like a freak, but Daddy keeps all the money. My mother never would’ve let him do it, but he waited until she was sick and had her put in a mental asylum before he did this to me.”

“The thing about it is, I guess I wouldn’t mind the carnival so much, even though I know the people pay fifty cents to see me because I’m supposed to be a freak, if all I had to do was sit up there on the pedestal my daddy made for me to rest on. But that’s not the half of what I have to do. Because it wasn’t more than a week after we joined the carnival that Daddy discovered there were people who would pay more than fifty cents to do more than just look at me.”

“The reason I wrote to you, Madame Fellatio, is that my daddy reads your magazine, and I’ve looked at it when it’s lying around and noticed that people write you about a lot of, well, different things having to do with sex. Madame Fellatio, the reason these men are willing to pay my daddy sometimes over ten dollars is that they think it would be a big thrill to fuck someone with no arms or legs.”

“Now, I’m eighteen, and although my arms and legs might be missing, I’m plenty normal inside, and I’ve got special yearnings just like everyone else. The accident that cost my limbs certainly didn’t do anything to my pussy, and I’ve got a great big juicy one, with big, full red lips and a lot of brown curly hair around it and everything. (In fact, the tailor has to make the crotches on my costumes special so the kids brought into the carnival by their parents won’t see any of my spreading pussy hair.) What I’m trying to say is that I’ve got urges just like anyone else my age, and a lot of times I’m off in outer space daydreaming about a hot, throbbing cock stabbing up my cunt and my pussy starts sopping as normal as you’d want to see. But, Madame Fellatio, I’d like to choose who fucks me, not just have it be a bunch of strangers who don’t give a hoot about my feelings. If you want to get right down to it, I guess I want the man who fucks me to be in love with me. The way it’s been, sometimes I think these men are only willing to stick their stiff cocks in my pussy because I don’t have any arms or legs. I wonder if they’d like me so much if I had arms and legs just like everybody else.”

“Lately things have been getting worse because there’s this one man that money’s no object to and he’s been making my father rich buying up all my favors. There’ve been a lot of complaints lately from the carnival management because I’ve been off fucking with this man when I should have been on display. I’m worried about it, but Daddy says he doesn’t care because if it comes down to it he says he can make more money off selling my body.”

“This one man I’m telling you about isn’t a regular customer, but a member of the carnival. He’s the tattooed man, and he’s so covered with tattoos of fire-breathing dragons, snarling mountain lions, Marine Corps insignias, serpents, naked women, and American flags that his cock and balls are even covered with them. When his prick is limp, it’s impossible to make out what he has tattooed on it, but when it’s standing out stiff, like it always is thirty seconds after he’s got my costume off and is slobbering over my defenseless cunt, you can see what’s on there is a perfect drawing of a striking snake. There are blue and green scales starting at the root of his prick in his balls that go all the way along his shaft until they change into the fiery knot at the end of his cock that’s fixed up like a snake’s head. When he moves that monster toward me, I feel like a rattlesnake is going to burrow inside my cunt, wounding my pussy with its poison fangs until I’m full of venom.”

“There’s nothing I can do about this man, no way I can get away from him. He picks me up like I was nothing more than a big chunk of meat and hoists me over the straining pole of his colored cock and then pushes me suddenly down on it, impaling my cunt on his standing lance. He fucks me by moving me up and down with his hands, using me to jack off with as his prick rams higher and tighter by the second inside my spasming cunt, its cruel head pounding brutally against the mouth of my womb and making me wonder what I’d do if he ever makes me pregnant. He just finished sticking his big prick up my defenseless pussy, and as I write this, I can feel his cum coating the walls of my cunt, dribbling out from my aching gash and pooling underneath me so it sticks to the stumps where my legs used to be.”

“Still and all, I probably wouldn’t be taking pen in mouth to write you unless something more hadn’t happened to me. Ever since we came into this state, going from town to town with the carnival, a guy has been following the show. He turns up in every town, pays his fifty cents every night to get in, and spends the evening just standing there watching me. He’s very shy, but finally I got him to talk when neither my father or the tattooed man were around, and he told me he was following me because he’s in love with me. I don’t know whether to believe him or not. Although this is what I’ve been dreaming of my whole life long, I’ve never actually had to deal with it up till now, and I’m not sure of what to do next. To give you an idea of how unusual this relationship with this young man is, I’ve never even seen his cock, although, believe me, I’ve fantasized about it plenty and imagine it as long and pink and graceful, envisioning that it’s his stiff prick sliding up my foaming cunt when the others are fucking me.”

“Anyway, this guy is getting more insistent because he says he’s got to get back to his hometown and this barber college where he’s a student, and he wants me to go with him. I don’t want to rush things, but he says we could just go for a weekend and I could meet his folks and he could take me to a dance his barber college is having. Should I say yes to him, Madame Fellatio? I’m not so sure how I’d manage on the dance floor, although he assures me that everything would be all right because he’d lead.”

“This is so urgent I can’t wait for an answer by mail or in your magazine. If you could only spare a few minutes of your time to talk to me in person. The carnival will be in your city by the time you read this. Please come by and see me. I don’t think you’ll have much trouble finding me — I’m right between the fat lady and the Human Pincushion — and I’ll give you back the fifty cents you’ll have to pay to get in at the door. Thanks for caring, R.Q.”

I got so excited reading the letter I couldn’t contain myself. When I had finished, I noticed that my hand had uncontrollably slipped up my skirt between my legs and my hand was intuitively massaging the folds and slit of my cunt, my fingers swimming in the sticky residue of the dog-jizz that still filled my pussy.

I could just see that poor, armless and legless girl stark naked, her much-abused cunt flexing in defenseless openness as a tattooed brute violated her by stabbing his stiff prick between her nonexistent thighs. In my mind the exploiting cock was the tattooed prick she’d described in her letter, a sexual snake spewing its venom inside of the poor, girl’s cunt.

The thought of it made my pussy so wet that I finally had to get up and go into the dingy little cubicle that Shark furnished as the only bathroom in the place, and sit down on the toilet seat, parting my legs so I could cram a grimy towel between my quivering thighs and wipe the big load of pussy-juice and dog-sperm from my throbbing cunt.

When I was finished, I threw the ruined towel in the overflowing trashcan and walked directly from the bathroom to the door, bypassing my office in my eagerness to find the shockingly exploited and vulnerable R.Q.

I took the elevator downstairs and when I got on the street noticed that the sun was now up and there were people outside and the day was officially beginning. I went to the nearest newsstand and bought a morning paper to search for an ad for the carnival so I could find its location.

I found the advertisement for the carnival in the amusement section, however before I did, an item a few pages before it caught my eye. “Priest Abducted,” the headline said, and below the story told of how an unidentified intruder had come into the rectory of my neighborhood Catholic church, overpowered the priest, and fled him up and locked him in the closet. When I first glanced at it, my immediate reaction was that it served that closet nonbeliever Father Marmelstein right. But when I looked at the story more closely, I saw that Father Marmelstein wasn’t mentioned at all. It was Father Coughlin, who hadn’t passed away at all, who had been abducted. The article went on to say that the police and church were at a loss to explain the incident because nothing had been taken. The only clues, the article said, were that a passer-by had seen a disheveled-looking woman coming out of the rectory in a rush during the time was Father Coughlin was tied up in the closet, and that some mysterious stains had been found in the rectory which the police lab was in the process of analyzing.

The whole thing was eerie, but I didn’t want to think about it. After giving the article a third scanning, I rapidly flipped the pages of the paper until I came to the entertainment section so I could find the ad for the carnival. When my eyes finally lit on it, I breathed a big sigh of relief, anxious to have something to think about that would put the strange business about the church out of my mind.

The carnival was located in the shabbiest part of town, down by the river adjacent to the stockyards. Unfortunately, there were more cows in the stockyards than people patronizing the carnival, a ratio to which the ripe smell in the air attested. The natural seediness of the carnival took on an almost grotesque glow when combined in my senses with the stench of cow manure, the whole enterprise seeming to have been conceived in sleaziness. Of all of this tackiness, the freak show was the worst example, a crude tent, the entrance to which was presided over by a fat man hawking tickets for fifty cents yelling, “See the freaks for only four bits! Only ones a their kind in the entire world!”

I got in line and paid my money, being shuttled inside by an oily-looking fellow at the door who looked at the customers as though they were the ones who were the freaks, which was rather paradoxical since he appeared to have two noses.

The lighting was terrible inside the tent. Two or three naked lightbulbs dangled from the canvas ceiling, their power emerging from a struggling generator that sputtered just outside the entrance flap. In the gloomy light, the horseshoe of freaks which dotted the edge of the shabby tent took on an almost holy cast, as though they were religious figures of special spiritual significance, the most martyred of saints.

I walked around the tent slowly, looking at each of them individually while I searched for R.Q. There was the fat lady, her enormously puffy thighs oozing doughily out of the spangled tights she was wearing, a coarse suggestion of her scraggly pussy hair poking out of each side of the tautly strained satin crotch. At her side an especially misshapen dwarf, with feet and hands seeming to emerge from his bull-neck, was being passed off as a midget named Mr. Littlebit, supposedly married to the fat lady. Next to them the Indian Rubber Man was busily contorting himself. He was naked except for a turban and a strip of cloth around his waist as he bent his head between his legs and locked his ankles behind his back while his face pressed to his crotch. As he did this, behind me I could hear one teen snicker to another, “I wonder if that guy ever blows himself.” Immediately I conjured a mental image of the man in the same position with no loincloth, his erect cock stabbing all the way down his throat so that I could see his balls bobbing against his chin from my vantage point.

Moving on quickly from the disturbingly arousing Indian Rubber Man, it occurred to me that there was something very erotic about the atmosphere here, almost as though the distorted bodies of the freak were, in addition to their apparent religious significance, a strange cry to lust. Perhaps the lust itself is the ultimate religious experience, I thought in an instant rationalization as I took a step forward and discovered that my pussy was uncontrollably full of sticky juice and that just looking at these freaks had started my cunt flowing.

I got so involved in looking at them that I’m afraid I gawked as I studied every freak on display in the show. My pussy spasmed and gushed with each new revelation of human deformity, my thighs wallowing in the gushing reaction from each distorted twist of flesh and bone. But the fat lady and the dwarf, the Indian Rubber Man, the pinhead, the geek, and the Human Pincushion notwithstanding, the picture was incomplete as there were two factors obviously missing — the tattooed man, and the poor armless and legless R.Q.

In order to find my troubled correspondent, I walked up to the Indian Rubber Man and asked, “Do you have a girl working here with the initials R.Q.?” hoping he would recognize her from the limited description of her I had at my command.

He mumbled something in reply, but I couldn’t make out a word of it because he was mumbling into the crotch of his loincloth. I was just getting ready to approach the Human Pincushion, when suddenly a man I hadn’t seen before approached me from behind. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on it because he was wearing a purple ski-mask. Before I had time to puzzle over it, he pulled out a billfold, quick flashed a badge at me, and returned it to his pocket within seconds.

“What’s this?” I blurted.

“Shhh,” he hissed, and then whispered, “Marmelstein of the FBI. We’ve got this place staked out for violation of the Mann Act… white slavery as the great unwashed call it. We’re waiting for some overt evidence to develop so we can knock heads without a warrant.”

“Why are you wearing that mask?” I asked for some reason.

“I don’t want to take a chance on anybody recognizing me,” he said. “My picture’s been in People magazine for receiving a heroism medal for burning out a militant gang of senior citizens who’d barricaded themselves in a rest home and taken the nurses as hostages.”

“Oh,” I said, still breathless from this sudden development. “You know, isn’t this a coincidence, I just met another man named Marmelstein the other day. He was a priest.”

“Oh, yes, that’s my brother, Rick. We’re all very proud of him,” he said tersely. “Now that we’ve got my credentials settled, what about yours?” he asked officiously.

“What do you mean?” I asked, totally perplexed, unaware of the necessity of proving who I was while in the everyday act of attending a freak show, even if I did happen to encounter a G-man in front of the Human Pincushion.

“Don’t try to hide anything,” he warned, “it’ll only be held against you later when it comes out you didn’t cooperate with the Bureau. Now stop withholding information and tell me about R.Q. What is her full identity? Come clean and we’ll go easy with you.”

“That’s all I know about her, believe me, just her initials,” I explained.

“Yeah, sure — R.Q., that’s all you know. There’re only about a thousand people in the metropolitan area with the initials R.Q. and you happen to show up here looking for one of them,” he hissed bitingly. “Come on, there must be something about her you know that you’re not telling.”

“I can’t think of anything,” I responded.

“She wouldn’t happen to be without arms or legs?” he snapped accusingly.

“Come to think of it, she is handicapped… er, exceptional,” I said, “but that could be just a coincidence.”

“Stop covering up,” he snarled. “Her name’s Rhonda Quigley, she’s a minor, and they’re using her as a Goddamn quadriplegic whore. All we have to do is catch her in the act with somebody sticking their big you-know-what up her cookie and we’ll have the goods on these scum.”

For some reason his rough way of talking excited me, and when he started talking about the “big you-know-what”, my lips automatically formed the syllables for “big, hairy cock”, recalling the image from R.Q.’s letter of the tattooed man’s snakelike prick reaming out the helpless teenager’s thighless cunt.

“What’s that you said?” he snapped, glaring at me like I was fresh shit.

“Nothing… nothing…” I stammered, mortified that I had been caught.

“You said, and I repeat, ‘big, hairy cock’. You can’t fool an agent by remaining silent. We’re trained in lip-reading from the first day we join the Bureau. It assists us in tracking down deaf and dumb subversives, of which there are more than you would ordinarily expect, a handicap not necessarily making a person into a patriot despite the excellent care they receive in this country,” he hissed at me, withering my ability to stand up to him. “By saying what you did about the big, hairy you-know-what, you reveal that you do know what’s going on in this den of iniquity. I must warn you now that unless you fully cooperate with me, I may have to hold you for concealing information and obstructing justice. Now come with me, you’re going to help me catch these degenerates in the act.”

I was so intimidated by his dominant air of authority that I would have gone with him even if he hadn’t specifically threatened me and pulled me along with him by the wrist. The fact of the matter was that I was more than just intimidated by him, I was mesmerized, hypnotized by his stark, authoritarian masculinity.


Within seconds we had left the main tent, and Agent Marmelstein was pulling me towards a much smaller tent perhaps fifty feet away. Through the canvas we could see that only a single light burned inside it, showing the silhouette of someone’s head bobbing up and down, their open lips apparently superimposed over the shadow of the tent’s center pole. However, when I peeked between the flaps at Agent Marmelstein’s urging, I saw that the pole wasn’t a pole at all; the lips were sliding up and down on a long, stiff cock, the teenage face of their owner a blurred piston as her mouth did its sucking work on the swollen prick.

“What’s happening?” Marmelstein asked impatiently.

“She’s sucking his prick,” I answered, being too startled to stop and refine my language.

“With no hands?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes,” I answered. “His prick is standing straight up in the air. She’s just going up and down on it with her mouth and that’s all. If you listen, you can hear her slurping.”

“I may know sign language, but I can certainly hear as well as you can,” he snapped back at me. “Now you’re sure she’s not using her hands to suck his prick, right?”

“Yes… yes…” I stammered.

“And she doesn’t have her legs wrapped around him, right?”

“Yes… yes.”

“Then we can bust ’em,” he said ferociously.

“Is there a law against blowing someone without using your hands?” I asked, totally perplexed.

“Just let me interpret the law, if you don’t mind,” he snapped. “Now shut up and get in there.”

“What… why?”

“I need an impartial witness for the federal prosecutor to feed to the jury, or some pinko defense lawyer will get these perverts off scot-free. So get in there and do your patriotic duty,” he ordered, literally shoving me through the entrance of the tent.

The naked man lying on the cot jumped when I burst into the tent, but he couldn’t flee because the girl sucking his thickly erect cock didn’t move. Her wide, round eyes registered surprise and fright, but her body refused to respond accordingly. I quickly saw the reason why when I realized she had no arms or legs, the lump of a naked body propped between the man’s heavy legs, her white tits squashing helplessly into the well of his thighs, while his arm snaked over her back and his huge hand nestled between the spread cheeks of her legless ass in the moistly hairy gap of her pussy.

“R.Q.,” I blurted.

“Are you Ma…” she started to say, saved from revealing my identity only by the cock imbedded in her mouth that forced her to mumble incoherently.

Afraid that the knowledge that I was Madame Fellatio of Honey Pot magazine might complicate my situation with the FBI agent who was presumably outside listening to everything, I quickly winked at R.Q., in the hope she would catch the gesture in the shadows, and said hurriedly, “Yes, uh, Rhonda, I’m Miss Saunders, the social worker from the Child Welfare Bureau to reply to your complaint about being abused.”

She seemed to catch on, or at least was too confused to say anything more, as she removed the cock from her mouth and looked silently up at me, shiny strings of saliva and some sperm that had prematurely leaked into her sucking mouth glisteningly joining her parted lips. As I looked down from the sticky evidence on her lips, for the first time I really noticed the thick, hard cock she had been so diligently sucking. Instead of being pink, it was blue and red and green, resembling an angry snake, poised to strike. It was connected to a nude body equally covered with grotesque markings as I realized that I was watching R.Q. with the tattooed man she had written to me about.

The tattooed man, his prick released by R.Q.’s mouth, tried to wriggle free so he could apparently bust out of the tent before he got involved in anything messy. I assumed that Marmelstein would have no choice but to abandon his cover and grab him before he got out of the flaps. But to my surprise, the burly tattooed man, looking like a comic strip drawn on rubber, bustled out of the tent and disappeared into the night, babbling in Hungarian.

“Marmelstein, Agent Marmelstein, where are you?” I called, but to no avail. There was no reply, and when I poked my head outside, no sign of him.

Realizing I couldn’t turn my back on the helpless girl inside the tent, I pulled my head back in and turned to face her pathetically nude armless and legless body. Immediately my eyes were riveted to her cunt, a vast hairy gash slicing across the bottom of her trunk, looking more like the cut of an ax than a part of the human body. Her well-formed tits slid shimmeringly off to either side of her chest, the pink nipples standing firmly at attention, both buds ridged by dozens of tiny goose-bumps clustering around the rosy areolas.

Her tits were beautiful, but it was the lure of her cunt, so totally unprotected and fantastically open, that brought me towards her, its musky pussy scent filling my flaring nostrils. Suddenly I found myself hovering over her open cunt, my face within inches of the slobbering red gash that was puffed open and oozing cream.

“You’re not really a Miss Saunders from the Child Welfare, are you?” the girl said. “You’re Madame Fellatio, aren’t you, come to answer my letter?”

My body, totally controlled by the hypnotic attraction of her perpetually flexing cunt, took over and I wordlessly threw my face into her pussy and instantaneously began reaming out its salty slit with my stiff tongue. It was a fantastically delicious cunt.

“My, my,” she called to me. “You ought to change your name to Madame Cunnilingus.”

I blurbbled in her pussy in a sticky mumble.

“I read a lot of sex magazines,” she said. “In fact, I think it was in yours that I read that cunt-eating was more fun if there was enough to go around at once.”

Yes, indeed, that was the kind of perverted garbage that Honey Pot printed, but at least I liked to keep my column reasonably high-toned. Funny, though, when Rhonda said it, it seemed more like an invitation than a quotation, and suddenly I couldn’t resist having my own pussy eaten by a cunt-hungry, armless and legless teenage girl.

As though I were a programmed robot, I reached down and automatically undid my skirt, standing nude from the waist down except for my stockings, the shreds of the panties I’d started with this morning long since discarded. Without missing a blissful lap in Rhonda’s foaming cunt, I used my mouth as my point of balance and swiveled my lips and tongue around in her cunt as I brought the back of my body over her, straddling her head with my quivering thighs, my knees bent and resting where her shoulders would normally be.

Slowly, like a drawbridge, I lowered my cunt towards her reaching lips, hovering in maddening midcourse as she tantalizingly tickled the drooping flanges of my pussy-lips with her straining tongue. At last I rested the mouth of my slobbering cunt against the soft lips of Rhonda’s mouth, her tongue instantly shooting into my fuck-hole like a stiff cock as soon as it was able.

As she tongue-fucked my hole in a way that made my pussy feel like it was full of inch after inch of swelling cock-meat, I continued lapping her cunt, sloshing up and down its foamy split with unabated passion. Her body was so small and compact that, as I huddled over it, I felt as though I could draw it entirely into mine, absorbing her incomplete body into my amply endowed one. Yet, had we been having an athletic contest, I would have been the loser in the battle for physical dominance as her cunt systematically sucked me into her like it was a vacuum cleaner.

Clearly, all of Rhonda’s strength was in her cunt, all the energy meant for her arms and legs merging into a dynamo of power in her aggressively flexing pussy. As her cunt sucked my face deeper and deeper into its pulpy maw, I couldn’t help but think that having a pussy like this must be the only saving grace in Rhonda’s life, and vowed that I wouldn’t be the one to darken her little world as I compassionately returned every slobbering flexing with a sharp stab of my tongue and slight bite of my teeth.

I was so deeply involved in the swamp of Rhonda’s sloppy cunt that at first I didn’t even hear them talking. And then when I finally noticed it, it seemed to be in some foreign language. I dismissed it, decided that either I was hearing things or Marmelstein was back to make his pinch. If it was Marmelstein, he’d have to pay the price of showing up late by having to pry me off of the sweet spilt of Rhonda’s pussy with a crowbar and an acetylene torch.

But then suddenly I realized that they really were talking in a foreign language. Hungarian! I recognized it when a rough voice repeated the same phrase I had heard the tattooed man yell when he’d run out of the tent. I looked up from Rhonda’s cunt and over my shoulder and there he was again, bigger than life, the marks of a million needles making his body seem a bulky quilt. He was still naked, his long prick standing garishly from his loins. As I looked at the base of his prick and his incredibly round, blue-black balls, it suddenly occurred to me that there was something different about him. Then it hit me.

That was it, he had no hair on his body! The tattooing must have made his body so completely smooth that the skin appeared to be vinyl. I was fascinated by the lack of hair around his cock and balls. And surprisingly enough, the eagle whose wings erupted from the base of his balls and spread in a multicolored fan around the circle of his dick where his cock hair would have been, made the whole thing seem even more fascinating. Where first I’d thought him repulsive, I was now mesmerized by him.

“What are you two saying?” I urgently asked Rhonda. “Why are you talking in Hungarian?”

“It’s the only language he knows,” she said.

“I know a little of it myself from a high-school elective in New Jersey,” I said, and then added: “Why is he back? I thought he left because he thought I was a social worker. I heard him yelling.”

“No, he left to go get the others. That’s what he was yelling about,” she said matter-of-factly. “And here they are… and here we are. Doesn’t look like we’re in much of a position to say no, which is the story of my life.”

How precious her courage was, I thought, and how like God to send me to this place so I could witness this spiritually inspiring experience. How could I abandon her by refusing to stay with her now in her time of peril?

“Tell him to send them in, then,” I said defiantly, trying to match her bravery, “I’m ready for them when you are.”

But the tattooed man’s response was a total surprise as he began babbling excitedly in Hungarian.

“He says,” translated the cool-as-a-cucumber Rhonda, “that maybe it will be better if you’re sort of introduced to them one at a time. The first time, all together, they might be kind of shocking.”

I shrugged my shoulders and dove back into her cunt, deciding to let God take His course, depending on Him to see me through this experience toward being a better Christian.

My first test came when suddenly I felt smooth but large hands on my ass, pulling my buns apart and lifting my pussy off Rhonda’s mouth, holding it spread and aloft. One instant my cunt was gaping and oozing, still trying to get used to being empty, and the next it was filled once more, this time with ten inches of tattooed cock instead of three inches of tongue.

Immediately I gasped at how huge his cock felt within my cunt after having gotten so comfortable with Rhonda’s tongue. But it was delicious discomfort I experienced, the kind where something too big is stuffed into something too small and a lot of rubbing and friction occurs, the kind of tugging and chafing that makes cocks bigger and pussies drippier.

As the tattooed man plunged the inscribed sword of his cock in my cunt with penetrating rapidness, down below Rhonda began eagerly licking his balls and my pussy, lapping at my cunt-lips when they were pulled out by the fuck movements of his pistonlike prick. My lips sealed the valve of Rhonda’s pussy like a gasket, the spike of my tongue piercing her cunt like a drill, twisting deeper and deeper into the pulpy inner depths of her constantly drooling box.

Suddenly, something made me open my eyes. When I did, I saw something that almost made me choke as sure as if I had a foot of dick down my throat, even though it was a pussy I was eating. Scrambling up over the side of the cot like a chimpanzee, the so-called Mr. Littlebit, the dwarf, joined us, the misshapen contours of his twisted form rubbing like gnarled wood against my suddenly shivering body.

Quickly, the dwarf scooted down to the end of the cot where I had been working on Rhonda’s fantastically open cunt. For the first time I noticed that he was completely naked, and that what I had supposed was a black jumpsuit was actually a jungle of black, curly hair that covered his hideous body, swirling like wildfire from the base of his neck to his ankles so that he resembled a werewolf pygmy. But what struck me with the most impact was the fiery long rod that emerged from his tangled crotch, an enormously stiff and thick prick that was even larger than a normal man s, and which looked positively and cruelly unreal sprouting from this little man.

If his cock had had a sign hanging on it, I couldn’t have got the message any clearer as I left Rhonda’s still convulsing pussy and hungrily wrapped my lips around the dwarfs long, garlicky-tasting dick, confident that God had sent him to me as a sign. My eager lips skidded down the bumpy skin of his vein-bulging shaft until his immense cock was buried to the limit in my salivating mouth and constricting throat, his heavy balls, up until now concealed in the forest of his body hair, smashing like billiard balls against my face.

As I energetically sucked the dwarf’s astounding cock, Rhonda’s cunt, as though it were jealous of being temporarily abandoned, seemed to flex its muscles angrily, frustratingly searching for the continued stimulation it demanded. And in an instant its prayers were answered as the beige face of the Indian Rubber Man suddenly appeared from nowhere, his neck snaking around the dwarf before his face plunged into the sopping goo of Rhonda’s ever-open pussy, instantly filling the cavity of her cunt with what sounded like at least live inches of tongue.

“Mmmm, zis iz too good not to fuck,” the Indian Rubber Man said in some kind of accent that wasn’t Hungarian, and removed his head, replacing it moments later with the middle third of his unbelievably pliant body, twisted his mocha colored loins around the stumpy form of the dwarf and then contorting them so that his pelvis faced what was left of Rhonda’s as his hard dick flashed into the open from nowhere and just as abruptly disappeared into the maw of her cunt.

Immediately I could hear the foaming slurp of the Rubber Man’s contorted cock surging in and out of Rhonda’s pussy, the whole juicy process out in the open with no thighs to hide any aspect of the entire 360 degrees of penetration, the steaming train of his cock disappearing into her pussy-tunnel like a locomotive.

The fuck-juice sprayed in my face from the frantic pump action of the two pricks before me, one screwing my mouth all the way down my throat, and the other plunging repeatedly like a dagger in the wonderfully open pussy just inches under my nose. And in the rear, a third cock drilled my cunt like a laser beam, pushing inside my pussy so insistently that its bulbous head chafed maddeningly against the throbbing end of my cunt.

Just when I was sure I had gone to my limit and thought I might collapse against the other bodies, out of nowhere I suddenly felt something nudging at the puckered rim of my asshole. My endurance extended itself as the anal stimulation abruptly reminded me that I had one last joy-hole that could be fucked, the tender, constricting hole of my ass. The slime of the day’s activity glazing the furrow of my ass gave somebody’s prick enough lubrication to slide abruptly into my butt-hole, instantly spreading the delicate tissues for the battering ram of its flanged head.

“It’s got to be the Human Pincushion,” I suddenly blurted, trying to recall his face from the blur of already remembered wounds that crisscrossed his body.

“Si, si,” a voice called from the back, giving an extra thrust up my asshole with his lancing prick as a companion affirmative gesture.

God, it was all just too delicious, a positively divine experience with cocks and cunts seemingly everywhere, mouths slurping in competition with pussies, pricks stabbing mercilessly in whatever holes were available. Between the cheeks of my ass I could feel the twin holes of my shitter and cunt being vengefully reamed out, their shafts coursing in parallel and their bulging heads colliding through the thin, membranous wall between my asshole and pussy. And at the top of my cunt, where the folds of skin from the slick cunt-lips joined and formed a hood for my clit, Rhonda’s mouth feasted, her talented tongue doing a ballet on the most sensitive part of my pussy.

My own mouth couldn’t get enough of the spicy musk of the dwarf’s enormous cock, accepting it deeper and deeper so that I almost swallowed his hairy balls just before I partially released it, pulling the rumply foreskin with lustful friction up the shaft until, ultimately, I was sucking the hard head of his prick like it was a juicy plum. Just below my cock-filled mouth, Rhonda’s incredible pussy was as open as the Grand Canyon, its ample borders being stretched to the limit by what looked like the almost disembodied cock of the Rubber Man. Slurps and groans filled the air as we shuddered in unison toward a mass climax, the cot shaking and the tent poles vibrating while we fucked and sucked furiously.

I had long since been experiencing a series of minor orgasms, little quakes that coursed through my body and tickled the tissues where I was getting fucked like tiny elves dancing inside me.

But now the strokes of the cocks fucking me abruptly accelerated in their savage intensity, pushing every button in my body. The orgasmic tickling within me transformed itself into a high-voltage current, alarming my senses with lightning bolts of coming, the different holes lucky enough to be seizing a cock squeezing as hard as possible to hasten the inevitable flow of hot, sticky sperm.

I put every muscle of my body into play as I came, struggling like a trapped animal on the three pricks which hopelessly imprisoned me. I could feel their cocks start to grow that last fraction of an inch before they came, stretching my throat, asshole and cunt just a little bit more. Suddenly, there were three eruptions within me at exactly the same time. I could feel the cum flowing into me from all three directions, scalding my pussy with one spurting discharge, while another coated my bowels with fuck-cream, and the other filled my mouth and throat with more sperm than they could hold, runny gobs of it dribbling out of the corners of my mouth and jizz-clogged nostrils.

Below my face, the unmistakable thrust of the Rubber Man’s incredibly limber prick told me he was now coming, which was verified when excess sperm from his spurting cock milkily oozed from the sides of Rhonda’s cunt within seconds. Rhonda’s futile attempts at bucking her hips meant she was coming, too, as her orgasmic intensity caused her to vault her tongue out in rigid exclamation, the piercing tip burrowing inside my cunt, squeezing tightly against the cock already fucking my pussy. Driven by the frenzy within her, she somehow managed to inch her spongily stiff tongue in even farther until my cunt was more filled with wet meat than it had any right to be.

The cum sprayed and spurted and the pussy-juice flowed like wine as we twisted and ground into each other, sliding and wallowing in a pool of our creamy fuck-juices. Inside me I felt like Moses was parting the Red Sea, the cocks jammed into me creating the illusion that I was being torn apart in all directions. My hips felt like they were being ripped off their sockets, and my bowels seemed sure to be snatched from my body. My insides were so pushed out of shape by the cocks filling me that they were compressed into a tight, seething corner somewhere, straining to explode. My throat was so full of cock and jizz that I was choking, my breath cut off by the prick and its caked sperm which blocked my windpipe. I felt like I was going to shit, piss and vomit all at once, a cascade signaling that I had been literally torn apart at last, bloody chunks of my body inevitably toppling to the floor. God, how I loved it, the searing pain making it all worthwhile. I felt just like Jesus must have felt up on the cross, except my nails were stiff cocks, huge wrathful swords instead of mere spikes, and their two-edged shafts forced me to my spiritual limit, impelling me to accept the maximum of what I could humanly take.

The spurting had finally stopped, and I had come down myself, basking in the afterglow of peerless fucking and sucking with all those wilting pricks softening inside me like it was cold cream instead of sperm coating my three holes. And then, suddenly, the complexion of things changed drastically.

A voice outside could be heard asking, “What’s going on inside there?” It sounded familiar, and when it said, “Littlebit, you in there?” I recognized it as the fat lady.

By the way the tent was shaking, she was obviously trying to force her way in, but the entrance was far too small for her huge bulk. The whole tent probably could have served as a costume for her, but that didn’t stop her as she yelled, “Littlebit, I’m gonna brain you, you little fart! I’ll grind your cock down as puny as the rest of you!”

“No, no, please go away!” I found myself screaming.

“So, you got some little bimbo in there with you, huh?” she bellowed. “Well, here I come, you hairy little piss-ant!”

One of her fists shot through the fabric as though she were trying to fight her way out of a paper bag. The tent shuddered, mortally wounded, then collapsed. Its canvas draped our cock-locked bodies, throwing the six of us into sudden confusion, the fallen tent becoming a madhouse as pricks pulled abruptly from our foaming holes, their departure signaled by a series of slurping pops. Everybody scrambled to get free of both the tent and the fat lady, who was stomping around like an enraged dinosaur, determined to waylay her husband, who was as small as she was immense.

Finally, I found a loose end of canvas and poked my head under it, gratefully focusing my eyes on the outdoors. I wriggled out from under the flap and wrapped a piece of torn canvas around my naked cunt and tits, feeling the breeze jell the sperm that coated my thighs. I looked around one last time for Agent Marmelstein, but he was definitely gone. When I saw the fat lady chasing me, screaming “Whore!” I didn’t know what to do but run for my life, the load of fuck-juice between my legs squishing moistly with every stride.


I didn’t know where to go but back home. I wanted to bury my head under the pillow and just sleep, letting the jism drain from my mouth and cunt and asshole until I could wake up with sufficient clarity to sort out the significance of all that had happened to me today. It was the second successive time I slept an unknown number of hours, waking up in a timeless limbo.

When I awoke, my nose instantly told me that a bath was in order, the musky scent of over-ripe cum filling the air with its peculiar pungency. In the bathtub I slid down against the porcelain, letting my naked body totally relax as the warm water did all the work, making my tired muscles feel buoyant, and lapping relaxing against the outer folds and ridges of my aching pussy and asshole.

I took the end of the rubber tube extending from the faucet and dreamily stuck it in my relaxed cunt, feeling the warm water rush over the raw tissues of my fuck-canal. As the water coursed up my pussy, my cunt-walls automatically began to expand and contract, proof that my pussy was so horny that it would respond immediately to any stimulation, regardless of what it had been through. Somehow I felt pleased by my spasming pussy as I looked down at my now-cherished cunt and thanked God for giving it to me, grateful for the ease with which I could take on the biggest of pricks.

Suddenly my sex-drenched reverie was shattered by the ringing of the phone in the next room. I thought about letting it ring until it stopped, but then it occurred to me that perhaps there was a reason for answering it. Although I had lost track of time, and wasn’t sure of the date, something in the back of my mind reminded me that it was approximately the day for the latest issue of Honey Pot to hit the stands, my column at last available to a spiritually needy public. It occurred to me that perhaps it was Shark on the phone, calling me after he had read my column. I thrilled at the opportunity to stand up to him with the word of Christ, as I jumped out of the bathtub and flew wetly to the phone, watching the water drop from the droplet-speckled bush of my cunt as I picked up the receiver and breathlessly said hello.

I expected Shark’s characteristic snarl at the other end and was paradoxically disappointed when I heard an inoffensive whisper at the other end say, “Go answer your door.”

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Go answer your door.”

“No one’s knocking,” I protested.

“They’ve already been there,” the voice whispered. “Go.”

The effect of the increasingly eerie voice was hypnotic. I found myself dropping the receiver and doing as I was told, going to answer a door on which nobody had knocked.

I threw open the door and looked straight ahead at nothing, thin air separating me from the rest of the hall. I started to turn and go back to the phone for further instructions from the commanding, disembodied whisper; however, as I did, I glanced downward and saw a piece of white paper. I picked it up and anxiously read it.

“I’m in trouble. Only you can help. No time to explain more. Meet me right away at the thirteenth floor of Creel Building. M.S.,” it said in the terse literary style of a telegram, but scrawled in a wretched hand which looked vaguely familiar to me.

I rushed back to the phone to see if I could wring any further information out of the voice, but when I got there, all the receiver emitted was a sardonic “heh, heh,” followed by a click and the subsequent buzzing drone of the dial tone. I tried to sit down and sort out my reeling mind, but I couldn’t stay put, striding around the living room as I racked my brain for an answer to this dilemma of strange occurrences and even more mysterious familiarities.

But then in a blinding flash it struck me like a round-house right from the middleweight champion of the world that God has sent this message to me. The piece of paper was a sign… like the burning bush of Biblical fame! I would immediately go tote destination specified in the note and find this poor, miserable M.S. I would embrace M.S. and he or she would be made to want to live again, made emotionally whole again, even as I, a spiritual cripple, had been made whole. I raced from the apartment, not even bothering to close the door behind me, certain that God would protect the material things of my life while I kept my appointment with a miracle.

It was only when I arrived at the Creel Building that the total irony of what was happening hit me. The Creel Building was where Shark’s sleazy publishing empire was located, and as I got in the elevator, it hit me that the thirteenth floor was where Honey Pot was housed.

“Oh, my God!” I blurted as I stood in the hallway of the thirteenth floor looking straight at the door to my own office, “this trail is leading me right back to where all started!”

Some unseen force pulled me toward my office, and as I opened the door and almost fell inside, my sight immediately fastened on a white rectangle on my desk, the second note I now realized I had been expecting.

“I’m on the ledge,” it said in its bizarre handwriting. “Outside the window of this office. Come save me. Or I’ll jump. M.S.” After the signature there was a clever little line drawing of a stick-figure sailing off a ledge.

I didn’t hesitate a second as I leaped from my desk and sprang to the open window. I poked my head out and saw that the ledge only ran one way, extending from a corner on my right. I would have to step around instead of straight out to keep from falling, a tricky maneuver that I performed fearlessly, knowing that nothing could happen to me while I was under the influence of the Lord.

Teetering on the narrow ledge, I searched in vain for the smoggily vanishing light of day. Down below I could hear the rush-hour traffic starting to rev up, meaning that I had gotten here just at 5:00. An instantaneously noxious cloud of smog billowed up to where I was located, making the air so bad that I had to fight to keep myself from sneezing myself into oblivion. I was completely blinded by the acrid yellow gas and starting to despair, when suddenly it paid an unexpected dividend. I distinctly heard someone cough in the distance.

“M.S., is that you coughing?” I called. “This is Madame Fellatio.”

“Yes, yes,” a male voice hacked more than spoke. “Christ, this smog is killing me. This fucking city is getting worse every day. I may die up here from the fumes before I get a chance to jump.”

“I’m coming to save you,” my voice rang. “Just hold on.”

“It’s a trick,” he called to me. “You’re trying to trick me.”

“No, no, I swear it!” I cried, groping eagerly forward despite the fact I was still half-blind from the smog.

“Then prove it.”

“How?” I pleadingly asked.

“Take off your clothes. Strip! Come to me naked. Show you have nothing to hide,” he commanded.

“And if I don’t?” I tested him.

“I’ll jump… and my blood will be on your hands!” he yelled.

Doing the only thing that was morally defensible, I steadied myself against the stone wall of the Creel Building and began undoing my clothes, stripping as fast as possible under the precarious circumstances. The buttons to my blouse came free and a chill wind hit the cleavage of my tits as I pulled it from me, tossing it into the air and watching it float like gossamer in the wind. My bra came off next, sliding over my head and sailing away like miniature parachutes, my fully exposed tits falling springily free, the nipples already puckered into hardness in the chilly twilight.

As I stood with my bare tits thrusting free, I suddenly had to stop to get a hold of myself, the surging rushes of blood that had coursed to my naked tits and spasming cunt practically capsized my balance, the horny flush that consumed my sex organs sending my lust-warped senses reeling.

A quick shove of my hand down my waist and a swipe across my cunt told me that I was absolutely gushing, the thick dew of my pussy coating my fingers. I struggled to regain my balance, my center of gravity shifting inexorably to my cunt as I felt super-human strength start to pulsate from my loins.

Recharged with power from the moist scent of my pussy, I undid my skirt and removed it from around my waist, swirling it into the sky so that it flew like a giant suede bird.

Now I was left only in my panties, their crotch dripping wetly from between my pussy-juice drenched thighs. I looked down at my panties, their soft, pink fabric disappearing into moist obscurity at the triangle of my cunt. My matted pussy hair and engorged pussy-lips bulged against the fabric, making the clinging translucent panty cloth into a second skin as it stuck to my cunt while I rubbed my open hand lovingly over the mound of my power. I could feel the lather of my pussy juice seeping through the useless shield of my panty-crotch, bubbling up between my fingers as I rubbed my cunt and massaged the swollen nub of my clit into a throbbing frenzy.

It was a trick to get out of my panties, but it was worth it as the man on the ledge kept hollering, “I want to see it all!” making me certain that I had no alternative but to please him to the maximum in order to save both his body from being crushed on the pavement and his soul for Christ. As I painstakingly slid my bent leg out of my panties, feeling the elastic rub against my bare flesh, I perceived myself as having ascended to a new spiritual plane, the last of my restraints gone with the last item of my clothing, which now drifted gaudily away in the breeze.

Totally naked, I turned towards the location of the voice and started making my way towards it. “I am coming,” I announced in a strong voice, pressing my hand against the drooling gash of my bare cunt for strength. “I am coming to you, M.S., with nothing between us, with nothing concealed. I am as naked as the day God put me on this earth.”

The twilight air seemed to support my tits even better than my bra had as they shone like headlights from my chest. My cunt continued to foam under my eagerly pressing hand, making me briefly wonder if its wet flow might eventually make me slip and fall, so abundant was the pussy juice dribbling down the inside of my legs.

“M.S.,” I called, “are you there?”

“Yes, over here,” he replied, and for the first time I could see him, although he was just a form, the carbon monoxide still filling the air hiding his features. “Are your clothes off?”

“I am totally naked,” I answered matter of factly.

“I can’t see,” he complained. “This fucking smog. This town is getting to be more of a garbage pail every day.”

“The Lord will provide,” I replied to his complaint, pressing my cunt with my open hand for inspiration.

“Describe yourself while you come closer,” he said in a strong voice, as though he had just been inspired himself, “Tell me about your tits.”

“They’re big and firm,” I virtually sang, like an angel on high, bringing my hands up to touch them, my fingertips immediately fondling my springily erect nipples. “My tits are like succulent, ripe melons, waiting for you to squeeze and suck them. My nipples are like strawberries. They’re standing straight out like two big, red lumps. The wind is making them as hard as rocks.”

“Your cunt, your cunt,” he demanded excitedly, “tell me about your pussy!”

“It’s foaming,” I crooned, obediently dropping my hand to the call of my cunt. “The pussy juice is lathering like thick, rich suds. I’m rubbing it like shampoo into my cunt hair, spreading it all around. My fingers are everywhere, now, all over the hair of my pussy, working the lather in. The curly, brown hair goes all the way from the insides of my thighs to the lips of my pussy, and halfway to my navel. Every strand of it is sopping wet from my sticky rubbing. You’ll love to eat it. Your cock will shudder when it slides through my pussy-lips. My cunt is going to fuck you so well.”

“Your ass,” he croaked. “Tell me about your ass!”

“Yes, of course,” I caroled, putting a hand around to my cheeks and pushing a stiff finger into the clenched hole of my ass, feeling the ridges pucker around my knuckle. “My ass knows how to fuck, too. It’s spasming now, horny for your cock.”

With each word I was moving closer, his face slowly coming into focus as I sought to make out his expression and ascertain some sort of identity.

“Now can you see my body?” I cried. “Can you see my tits straining toward you, my aching pussy yearning for your hard, stiff cock?”

But the answer was not the wildly appreciative yes I had expected, or anything even approximating it. It was a short, snapping sound of only two syllables, but its impact on me was as profound as if it had been a roar.

“Heh, heh,” the man at the end of the ledge cackled, the brief phonetics shooting at me like cracks of a rifle.

Suddenly it occurred to me where I had heard that nasty-sounding laugh before. But it wasn’t associated with just a single individual. Father Marmelstein… Agent Marmelstein… and Shark! They all had that treacherous laugh.

And the note. M.S.? Did it stand for Melville Shark? Or Marmelstein Siblings? Maybe there were two of them out there. Or all three of them huddled somewhere near the far corner of the building.

In my blizzard of uncertainty I looked down for the first time since I’d walked out on the ledge. I quickly saw that a crowd had assembled in the street thirteen floors below us, watching my every move as they contemplated the apparent spectacle of my impending suicide.

The beam of a searchlight suddenly began piercing through the darkening skies, heavy rain clouds moving in with the twilight. Abruptly, the searchlight’s hot glare burned against my bare skin, briefly highlighting the front of my naked body, bathing my tits and cunt in its glow.

“Now I see you,” the man on the ledge hissed in a voice that suddenly sounded all too familiar. “I see everything you’ve got, boobie.”

My mind chugged to get my reasoning process restarted, but the commotion below was now becoming too loud to let me think.

“Come down immediately,” a voice blared through a makeshift p.a. system, “or we’re coming after you.”

It didn’t seem like a very sympathetic approach to attract the interest of a potential suicide victim; however, since killing myself was the last thing on my mind, I didn’t give it a second thought. But the true implication of the remark from the p.a. system suddenly and astonishingly became clear when a blast of orange light flickered from on top of a nearby building. The explosion of gunpowder sent a high-powered sniper’s bullet thudding into the wall three inches from my left ear, as the blast that had propelled it echoed in the canyon of buildings.

“They’re shooting at you!” the man on the ledge cried, sounding strangely triumphant.

“Why?” I pleaded.

“Because an FBI agent called the local police before you got here and told them he had infiltrated a subversive organization and had just gotten a tip that a guerilla terrorist was going to bomb the Creel Building, using a secret escape route along the southern ledge,” he spat rapidly, this time leaving no mistake about the triumph in his voice.

“Marmelstein!” I gasped.

“The priest or the G-man?” he replied nonchalantly.

“The G-man…” I said, just getting two words out before I had to duck another rifle shot.

“Come to the end of the ledge, quick,” he urged. “I have a place where you won’t get shot. They’re only looking for you on the south ledge.”

“Thanks,” I said, momentarily forgiving his prior offensiveness in gratitude for the promise of safety, no matter how tenuous. But as I inched along the ledge, keeping my back to the wall and splaying my uplifted arms against the wall for balance, making my tits and cunt a perfect target for the sniper, something suddenly came to me.

“How did you know about the priest and the G-man both being named Marmelstein?” I blurted, just as his strong hand reached out and grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me so dizzily around the comet of the building that I squeezed my eyes closed to defend my senses and half fainted.

As my head cleared, I realized that as soon as I opened my eyes, I would be face to face with the answer to the enigma that had been surrounding me lately. Marmelstein… Marmelstein… Shark, the names peeled through my mind. Then, suddenly, the noise stopped, and in the quiet of my brain the answer materialized.

“The Marmelstein brothers are really the same person,” I blindly accused, recalling the newspaper story about the abduction of the real priest, Father Coughlin, whose place Marmelstein had obviously taken. Father Marmelstein’s long, face-obscuring beard… Agent Marmelstein’s ski-mask… all the things wrong with the set-up of the last few days came together in my brain. “And that person is you… Shark! M.S. is none other than Melville Shark!”


Having spit out the bitter bile of the truth, I opened my eyes to its reality: the wolfish cast of Shark’s cruel face, his leering lips releasing his inevitable, “Heh, heh.”

“Did you read my column yet, Shark?” I said, trying to act blase until I thought of what to do. But in my feigned nonchalance I stumbled and grabbed for something to hold onto. Whatever it was I snagged onto was hard, yet pliant, something more like a short rail than anything else as I clutched it to keep from falling. But then I opened my eyes again and realized that I had been paying so much attention to Shark’s evil face I hadn’t noticed until now that he was completely naked. Suddenly I knew that I was hanging for dear life onto his hot, throbbing prick.

I instinctively looked down and saw that I had a beauty of a cock in my hands, a long, sinewy chunk of meat that swooped from a hairy pubic thatch and hard balls, and almost a foot later culminated in a bulb of fiery red at the heart-shaped head of his prick. A little dew-drop of milky semen graced the tip of his cock, drooling stickily from the puckering vertical slit in the middle, the finest details of his prick instantly crystal-clear to me despite the unfavorable weather conditions.

I tried to bluff my way through my sudden fascination with his thrillingly erect prick, but when I asked the ostensibly innocent question, “How did you like my column?” I fully revealed my motives by nervously constricting my fingers around the shaft of his perfect cock, uncontrollably rubbing and squeezing the meaty shaft. As I pressed his brawny cock, the pressure at the end of it expanded, the angry-looking head of his prick releasing a further discharge.

“Well, frankly, I don’t know how our Jewish readers will like this new approach, you know, with all that Jesus Christ stuff,” he said as I paid no attention to his reply and went down on him, not being able to wait a second longer before I tasted the delectable glob of juice at the end of his cock. The sperm was as sweet as coconut in my mouth as I lapped it down and then automatically gobbled up his whole stiff prick, munching it all the way within seconds so that it was imbedded in my face to the squashing hilt of Shark’s hairy balls.

“We’ve got a lot of Jewish readers,” he went on as I sucked his prick with every ounce of power I had in me, wanting to turn his balls inside out. “Jews don’t like to admit they read skin magazines… but they do. Hmmmm, maybe if we could change Jesus into somebody whose image is a little more accessible and down-to-earth.”

His talk seemed babble to me, just as did the screeching blurts of the p.a. system, as I directed all my concentration toward the sweet-tasting task of eating his stiff dick alive, begging it with my throat, lips and tongue to fuck me to the hilt in the mouth. The searchlight and the sniper fire had temporarily stopped because of our moving off the south ledge, and with nothing but a lot of chatter to distract me, I found no difficulty in devoting all my energy to the big, thick cock buried in my slurping mouth. Its bulging veins throbbed pulsingly against my lips as I moved my mouth back and forth over the expanse of his cock just as though he were moving in and out inside a cunt. One instant I would have his dick in my mouth so completely that his balls pressed against my chin, and seconds later his cock would be all the way out of my mouth except for the barbed head, my teeth and tongue doing a masterly job of inspired torture on the knotty head of his prick, before I swooped down again, taking it down my throat.

“Yes,” Shark continued, his talking continuing unabated despite the brutal teasing I was giving his immensely thick prick. “We definitely need somebody with a better media quotient than Jesus, someone with more mass appeal. Let’s face it, there’re a lot of people in the crucial 19-45 age bracket who spend the most bread that definitely don’t dig Him. We need our own buttinsky that everybody can identify with right down here on earth, somebody a little less austere and more fallible. The human touch.”

What in the world was he talking about? I thought, as the words went in one ear and out the other, all my instincts and reactions attuned only to the succulent shaft of his prick inside my orally fucking mouth. I cupped his balls and squeezed them while I gave an extra gulp on his prick, anxious to shatter his nervous system and self-control and bring him down to my size, existing precariously on the literal edge of life with nothing but desire to consider.

My throat spasmed, one, two, three times as I realized that I was having an oral climax, the orgasm starting at the base of my esophagus and turning my mouth into a foaming cauldron almost the equal of any coming pussy. I buried my face in his tangled crotch, jamming his stiff dick even farther down my throat, groveling for those extra fractions of an inch that would just fill me with his cock that much more.

“It could be a female figure,” Shark said, not showing the slightest sign that he knew what was going on below his waist. “People dig chicks. After all, chicks are why they buy my magazines… chicks with their tits falling out… chicks with their legs spread and their pussies open… chicks with hair all over their cunts… and soft, red pussy-lips.”

Even though I wasn’t following the drift of his conversation, his last remarks automatically found their way to my erotically attuned ears, the suggestion of open hairy cunts and spread legs causing my own pussy to foam uncontrollably. The impulses from my spasming pussy coursed up my vertebrae like high voltage, the shock sending my mouth lurching even harder on his hard prick, as it suddenly became the uppermost thing in my mind to maneuver myself so I could get his cock into my raging cunt.

As I slid his swollen prick out of my mouth, I knew that in order to survive I had to fuck this man on his ledge. Every force in my body told me to do it as quickly as possible, my tingling nerves aching for his cock inside my cunt immediately.

Still holding onto his long, sweet prick for balance, I searched desperately for some extra room on the ledge that would let me stick his cock in my cunt and fuck him. Coming up empty, I looked above me, perhaps seeking some inspiration from on high. But what I saw was like so many miracles in everyday life, something that had been there all along. Just above and slightly behind me, a flagpole jutted from the building. By taking a chance with a leap, I could gab ahold of it, and then like I was chinning myself, lower my cunt up and down on his cock. I stepped backward and unhesitatingly took my chance, springing unconcernedly from the ledge and seeming to hover in mid-air before my fingers wrapped around the flagpole, hoisting me so that I loomed over Shark. “It’s definitely got to be a chick, the kind of person our circulation can dig even if they don’t exactly identify with them 100 percent,” he was saying as he faced me, his incredible cock shooting straight out in the air at a 45-degree angle from his flat, hard stomach, a hard-on that would make any teenage guy green with envy.

All I had to do was just lower myself straight down and his stiff cock was waiting for me, easily splitting the gash between my open thighs and penetrating through the slippery lips of my pussy as I extended my arms and brought my body downward, clenching my cunt muscles to make sure his prick couldn’t get away once I had it inside my fuck-hole. Once my cunt was engorged with his prick, I lifted my legs and brought them around his waist, scissoring and then leg-locking him while I held us both aloft with my stranglehold on the flagpole.

“We know you’re up there someplace,” the p.a. system blasted, but it might as well have fallen on deaf ears if the message was intended to reach me. The cock bulging inside my cunt dominated my senses, making everything else seem immaterial. Already I was starting to come, sure that the orgasmic vibrations within my pussy and womb were just the beginnings of a climax of mind-bending, proportions.

Shark kept jabbering, but below his waist his body had no choice but to be aware of the location of his stiff cock up my spasming pussy. His hips bucked and his pelvis lurched, shooting his crotch up against the well of my thighs and burying his prick all the way in my fuck-canal to the mouth of my womb. Impaled on the pale of his stake-like cock, I rotated my hips, screwing down on his prick so that it tore inside me as though it were a corkscrew with teeth, its barbed head twisting trough my ultrasensitive cuntal tissues like a berserk barracuda.

Over and over again in the painful ecstasy of his bludgeoning prick manifested itself in my fuck dominated body, threatening to rip me in two and leave me dangling in tatters from the flagpole with its tearing force. My knees pinched his waist, drawing him even tighter against me as I suicidally struggled for every bit of his prick that I could get, wriggling insanely to get just that much more hot cock up my starving pussy.

As his cock stabbed bullishly inside me, suddenly sound was able to fully capture my attention again. A sharp crack filled the air, reverberating through the dark sky, causing my pussy muscles to reflexively clench around the shaft of Shark’s prick like a vise, my cunt holding onto his cock for dear life.

“My God, they’re starting to shoot at me again…” I started to say, but then suddenly aborted my sentence when the first drop of water, and then a second and a third, landed on me, a shower immediately following.

The thunder cracked again, lighting slashing the sky as I fully realized that it was raining, a downpour bathing our naked fuck-locked bodies as we wavered on the ledge of the thirteenth floor. I shivered from the cold rain, and as I did so realized that I was inadvertently succeeding in screwing down on Shark’s limitless wick even tighter, the vibrations from my shuddering jiggling my hips and ass like a sophisticated fucking movement taken from the pages of the Kama Sutra.

My ears temporarily cleared by the thunder and lightning, I listened to Shark’s incessant talking for the first time since I’d grabbed onto his miraculous prick, giving him pelvic jab after pelvic thrust as we fucked while he continued speaking, obviously thinking out loud.

“We’ll get a chick and dress her up some way that grabs the eye and take her picture. Put it right at the top of the column. A whole new character for Honey Pot’s troubled freaks… sort of inspirational… but not too deep.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked in confusion.

“Shut up and fuck,” he replied, acknowledging our liaison for the first time since I had seized his prick.

That was all I wanted to do anyway, as I drove my crotch into his, my constricting pussy muscles lassoing his prick like it was a runaway steer, the horn of his cock goring my struggling cunt. The full expanse of his prick filled my frothing cunt, pressing the rest of my organs all out of shape and position. My asshole tingled from the stretching caused by the penetration of the thick prick in my pussy, starting to become envious of my cunt for greedily swallowing up all the available cock.

I was burning inside as the knot at the head of his cock became a ball of fire, and his shaft the searing tail. The way his cock plowed even deeper within my fuck-hole, slowly but surely increasing its length as though it were infinite, I knew that, despite his cool, it couldn’t be long before he had to come and I would capture the full extent of his milky treasure in the snaring recesses of my sperm-starved body.

I wanted him to come in me like nobody had ever come before… harder, faster, and stickier. I wanted to twist the valve of his sperm-ducts all the way open, releasing virtual flood-gates of cum. I wanted to be swept away like a piece of flotsam in an ocean of his jizz, pulled helplessly like a stick of driftwood in the raging, orgasmic tides. Tightly I would pull the noose around the neck of his cock, strangling it until the bulbous head turned blue and then spit forth its load of sperm, retching the thick fuck-cream into the vessel of my cunt.

Suddenly the incessant tingling of my asshole reminded me that there was a hole in my body even tighter than my cunt, one that would surely test his cock to the ultimate. I did a chin-lift on the flagpole, puffing up without warning from Shark’s enormous cock, its monster head sliding reluctantly out of my hole, snapping my pussy-lips like rubber bands as it finally pulled out of my cunt. Hanging there in mid-air from the flagpole I took a few precious seconds to stare and marvel at his divine cock as it twitched defiantly against the background of the sky, even bigger than when I had seen it last, and coated with a glistening film of my pussy juice that stuck to it like axle-grease. The rain was still falling, drenching both of us, but every drop slid off Shark’s puss-juice-lubricated cock like it was coated with the thick slime of Vaseline.

After one last loving look at his beautifully slick prick, I closed my eyes and imagined how smoothly his oily cock would slide up my eagerly awaiting asshole, splitting my bowels apart. As I slowly let myself down, tilting my pelvis forward so my asshole would make a perfect target for the missile between his legs, I could feel the cunt juice oozing from my pussy and sliding along the furrow of my ass to stick on the puckering ridges of my bung, preparing me for a sudden and intense entry of Shark’s fuck-tensed prick.

I had hardly felt the tip of his dick nudging between my cheeks when it was already halfway up my ass, the slickness of his greasy cock pushing aside my sensitive tissues with unstoppable aggression. I moaned at how fantastic his long, hard prick felt inside my butt, as I dropped my haunches the last six inches, taking the second half of his cock, burying it in my ass to the holt. My asshole was so sensitive that I could feel all of his cock inside me, impressing its contours in the pliant mold of my throbbing shitter. I gasped at the raspy scraping form the flange on the underside of his cock pulling along the floor of my asshole, skidding forward until the end of his prick burst into my bowels, turning the center of my body into a boiling cauldron.

My plan was working I could feel the muscles in my ass squeezing his prick tighter than it could have even been squeezed before, inviting a tidal wave of jizz that would certainly overwhelm me. His penetration was so deep and so hard that thee thin wall between my asshole and pussy stretched lighter and tighter, becoming as thin as parchment, the humping of his dick directly affecting my cunt in its wild, stabbing enormity, my fuck-canal trembling and vibrating as though it had a stiff prick inside it. Obviously I was going to come in my ass and cunt at the same time. His cock was so complete in its fucking power that with my eyes closed I could easily believe I was getting screwed in the asshole and pussy at the same time.

I might have burned myself up, so intense was the growing orgasmic flame that now plundered my body, had it not been for the rain, splattering on my naked body and dousing my white-hot coals just enough to keep me from coming all the way, forcing me to fuck harder and harder on the inexhaustible tool reaming out my asshole.

Shark’s cock was so swollen that I knew it had to burst with cum soon. But onward and upward it kept filling my ass with its slick meat, its hardness unchecked even by the imminent onslaught of fizz that had to be bloating his suffering balls. I imagined his prostate gland inflated to the size of a baseball from the action that first my mouth, then my cunt, and now my asshole had put it through, bulging like a third ball just beneath his incredibly strained scrotum.

Still he babbled, never missing a beat in the incessant rhythm of his monologue of his fucking. “Gotta find an image for a chick that commands respect. But what? A psychic? A numerologist? A faith healer? A lady rabbi?”

Suddenly, as his dick surged unflaggingly up my asshole, it occurred to me that he was never going to come until he had the answer to the question that was bedeviling him… Now I knew. So this was how God was going to have me act out my ultimate mission. The only thing that could save his balls from self-destruction was my telling him the answer.

“God,” I blurted, the only word my lips were able to form. “God… God… God…” I repeated, chanting the word incessantly until it filled the air.

“That’s it!” he cried, as I knew he would once he saw the light. “I’ve got it! The Swinging Nun! Madame Fellatio is out. The Swinging Nun is in. How’ll you look in a habit, baby?”

“God… God… God…” I kept babbling, oblivious to all purposes but the soaring faith that filled my heart, the hot, throbbing cock stabbing up my asshole, and my orgasmically flowing pussy.

“The Swinging Nun,” he exulted. “It was an unorthodox personnel practice to get you out here, even by my standards, but it was worth it. I knew all along you had a flair for this business, a real streak of degeneracy under that sweet, young veneer… The Swinging Nun, wow. It’s like a license to print money.”

He could have been talking backwards for all I fathomed, all I knew was that I was ascending mortality through this act on the ledger, moving ever closer to God with every searing rip of the divine cock splitting my ass. And then I knew I would surely be propelled all the way to His kingdom when, after Shark’s last words, just as I had anticipated, his cock finally exploded within me, instantly filling my bowels with buckets of jizz, coating my insides with layers of thick, rich fuck-cream. I fucked up and down with the force of my straining arms, milking his spurting prick to the ultimate, sure now that it wasn’t really Shark’s cock that was fucking my asshole, but perhaps God’s himself, baptizing me with His silken sperm.

As the symbolic cock gushed repeatedly with incessant bursts of cum, I felt like I was transcending my mortal existence, at last rising to the spiritual heights I had subconsciously aspired to since the materialization of my original divine vision that Friday in my dingy office. My bowels were awash with jizz and my pussy was foaming without restraint, but I still wanted more, straining toward the ultimate religious and sensual experience I was sure was awaiting me.

“Christ, you’re killing me,” Shark acknowledged at last. “I can’t stop coming.”

But all I paid attention to was “Christ”. “Christ… Christ…” This shout echoed through the innermost cells of my body, its intensity charged by the twin, dynamo between my thighs, my asshole and cunt collaborating into a powerhouse.

The rainy, bleak air was nevertheless full of grace. A sweet, clean grace, not washed clean by anything so ordinary as rain, but clean as the underside on the inner petals of the rosebud of a fresh, sweetly open cunt.

Delight was also in the air. The winds from the thunder storm may have been howling, but mine was a gentle wind, and the nerves of my entire body joined those in my cock-jammed ass and convulsing cunt, rippling under it like small blue flowers in a pasture.

I was conscious of two rhythms that were slowly becoming one, the beating of my heart and the throbbing spurting of the ever-surging cock up my ass. When they became one, by identification with God was complete. I was totally bound over to him, sanctified by the trial on the ledge. It was His heart beating within me, and His cock filling my asshole with cum.

God said, “Will you accept my will?”

And I replied, “I accept, I accept.”

I immediately began to plan a new life and my future conduct as Madame Fellatio. I submitted drafts of my column to God, and God approved tern. God approved every thought.

God had sent me to this ledge so I could perform a miracle and be certain of my conversion. Only by saving Shark could I have saved myself. Only by risking my life to save the worst could I enter the Kingdom of Heaven. In ecstasy I celebrated my escape from mortality by knotting every fiber in my being in a noose around Shark’s cock, squeezing the last torrent of sperm out of it to complete my baptism.

Shark started to scream as I extracted the last drop of cum from his prick and our naked bodies began to shake and tremble in a fit of frenzy even beyond mutual orgasm. The coming that had turned my cunt and ass into flaring embers, had changed into a divine force that dominated my entire body, causing me to wriggle in the flames that consumed me. Shark’s jizz was like lava within me, sizzling as it coated my bowels with its searing gruel. My pussy juice bubbled and boiled, hotly swamping the well of my thighs with its steam outpouring. I lost all awareness of anything but shaking the last of my sinfulness from me, coming my way into spiritual purity.

As our shaking accelerated long past the limit of safety, Shark started to scream, his hard veneer totally disintegrated by now. He shouted some kind of warning, but I continued my furious coming. I did not understand his shout and heard it as a cry for help: all those P.P.s from Delaware, T.P.s from California, S.P.s from New Mexico, and little R.Q. from the carnival rolled into one big struggling wretched mass of humanity, struggling to be liberated from their innate sinfulness. I looked in the kaleidoscope of my mind for their searching, pleading faces, but all I saw were their cocks and their cunts-twitching rods of flesh and hairily flexing gashes, straining toward heaven. My mind filled with their coupling, long, stiff, disembodied dicks thrusting inside the slick lips of hairy cunts, the pussies framed by juicy labes and curly pussy hair.

The universe became filled with images of fucking, constellations of juicily locked pricks and pussies replacing the stars and the planets. Space became filled with the musky smell and slurping sound of fucking, the heavens transformed into a galactic cunt being fucked by a cosmic prick. When the cock suddenly pulled out of the cunt and reared forward in retching release, the dark void of space abruptly was changed into a limitless milky way, cascades of sperm sliding through the infinite sky as though the universe was sealed in plastic and the cum was sliding gloppily down the side of it.

Shark turned to escape, trying to pull his cock out of me. But he was too slow and I caught him, releasing my grip from the flagpole and embracing him. The fact that our fuck-entangled bodies instantly left the ledge and sailed through thin air only made me happier. How could I fall? I was sure I was going straight up.

I bucked my hips with abandon, believing that the harder I fucked the faster I was propelling myself to Heaven. I could feel Shark’s struggling body writhing in the well of my locked thighs and held on tighter, determined to take him with me, determined to save his poor wretched soul for the Lord. With nothing to restrain our movements, we somersaulted in mid-air, tumbling into one impossible position after another without the restraint of the material world as he fucked me as nobody’s ever been fucked before.

When I saw the circle growing, I was sure it was the eye of God, looking out for me, guiding me to my destination like an electronic beam. The eye got closer and closer until it was more than just inches in diameter, but feet, and then yards. It got closer and closer as I searched in vain for its owner, gyrating my hips to seal the now trembling cock within me, straining and fucking toward the Kingdom of God.

It wasn’t until we were right above them that I realized the circle wasn’t God’s eye at all, but actually made up of people, a crowd of people watching us fall. We were falling instead of rising… falling… fucking… falling Shark’s cock slurping up my ass… falling… falling.

But joy still rang in my heart. Just before we hit, I suddenly knew that God’s plan for me was to remain on earth to save more sinners, and that my work had just begun. As the crowd shrieked and parted for our landing, I slammed my pelvis forward and felt the cock within me one last time.

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