J Long - Motel peeper

"More."

"My balls," groaned the septuagenarian who was almost too old to count, "are making a mess of you down there. Does it hurt as much as I think it hurts when a man has his prick in a woman's heinie? Or does it feel good, like when you have been drinking all day and you finally get to brush your teeth?"

The woman's face puzzled. He was so erotic. Never had she heard words like what he had said being used before. She nodded with her head to express the thankfulness that she felt in her rectal passage which was filled to what seemed like up to her neck with a big wiener.

Smiling, her lips curling, first one, then the other, the man knew his words had gotten the best of her and she was ready to do more than anything he could have wanted, even if he were to ask her to eat his human droppings off a butter dish.

Again, a woman had been conquered and made very desirable by a cock that had a mind of its own power.

Jizzum was what appeared on the end of his wiener, even though his eyes, heavy with lust dust, were closed and he could not make out what was truly happening to the end of his vanquishing prick.

Her asshole felt it though.

And, the woman knew that what she was experiencing was the happiest degradation so far in her life.

Her asshole gave up.

And the man knew that he was the best fucker by far because of the way she told him with urging-type words that excited his toes.

"Oh. You are, by far, the best."

The words seemed to ricochet off the floors of the room, and her mind was absorbed with a climax that filled her cam with the sounds that her voice made, as well as what was coming out of her asshole in torrents and in big syllables.

The man's jizzum was white and heavy. But it felt good.

The woman's asshole remained pretty as if it were meant to be that way even if she were to die and be left on a coroner's table for three years because of an assistant forgetting about the beautiful brown-pubed secretary's dead corpse.

Then the man said: "I'm overcome by come!"

And the woman smiled at that because she knew then that the man who was in her rear end, near her droppings, was very witty for coming up with such a hilarious wit.

Then the man said: "The end's near."

And like a cloud of busy bees that hovers over the nest after working so hard to gather honey from flowers, euphonium settled over the woman's brows and she again acknowledged with a nodding grin about how lucky she was to have her new asshole abused by such a kind old cock.

Finally, his cock, without thinking, burst like radiant firecrackers and cherry bombs. And his hairy-laden balls, without any mental reservation, deep within his legs, fired salvo after sputtery salvo of what might be called by men as man-juice deep into the woman's ass-twat.

Pleasure made the woman's lips peel back like tadpoles.

He did smile, too. For knowing that he was the best of the asshole-men made him feel like a God that women would worship and crave askance for whenever they were near Him.

Hiram gasped. He couldn't believe that he had written four pages of erotic prose in a matter of minutes. Or was it seconds? Who knew? Who cared?

Hiram look down at his Mattel, noticed that the letter F was bent and the letter U was out of alignment, and the letter C was not clearly legible, and the letter K looked more like an L instead of the last letter of the word fuck.

"Aw fuck!" Hiram said in an annoyed whisper.

It would mean another day at the toy store getting his fucking machine repaired.

And another day lost would mean that he would miss out on Tuesday's fuck scene that took place in room two of the Sleepwell Motel – the scene where Prudence Meeker jacked off on her Tupperware rolling pin.

Shit! Piss! Cock! Fuck! Ass-twat!

Boy! Was Hiram pissed. He was pissed because one of the fucking wheels had come off his little wagon that he used to scoot up and down the narrow, cloistered hallway.

Double shit! Double piss! Double ass-twat! Grumbling to himself, Hiram grabbed the tongue of the wagon and started back to the receptionist desk at the front, office.

Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack.

Prudence Meeker was a mousy, frail creature who believed that a man's prick was where his brains were.

But she also believed that the reason God gave men balls was because their bodies and souls were so shit full of lies that there was nowhere else to put something as nasty as cum but outside their bodies.

Thus, to Prudence's way of thinking, balls were equated with cocks – both were ugly and useless.

Now, a woman's body was different, of course. Which is usually the case between men and women.

Women were soft and cuddly, sugar and spice, perfumy and very warm. They had been created by God not to be mothers or whores or maids or newscasters. They had been created by Her (God, that is) to inherit the earth. After all, isn't that what Her son had said so very long ago?

Thus, on the outside, Prudence looked mousy and frail and meek.

But inside, somewhere near the soul, which many Christian Scientists believe lies somewhere between the nipples, Prudence was a woman full of rage or was it outrage? Or maybe just plain outrageous – at least Tweedyans thought she was outrageous.

They had come to that conclusion long ago – that she was outrageous. Because of the way she dressed.

Not many women these days still wrapped their souls and asses in a corset and girdle.

And not many women these days went around with armpits unshaven – unless they were married a couple of years and were too lazy to use their Lady Gillette.

And not many women these days wore black, as in funereal or mourning.

Prudence Meeker, however, did not think about what was in vogue.

Prudence was as staunch as a birch tree. With as much character as a withered willow. And as cool an elm.

Prudence, in other words, was built more like a tree than a human being. To say she had an arboreal face would be an understatement. To say that she had a wooden personality would be too corny. To say that when she blew her nose only sap came out would be a disgusting thing and best forgotten. So forget it.

But, alas, poor Prudence did have things about her that reminded people not of a nymph in the woods, but of the woods.

For one thing, she was tall and angular. And her limbs looked more like jutting appendages than things women use to wrap around men when they're fucking and sucking. And her hair was more like a birch tree that had taken the brunt and blast of a sizzling lightning bolt.

Tall, straight, wind-blown and angular – adjectives that would best describe Prudence Meeker's five-foot-eight frame.

Naturally, there were many things that looked human enough an Prudence that would make other homo sapiens recognize her as one of their own.

One would be her eyes. Rather pretty for being so deep-set and withery around the lids. Passable type eyes that looked like things God had put on almost as an afterthought when she was being formed in the womb.

And things like her tits. Which, if seen in profile, were enough to let any man with a tit fetish know that she had tits. But, from the front, especially when she wore one of her black-lace chemise dresses, they were not noticeable.

Prudence Meeker's occupation fit her personality – she was a librarian. Very cut and dried. Very boring and lackluster.

The only time anything proved challenging to Prudence Meeker was when she had to hush up asshole juveniles like Ferris Collier and Harvey Grossman, two high-school kids who usually came into the library to laugh at the female anatomical sketches in pre-Darwinian books.

That particular incident had not only proved challenging to Prudence but downright outrageous. Why, those boys were like animals, just like typical boys who were going to grow up to be asshole men.