Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Technical Virgin, The Best Kind Of Virgin

Sarah ground her crotch forcefully against Christine’s face as she sat upon it. The left side of her distended labia dangled into Christine’s throat like a monstrous uvula; the other slapped loosely against Christine’s right ear. Christine’s nose was buried in Sarah’s anus, forced deeper and deeper as Sarah leaned back to let Christine gasp for a bare half a lungful of air. Christine’s breasts lolled across her chest and into her armpit and back out again with every forceful thrust of Sarah’s hips. They had pierced Christine’s nipples with a safety pin before they began and a thin smear of blood covered them.

Sarah slipped her hand down Christine’s pale, doughy body as she rocked away, stealing toward the dark thatch of pubic hair sprouting between her legs.

As Sarah began to wind her fingers like veiny snakes though the hair toward Christine’s clitoris, Christine began to buck. She exhaled forcefully, Sarah’s labia flapping to creating a drawn out farting noise and filling her cavernous vagina with air. As Sarah swung off of Christine’s face, a protracted queef quickly filled the air with the scent of old scallops and regret.

“I’m still a virgin, Sarah,” Christine gasped. “I’m not married yet.”

“Then what are we, you know, doing here, you know?” Sarah asked.

“I just need to keep myself pure for my husband, so he can have my ladyflower on our wedding night all to himself,” Christine said in a small, meek voice. “I’ll do whatever you want to you, but I need to stay untouched. My peach is still fresh at 41 and Jesus needs me to keep it that way. Jesus knows everything about our vaginas, after all.”

Sarah slapped her sharply across her face.

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