But I wouldn’t think about now. I was on my own hot pink ride. Felt from the snuggy stuck to the base of his dick, catching on our juices.
“There’s nothing as soft as a snuggy,” he said. “It’s gonna feel wonderful pressed up against your cunt.”
And he was right. It did feel wonderful—and comforting, as if he’d dumped chicken soup in between us. It made me wanna fuck it so hard, so I did. And the soupy sex that pooled between us, lukewarm like it had been out on the counter for too long (but oh well, at least it wouldn’t burn my tongue!), was just as comforting because it had been made with mama’s love. I looked into his eyes and saw a possible mundane, bourgeois world that had nothing to do with the whips and chains of kinky sex, but rather the whips and chains of family—of boogers and dirty diapers, of stretch marks and baby fat that just seems to keep accumulating with each little brat you push into the world—FUCK! Nothing is hotter than thinking of pregnancy and giving birth while getting your brains fucked out!
Orgasm came after orgasm. It was getting a bit monotonous, these earth-shattering, mind-blowing, one-of-a-kind-but-not-really-because-I’d-already-had-ten-of-them orgasms! “Oh Gees!” I cried up to the heavens, as another ripped through me (Oops! That wasn’t just an orgasm). He answered with a guttural “Ugghhhh!”
Anyways, my cunt, once again, sopped up his splooge like a sponge. Where are the square pants, freaky yellow onion man?!?
The snuggy was rumpled when I got off. My cunt was all fuzzy, and not just from my pussy whiskers. Fuck! Like, double fisting fuck! Why did something so bad have to feel so good? I mean, how could I continue to live in the mundane world after experiencing snuggy sex? It was so freaking snugy!
Mr. Pink flashed a demonic grin.
A little thought drilled through my head like a bookworm, giving me a festering itch. “Wait a moment, why weren’t you in bed this morning?”
“Oh, I was getting something for you.” He nodded to the table in the center of the room, not to me. I glared at the table. What was so good about that fucking table? Especially since it wasn’t table at all, but one of those fake oven kits that they have for little kids in daycare centers!
“The gift is on the table,” he said.
Oh, so he was nodding for me to go to the table? Did that mean he wasn’t overlooking me for the table? Or was that just what he wanted me to think? Fuck! Triple fuck! What should I do? There was a thingy on the table though. I decided to pick it up.
“Fuck!” I screamed.
Mr. Pink just grinned.
“I can’t believe this? Is this what I think it is?”
“Yes,” Mr. Pink purred. “Those are the actual letters James Joyce sent to Nora.”
“No shit!” I cried out! “How did you know I totally wanted those?”
“I smelled your desire as we watched Antique Freak Show last night.”
Well crap on a stick and call it a work of art! “Fuck! Are you like a weasel or some other animal that has a super sniffer?”
He looked down at his sweet ass smile. “I pulled off your panties this morning and pressed them to my nose. I took the scent of you in deep, until my lungs began to burn.” He looked up at me, eyes dark with unbridled fire. Oh my goodness! “Your words might lie to me, Mistress Sterling. But your body can’t lie. And the scent of you betrays your true longings.”
Fuck! He could learn all that from my farts? But how could he afford what my farts resounded for? “Dude, this shit was expensive!”
“Money doesn’t mean anything when you’ve got as much of it as I do.”
Holy Cow! Score! Now I just had to think of more shit I wanted him to buy me! But before I could think of anything, my cell phone went crazy.
“What the fuck!” I screamed.
“Relax. Someone just called and left you a message.”
I looked at my ringer. “No shit!” Then I looked at who had called. “Oh shit!” I said!
“What?”
Someone had called me from a payphone.
I only knew one person who still used payphones.
Triple Fuck!
I looked at Mr. Pink all bug-eyed and stuff. “We’ve got company.”
Chapter 15
My dad wanted us to visit. He wasn’t really my dad, but just some bum that had lived on my mom’s couch for ten years. You know what they say about feeding stray kittens? Well, the same goes for stray bums, although he came toilet trained so I guess we got a pretty good deal. My real dad isn’t in the picture anymore. He’s either a deadbeat, or dead, or is sailing around the world in an inner tube, or…who cares? He’s not here, and he’s not going to show up randomly or anything, so I don’t need to think about his back story.
So anyways, my “dad” lived under the Suicide Bridge, which was handy, because it was on my route home from work so I got to see him every day.
My dad taught me everything he knew about cars, even though he’d never owned one. It is because of him that I became a mechanic. He also taught me how to drive, even though he doesn’t have a driver’s license, because “I don’t want to be registered with the man. That’s how they catch you!”
Amen, Pops!
“How’s mom?” I asked.
“Haven’t talked to her in a while.”
My dad doesn’t have a phone so he and my mom communicate via his homing pigeon, JungleRat. JungleRat is missing an eye so my dad sewed a doily on it.
“Hey JungleRat!” I said and try to pet it.
JungleRat bit my hand.
“You know she’s developed a taste for human flesh, dear,” my dad reminded me. “Don’t bother me, because my bloods’ 200 proof whiskey.”
I giggle, because I’m really fucking girlie and what he says is true. Someday JungleRat is going to start a zombie epidemic, and I’ll be able to say: I knew him when…
“Damn, dad.”
My dad nodded his head because he’d just taken a bite of something wrapped in wet tin foil, and he believes in chewing something at least twice before talking. “So Maggie, someone left half a burrito in the trashcan down the street. It’s still warm. Do you want some?”
“Holy shit!” I yelled. “Score!”
My dad took out his handy, rusty Swiss Army Knife and tore apart that fucker.
I took a bite. Hot damn, there was nothing like lukewarm guacamole. I loved me some burrito. I never said no to a burrito. NEVER. Once, I saw a cockroach crawl inside my Burrito Hell burrito. Didn’t even faze me. I picked up that fucker and took a god damn bite! Didn’t even taste it!
“So, ready to go meet your man?”
I nodded. Ugh! My dad never approves of the guys I bring under the bridge. He’s one tough cookie to please, that’s for sure. Probably because he’s such an old and stale cookie. He sends JungleRat after them if they aren’t up to par.
Well, me and daddy-o were a-frolicking in the dumpsters when the limo pulled up and two meatballs (not meatheads this time, but delicious meatballs made with Italian sausage and eggs and parmesan cheese all balled up into hearty goodness) in suspicious suits popped out.
My dad dove across the bridge to a dumpster and hid himself. I kind of wondered why he didn’t just duck into his own dumpster, but I guess the reason why is because my dad always insists on doing all his stunts and making sure the scenes in the movie detailing the story of his life are as dramatic as possible. It doesn’t matter if no one will ever see this movie. It also doesn’t matter that no one is filming this movie, or that there are no plans to ever film this movie, because all that matters is what’s on your own heart. If the rest of the world doesn’t want to watch or make your movie, just live the dream yourself! Fuck them!
“Dad!” I cried, picking up a fishing rod someone had left in the trash. I put a little bit of the burrito that had fallen from his hands on the hook and threw it in. Seconds later, I had a nibble and my dad had a new lip piercing.
“Maggie, my girl!” He sang. He loves his burritos too!
“Dad! Get down
here!” I yelled. “I need to get that hook out of your mouth before my boyfriend gets here!”
“Maggie, shit!” He screamed. “I forgot! Those meatballs are here! The hot dogs are making their move!”
“What are you talking about, daddy?”
“Get away from them, Maggie!”
“No way! These are my boyfriend’s best meatballs! They’re really good at their job!”
My dad squinted. JungleRat began to circle overhead, looking for blood—looking for victims—looking for fresh meat.
I waved a broom at JungleRat. “Shoo!” I was the only one who got my boyfriend’s fresh meat!
Oh wowie. I almost forgot! I’d just gotten FUCKED by the guy who was coming to meet my dad!
Awkward!
I glanced around all paranoid. Could I keep it together? Could I keep my cool? Or would I start to fall apart the moment I saw that tortured, deep soul who showered me with gifts and opened my cunt with lips that might have belonged to Adonis in another age, when people thought about that old man…whatever…Götterdämmerung! History was lame! Ugh, and that test was on Friday and…
I glanced over at the car. Then at my dad, stumbling out of the dumpster. Triple fuck! Though not me getting triple fucked! Someone else is and I’m seriously freaking jealous, because I wish I was there instead of here with my old man and my new man about to clash like it’s go time!
Holy shit! I didn’t remember much about the big bang from history class, but I was afraid that these two guys create another big bang! That couldn’t be good! And holy Jesus mother fuck! Ever since I’d seen that documentary on String Theory like a year ago where they’d thought, for some inexplicable reason, that describing String Theory as someone playing a guitar was a good idea, I was seriously afraid the universe was gonna blow up every time I saw someone play the guitar!
Crazy purple shit! That you do not need! And if you keep it in your house, they’re gonna call hoarders!
My dad started waltzing towards me like we were in a Jane Austen novel (even though her English peers probably weren’t waltzing at that time, and no one waltzes in her novels). And something occurred to me. Something that bent the notions of time and space that I perceived at that moment.
How did I get here before Mr. Pink?
I mean, did the guy make me take the MAX line? The bus? Did he drop me off and circle around all creepy-like like JungleRat? What if he and JungleRat were part of some secret plot to completely destroy the world? What if they were going to make a gigantic universe-destroying guitar that the hot dogs were going to play?
My heart started to beat super fast because the thoughts in my head raced. The only thing that I could do to save our universe was to throw myself at Mr. Pink’s feet, allow him to take me, body and soul, and hope that my bland, spineless, and feminine (because it was bland and spineless) love would change him!
But before I could begin to grovel, I saw my dad give Mr. Pink a slammin’ high-five.
High what now?
“That’s my boy!” My dad said, patting Mr. Pink on the back.
Shitsmacked! What in the sacred name of Hog Dogs did that have to do with anything? Did my dad know Mr. Pink? Oh my fucking god! Was Mr. Pink my dad’s long lost son? Was Mr. Pink like my stepbrother or something?
All this time, had we been participating in the ultimate taboo?
The answer was, unfortunately, no. This book isn’t that kinky.
“Wowie!” Said my dad, shaking Mr. Pink’s hand. “I approve of this one, Maggie. He’s a keeper.”
I grinned, amazed at how fast Mr. Pink had won over my dad!
Mr. Pink leaned in close to sneak a kiss in front of my father. Full tongue. His hand on my tits, exploring them as if he were Christopher Columbus exploring the New World.
Oh my!
Wait! Daddy was still there! What was he gonna think?
And Mr. Pink’s dick was totally busting out of his pants! Crapola! But god damn, it was so fucking hard and huge, and I wanted to ride it!
“It’s alright,” he whispered against my neck. “I brought him Tequila.”
My eyes began to water. Something caught in my throat. God damn fleas that sprinkle off JungleRat like dandruff every time he flaps his wings! I gagged and coughed out a few more fleas on Mr. Pink’s shirt. Luckily Mr. Pink was too caught up in this romantic moment to notice that, or the flies circling the trash heaps, or kids yelling out of their car windows as the cars zoomed past on the bridge, or my dad pissing on a chalk drawing kid had made in the middle of the street.
“God damn, you’re so sweet,” I whispered. So sweet I want to grab that left over burrito, shove it up your ass and fuck you with it! He knew just what my dad had wanted! My dad always said his best friend was booze! What a thoughtful gift!
“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” he said.
Right. It was sex time. “Bye dad!” I yelled
My dad didn’t notice. He was too busy arguing with his other best friend, the stop sign. I giggled. Silly daddy!
Mr. Pink pulled me back into his world of darkness and leather—i.e. the back of his leather upholstered limo. “It’s time you fulfill your destiny, Mistress,” he whispered.
A chill shot through my skin, and as the doors to the limo were shut by one of his well-seasoned meatballs, I realized that something about my body was changing yet again.
Chapter 16
“Oh no!” I cried, once we got into Mr. Pink’s dungeon, my cheeks were as pink as…as pink as…I looked down. Oh Lordy me! Could I really say it? They were as pink as something down…
I clenched my eyes shut and my hands shut. “I’m on the rag!”
Mr. Pink frowned. “So?”
“So I’m all bloody! I can’t get freaky now!”
Mr. Pink lifted one of his brows. “Well, that all depends on how freaky you want to get.”
“Wha??”
He glanced down at the red strawberry pooling in my previously white panties. “I fucked you till you bled last night. And even after you bled, I still fucked you.”
Wowza! His words ran through my body like daggers of feral pleasure. My cunt growled!
Mr. Pink frowned. “Did you say something, Mistress?”
Yowza! What should I do? I could feel my cunt gearing up for more! All that talk of getting fucked had really got the blood running, almost as if my cunt were a great mountain and he’d caused an avalanche by yelling up into its cavity: “Tally-Ho!”
He stepped forward. Ripped off my shirt.
“Hey!” I slapped his hand. “That was from the $5 bin!”
“I’ll buy you another $5 shirt. Hell, for you I’d buy the entire bin!”
I was about to slap him again, but them I remembered those letters. Yes, the letters! I fluctuated to the memory. Fuck. This guy could buy me like a million $5 bins! “Oh, Mr. Pink!”
“Now where were we? Oh yes, there’s nothing more erotic than a girl on her period,” he murmurs, kissing my shoulders, working his way up to my neck. “The scent of the artificial, ‘floral’ chemicals in your shampoo mixed with your body’s iron.”
“Well, when you put it that way…”
“It’s like your cunt is crying blood for me, as if it knows my pain.”
My heart had a seizure. “Awwww!!!!!!!”
“It’s true,” he said. “When a woman’s pussy bleeds, it makes me want to worship it, because I know that it is crying the bloody tears I’ve kept up inside ever since I was a little boy.”
Fuck! That was so deep! And he was so freaking tortured! Still, I didn’t want to ask him any questions, because I didn’t really want to watch him crap blood out of his eyes. Tear duct constipation, man!
“You’re not gonna need to be lubed up, because you’re already ready.” He unzipped his pants with a flick of his wrist. God, okay, I kind of feel weird bringing this up, but like the first time he did that trick it was kinda cool, but now it’s just weird. I mean, it sounds like his bones are breaking and it’s righ
t before he fucks me. I can see this getting old REAL fast.
He slipped the head of his dick inside me.
Whoa! Me forgetty clicky-clicky!
His cock glided right in. I squished my cunt around him. “Holy hot dogs!” I moaned.
“That’s right, Mistress Sterling. Are you ready to process my meat?”
“Fuck yeah! My cunt is a little meat grinder!”
“Mmmmm,” he murmured. “You’re like a defrosted cabbage, all slimy and moist. But you’re hotter. No ice has crystallized in even the furthest, unexplored corners of the cave betwixt your quiet cove. I’ve already scalded them into plumes of steam with my rock-iron love.”
Fuck! Steam was rising out of my cunt, and it moaned like a freaking tea kettle about to blow! Well fuck me in the ear! Blood dripped down my thighs as his cock pushed in, further. Each stroke sent ripples of blood out of my sweet bud of awakened desire. It’s red tide! And Jesus Christ! It smells like all the fish just died down there!
“That’s right, Mistress. Command my body with your desire! Mount my cock!”
I pushed him onto the floor and started to bob up and down on his dick, as the crimson evidence of my lust spread between us like contaminated chicken noodle soup. Double botchulism crap!
My claws dug into his arms as I pinned them above his head. I waved my head around, foaming at the mouth.
“That’s right, Mistress. Let out your Interior Goddess! Let her howl at the moon!”
My orgasm was mounting inside me. It always mounted before it exploded. And fuck, my cunt was like a swollen blister. Someone get a needle and sterilize it with a lighter because I don’t think I can hold on much longer!
I threw back my hair, wet with my sweat. It stuck to my neck. I felt him caress my face with his fingertips as I opened my mouth in a silent scream.
“Dominate me. Take me back into your womb. Make me a part of you, Mistress. As you shed your life’s blood upon me, let me give you my life.”
Fitty of Pink: A Parody Page 7