by Sophie Sin
She drew down her G-string and dropped the little red thing to the ground. She stepped away from it and bent over to lift up her miniskirt to reveal her freshly clean, tidy, absolutely perfect pussy. She knew he was seeing her perfectly symmetrical pussy lips and her red hot clit, large and swollen. This was one of the problems with being a fuck witch, you were always horny.
She slowly stepped back on her long gold heels and checked that his penis was right on target.
"I'm only doing this because you have been such a bad boy. If you would stop looking at tits and ass in those magazines and become a proper man then women would really like you." She said, "If you and stopped being a bad boy, you might even get a date with a half-way ok woman."
He was mumbling something through the gag, so she silenced him more firmly. She didn’t want to hear his begging for her to fuck him and shook her head in annoyance.
Silenced again for his naughty behavior, she decided that he didn't deserve the rich hot warmth of her pussy; in fact, this one deserved much more brutal torture.
She squatted down slightly and brought her pucker little asshole to the end of his super thick seed covered knob. She forced it in very slowly, taking inch after inch into her wet asshole. He was a comfortable size for her and she enjoyed every moment of it going deeper into her ass.
She started to pump away on his big cock and he wiggled in excitement as his pleasure levels grew. It was a spectacular feeling and she could feel the usual warmth flowing through her as her clit hardened into a stimulated mass of horny erotic desire.
She reached down between her legs and started to massage herself, giving her pussy the once over and then coming down to roll her clit around the merry-go-round a little. His dick was clenching inside her ass and she soon felt a firm gush of semen flow into the depths of her bowels to create little shit babies that she could play with.
She came down and placed one hand on the ground to display her trophy to him in a lewd squat.
Some of the semen was leaking out onto her pussy and she quickly scooped it up with her fingers. It was a light brownish color and she marveled at the thickness of his dirty white cum.
Minny scooped his cum into her mouth and swallowed deeply. Power flowed through her and she felt her magic replenishing as her food gave her the strength that she needed to continue with this violation of this wicked man.
She came forward and tore his shirt down the front, removing a few buttons in the process.
His scrawny chest was revealed and she set to work licking his nipples and teasing them with her teeth.
She brought her lips up to the gag and kissed him through the soft white light of its magic.
He tried to get his tongue to her mouth, but it wouldn’t go through. She licked the side of his face and then spat on him to remind him that she was not being kind.
He started to wiggle around in giddy excitement and she reached down to jerk hard on his cock.
It wasn't long before his penis was ready for another round, so she came down and lifted up her tiny t-shirt to reveal her milky white breasts.
He could barely hold it in and sent four large loads down on to her breasts.
She looked down on it, knowing that this was the source of her life and her greatest love.
She brought it together to create little puddle and used her other hand to scoop the jizz up and bring it over top of her mouth to flow down on to her lips and into her waiting mouth.
She cleaned every single last bit of it off her fingers and then drew her breasts up to lick the fleshy surface in front of him.
She squatted in front of him, her vagina wide, and placed it only a few centimeters from his slowly falling cock.
At this time in the punishment she loved to give the boys a little bit of a show to force them to realize that women were superior to men.
She brought her tits together and pressed her nipples close to one another. She came down and bit on them holding her tits up with only her teeth on her skin before licking her tits with her pink little tongue and kissing them gently until her nipples were hard and brown.
She continued to roll her breasts around and massaged them to his ever-growing excitement until he could do nothing but stare and howl in desire.
She closed her eyes and imagined him screaming in pain and then reduced the volume on the gag a little bit to check that her reality and actually reality were one and the same.
She heard moans of excitement and pleasure. He was yelling for her to touch herself and work her twat until she creamed herself on the alley floor.
She shook her head. This one was a lost case. He didn't need Minny; he needed a church to repent for his sins.
She reached into the air and conjured a large silver vibrator. She brought it to her snatch and slowly rotated it around her vagina. She could feel the vibrations flowing into her and her body preparing for a large powerful orgasm.
She clicked her fingers and the man appeared lying on the ground spread eagle.
She brought herself above him and decided it was time for the proper show to begin.
He screamed out loud enough for her to hear him through the gag even on maximum silence and she looked back to see his cock jerking as more cum decorated his stomach.
She cursed at him and said, "You like watching me play with myself, don’t you? You’re a dirty scumbag and you don't deserve to live."
She increased the pace of her play, turning the vibrator to super high.
"I’m going to christen you with my girl juice and make you a new man," she said, drawing herself down to her knees above his face.
The orgasm was just as good as promised. Minny always had the maximum orgasm possible for the female body and with excitement that bordered on hysterics she let flow a long stream of beautiful white sloppy juice onto his face.
His eyes rolled up into his head and briefly she thought he might have actually died.
She reached down and jerked on his cock once and he opened his eyes again, alive and well.
She breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a good punishing so far and it would be pointless if he wasn't going to live the rest of his life in shame.
She went down to his stomach and licked up the pool of cum there. He quivered with every tiny touch of her silky little tongue.
She came down to carefully licked the edges of his penis, taking every tiny drop of cum from it before squeezing his long man cock to make sure that there was not a single drop inside.
She reached down to check his balls and found them contracted hard up against his scrotum.
"Have you got even a tiny bit more for me?" she asked, disgusted at his weakness.
She clicked her fingers and his cock harden again.
She decided that he had repented properly and, with his christening by her vagina complete, he deserved an easier form of torture.
She brought her vagina down and slowly slid it down the length of his penis.
Minny had to admit that it felt pretty good, and little warm waves of pleasure flowing up from her crutch into her womb made her feel very much like the good witch that she was.
She started to pound away, forcing him to take the full power of her animalistic need.
It wasn't long before she came to a second orgasm, dripping wet juice all down his cock and his balls.
His face was getting more and more excited and he was turning slightly red.
She soon discovered why as he unloaded with a mighty blast inside of her. She felt the feeling of fluid entering her and marveled that he had such a load left in those tiny balls of his.
She slid off and grabbed up all the remaining cum from the outside of her vagina. It was leaking out and she was fairly satisfied with today's adventure, so she scooped it up and put it in her mouth before coming down to clean off and squeeze out the last remaining drops of her food.
"If you don’t want me to visit you again, you had better be a good boy from now on,” she said.
She lowered
the volume on the gag and he started begging for her not to leave them and that he loved her.
She shook her head. Why did this have to happen every single time that she punished a human? Didn’t they understand that punishment was punishment and that it was a bad thing that they should be ashamed of?
She stood up and picked up her soaked panties. She forced them deep down into his mouth and left him lying there like that.
Minny strolled down the road dripping cum down her legs and enjoying the sensation of a job well done.
In her mind, she remembered him screaming that he was a bad boy and that he would never do bad things again. She immediately cast a spell to ensure that, that was the reality that she remembered, not the pleading and begging for her not to leave him.
She drifted away down the road, smiling to herself.
Minny rolled her hips, allowing the cum to reach every single corner of her now broken pussy. She was a very dirty girl and she had done a great job of playing with a human today.
More Than One Man
(Three Can Play Book 1)
This is a standalone short story and is part of the Three Can Play series. It contains a happy ending for all.
The Super Fan
Mary Henderson, 25 years old, has a near psychotic love of the Soft Studs.
So every girl has to have a hobby, right? I mean what's so wrong about a young woman of 25 screaming and hollering (much like a bloke watching a truly filthy strip show might) at the sight of a bunch of hot athletic guys – sweaty, sexy, and playing with their ball – running about a great big pitch of Oregon green?
Nothing in my mind, but some around me today have differing opinions.
I'm standing on the front lines this time with my arms super wide and my green and white Soft Studs t-shirt clinging tight to my large chest as I heave in a big heavy breath and cry “Go, go, soft Studs, go, go!!!” at the top of my lungs.
My arms wave about in long circular motions and I stomp my small feet hard enough to make the long wooden bleachers at the edge of the field rattle. I'm facing the crowd as I do this, so everyone from right in front of me to way-way up back can see me at it.
The problem with that is that it's only me cheering. The game at my back is a clash of big strong bodies hammering into big strong bodies. Under the wide blue sky our men fight with brave vigor to overcome the twin agonies of an overly hot Oregon summer day – well into the 80s today – and the limited traction of a pitch that is still a little moist from the previous day's rain storm. Everyone watching from the bleachers that surround the green can tell that this is more a battle of 'slip and slide' than real football.
I grit my bleached white teeth, suck in another long breath that tastes of the hot dogs and cheap beer that the crowd on our side are drowning themselves in and cry the same chant all over.
None of the rabid supporters that I imagine are out there stand to share my praise of the mighty Soft Studs. Nope, they are on their ass with their hands under their thighs and their faces hanging low like little unhappy puppies after their master took their favorite soft toy away.
On the opposite side of the pitch from where I'm standing, the great big Bluster's Beer digital scoreboard shows that it is past half time and that the score is 30 to 1. The 1 is the Soft Studs. The 30 is the soon to be winners of this round of football – the Gerico Michells.
I stare at the score hatefully before spinning back to the crowd to stomp my right foot into the bleachers with such strength that the wood cracks. They are lazily wobbling about in their seats, drunk and fueled, in their deep depression, by cheap meat and white bread alone. It inspires a nasty rage in me and I turn it on them with a rough efficiency.
“Come on, you pansies! What's got you in a bush? None of you got any balls, eh?” That's what I yell, word for word, as I beat my arms in the air in a wild fit of anger that would make my Irish mother, who isn't on the tamer side of ladylikeness either, very proud.
Beside me an old man of graying hair and double chins dares to roll his eyes as he licks his soft cream in silence. I see him shake his head at the 'over-enthusiasm of youngsters today' out of the corner of my eye and give him the finger up close and personal.
The old fart now dealt with I throw up my hands once more and try to lead the true fans among this heaving mass of weak minded morons into a long chorus of one of Z to A (a famous Soft Studs cheering tune composed by yours truly) before giving a long winding speech on why the Soft Studs will turn it around. Half way through one fatso in the back tries to shut me up, but I tell him to go find a screwdriver and drill himself before continuing onward unaffected.
30 minutes passes in this fashion until, unfortunately, the big old game horn rattles out the final call and it is confirmed: The Soft Studs have lost again.
I hang my head in shame like the others and stumble helpless and broken from the wooden bleachers to the car park to catch the bus back into the city.
Another loss. That's 3 in a row now. When are the Soft Studs going to regain their mojo?
If only I knew that I would be a central player in getting it back. I might have been a little more cheerful.
The Player and The Fan
Andy Jackson, 32 years old, Soft Studs offensive line captain.
It's dead quiet tonight just like he expected.
The large man in a black beany and blue and white workout sweats, closes the big heavy wooden door to McMullen's Bar, locking out the creeping grip of the 9 o'clock chill at the same time, and casually strolls across the deep mahogany finish of the floor – his worn trainers squeaking on the polish – up to the large black and brown wooden bar to slide up on a hard leather capped stool to put a single finger up.
Behind the counter the aging bartender – gray flecked hair and lines on his face that indicate that his furrowed brow has been like that for some time over the years – glances up from where he is polishing the glass of a lightly sweating beer fridge and nods his head in acknowledgment.
A cool beer is procured and placed down on a brand new McMullen's coaster in front of the large man.
“Another loss tonight, eh, Andy?” Walter McMullen, the owner and manager of the bar, says with a hint of sadness touching his voice.
“Yeah, not sure what happened this time.”
The big sportsman picks up his beer, feels the pleasant chill of it in his palm for a time and then gulps down half before setting it down without adding any more. It's post match for him and he knows he shouldn't be out drinking, but tonight is special. It's the second anniversary of what happened and he needs a drink to calm the rage that wells up on nights like this.
The aging bartender throws a crooked skinny elbow out on the spotless wooden counter top and presses a scarred palm into his unshaven jaw. He throws his tired gray-blue eyes over the small but active crowd gathered in his little place on West and Park and sighs in a long out press of air.
“Reckon we are going to lose clientele if this keeps up,” the man starts like he always does on days when the resident team loses.
He jerks his thumb at a group of university students in white and green who are moping around on one side of the bar near a bunch of pictures of Soft Studs players. “The regulars aren't happy,” he says.
Walter twists his hand and lazily turns his thumb in the opposite direction of the small group to the other side of the brown polished wood decorated bar interior of his bar to where a bunch of equally young men in red are boisterously cheering the highlight reel playing on the six blaring TVs above the counter. “The competition are though.”
The old man angrily snatches up a clean white cloth, sprays some stale smelling green gunk from a bottle onto the bar and sets to vigorously running it round in tight little circles on the already much too clean bar top.
“I'm thinking about changing to karaoke,” he admits finally after a fair few circles of the cloth on the slick, clean surface. “You guys were a great draw card when you were winning, but maybe it's time to get with
the times.” The old man flips the cloth into a nearby bin with a look of distaste and adds, “Everyone likes to sing, I hear. It's not dependent on someone's favorite team winning or losing.”
The tall man doesn't show any signs of acknowledge the older man's comments. He quietly dumps down the rest of his beer in three long glugs and puts up his finger for another.
Andy has been about these parts his whole life. When he was 18, he used to sneak in here after practice down at the local university grounds to watch the Stud games that the old man reruns day after day. He knows that Walter is actually one of their biggest fans and every time they lose, which has been more often of late admittedly, he goes on and on like this to anyone that might listen. In Andy's memory this is the 20th time that he's suggested changing to karaoke and not once has Walter even bothered to check a catalog or call in a rep to ask about pricing. The player gets the feeling that that is something that probably won't change for as long as the oldster continues to support the Studs.
“I'm going to grab a table seat before it crowds out,” Andy says after picking up his beer and kicking his stool back into place.
The aging bartender lazily waves a hand at him and goes back to watching the two groups of happy and unhappy revelers. He doesn't look to happy right now.
Lumbering across the bar, Andy takes a seat near the small colored glass windows that line one wall. This is where he used to sit when she was around. They'd talk and chat and everything was good. Heck, life was good. How many days has it been since she...?
CRASH! The large wooden door hammers back against the wall and a feminine voice shouting for someone to follow on behind echoes off the walls.
Andy quietly turns his gaze from the window to the door. There's a short woman and a bunch of very tough looking hooligans standing there. They scan the bar from one side to the other with dark eyes loaded with malice. An aura of violence and pent up rage seems to sit on their shoulders like a lion about to leap forward and bite the head off any who dares get in their way. Of all of them, it's the woman that embodies this most. A spitfire and a lethal one by the curve of her knuckles which are aching white from the tightness of her fists.