Becky coyly smiled as she put her left hand down the front
of her yoga pants, knowing that she could finally masturbate in privacy. She
felt the velvet opening of her slippery vagina, and proceeded to put one finger
insider herself, while her thumb slowly circled her swelling clitoris. She
closed her brown eyes, and envisioned Tom with his ten inch penis, penetrating
her with all his might, banging away at her quivering love box, pulling her
hair, and squeezing her little neck. She loved to be choked more than anything
while being fucked like a rag doll. She lay down on her bed, and took off her
pants, and spread her legs apart, then began inserting her fist up her vagina.
She was pretty loose these days, having at least twelve dicks a week punishing
her once-tight cunt, with their thunderous pelvic thrusts. She was really wet,
and needed no additional lubrication, as she fist fucked herself, moaning with
pleasure and a hint of pain. She was seventeen years old now, and had seemingly
lost the last fabric of her innocence last summer, when she was gangbanged by
ten college frat boys at a party. It was after that she gave herself to the
lascivious demons of whoredom. She sacrificed herself to man after man, until
her pussy was stretched to the point that allowed one bald skin-head named
Rick, to stick the top of his head up her vaginal cavity. It hurt a little, but
not nearly as much as it should have,
It had
been a long day working as a cashier at her local grocery store, and her pussy
stank pretty badly. She liked the way that she smelled. The more like a rotten
tuna fish sandwich the better, and she especially loved it when a guy would go
down on her after she worked a long shift, so he could become victim of her
pugnacious aroma. She knew that most guys couldn’t stand it, but they acted
like they liked it. She supposed this was one of the last remnants of chivalry
left over from the middle ages, when guys performing cunnilingus had to be
brave and able to withstand the horrifying scents of the medieval cunts. But
today, it was just herself, which was also very beneficial in that she didn’t
have to worry about getting the guy out of her apartment afterwards. They
always liked to stick around, smoke her weed, shoot her dope. When she was
alone, she was able to pleasure herself in peace, and also wouldn’t have to worry
about conversing after the sex act. Her left hand was busy pleasuring her
pussy, while her right hand proceeded to fondle her b-cup tits. She felt her taught
nipples, as she rode the waves of oncoming orgasm. Then she felt her body go
into convulsions, as the waves of pleasure rocked her back and forth, and then,
with one giant grunt, she felt her pussy release what seemed like a gallon of
vaginal liquid, all over her bed. She gushed and gushed, like Old Faithful, the
sexual geyser between her youthful legs, pushing forth the pent up sexual
energy of Kundalini into a cosmic splash of feminine supernova. When the convulsions were over, she sat up
out of her sexual trance, and reached for her needle, which she proceeded to
fill with a combination of morphine and heroin. Then tied her arm with a cord,
to reveal her veins, and then shot up. One heavenly orgasm after another, she
rode the waves of sexual and chemical hedonism, until her eyes closed, and she
drifted off to sleep. Then dreaming of nothing, escaping lucidity and the pains
of waking life with her vein fucking needle, while the neighbors downstairs ate
their family dinner, and talked of little league baseball and the PTA meeting
tonight. As was life, dichotomies of the people who grind against the moral
code of life, and those that rigorously follow it to their deathbeds. Who the
hell wants to spend their time thinking of the squares in this world, when they
could spend time thinking about the whores and fuckups, like Becky, which is exactly
why I chose to tell you of five minutes of Becky’s existence, than focus on the
boring lives of the neighbors downstairs.
