Game of Throbs Complete Series (Books 1-3)

by Piquette Fontaine

  And then it stopped. I collapsed on him, panting, knowing that this was only a brief pause before the next immense intrusion into my body, and bracing myself for the looming impact.

  “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

  Sure enough, there it was, a second Goliath boner of nearly identical proportions, plummeting into my vagina with Kevin's own, their veiny shafts smearing along one another inside me, my body burning with the combined insertion, and my nerves flaming by the time Michael touched down near the core of my being.

  The two sexy beasts tore into me, pummeling my fucking lights out, Kevin's range of motion understandably limited by our collective weight, but still getting in quite a bit of force, speed, and distance, as Michael's sledgehammer came slamming into me on top of him, WHAM, WHAM, WHAM, WHAM, WHAM, the soft pink lips of my vampire vajayajay being stretched out so wide I felt like I'd be able to give birth rather painlessly if I managed to survive this ordeal, the agony wrenching through my body like a fiery tornado of destruction, ripping apart my constitution, shattering my thoughts, streams of expletives pouring from my lips without an ounce of control, words I could only discern from the shapes my lips traced in the air, my ears ringing too loudly with the radiating pain of pleasure, “Oh God, oh shit, oh yes, oh yes, oh fuck, oh God, oh fuck, oh FUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

  And WHAM!

  My two slayers plunged their stakes as deep into my body as they could reach, holding me captive to their flaring erections, and the three of us bursting into ash from the searing flames of orgasm, Michael cumming first, his love oozing in long, hot bursts into the tight pink tunnel of my gash, coating Kevin's thrusting erection below him with his juices, and setting him over the edge as well, ejaculating a relentless torrent of his young, fresh sperm into my half-millennium old body, the combined volume of semen now fighting for space inside my pussy so thick and so abundant that it came spilling back out of me just as quickly as they could inject me with it, oozing out through my pink slip, streaming along onto Kevin's still rocking pelvis-

  And I shook, and convulsed, and trembled from fang to toe with climax, my body responding violently to the introduction of such young blood into my veins, and the entire room growing brighter, brighter, brighter around my head, sinking into oblivion as I vanished into the dark, moonless night of unrelenting pleasure.

  I hadn't felt so fresh and full of life since that Transylvania orgy at Dracula's place in 1899, and I had a pretty damn strong feeling I might just be sticking around here with the Smiths for quite some time into the future...

  THE END

  My Bucket List Series – I Kissed A Girl

  Chapter 1

  The alarms from my phone and bedside alarm clock were blaring in my ears like police sirens, and I had an intense desire to throw both of them up against the wall, though at the moment I was about as sore as you could imagine, and the prospect of movement was almost as horrible as that of getting up. My neck, butt, stomach, and limbs were all aching with the efforts of the past few days, and it was sinking in that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as cut out for this fucking shit as I thought I was when I started going through the list...

  I weaved, in and out and in and out of sleep for some minutes, trying to build up the resolution to get up, but knowing that once I did actually manage to scrape myself up out of bed, it would be only to face the prospect of going to work for the day, AKA hell on Earth, and as you might imagine that did little to provide me with an ounce of additional motivation.

  BLURP, BLURP, BLURP, BLURP, BLURP, shouted my alarm, again and again and again...

  “Ugggghhhhhh, fuuuuuuuuuckkkk...”

  I was lying naked beneath my sheets, which were twisted up around my body like some messy cocoon, and which were nearly soaked through with sweat from the short and restless night- I'd gotten home around three after my previous evening's encounters, and spent a good half hour after that cleaning myself up from the rather extreme proceedings. I'd had to drive awkwardly home, naked from the waist down, and was told, despite some very persuasive favors I ended up doing for the law enforcement official who reprimanded me, that I would end up getting a fine sent to me for the sink I'd broken from its spot on the wall at the city park bathroom, flooding the place, and drenching my shed clothes, all but the bra I'd been spared by my previous company in the room, and whose relentless efforts at pummeling me were more responsible for the damage than I was. But, of course, that fine gentleman had been completely anonymous, and though I had his e-mail address, or a fake one, at any rate, I had serious misgivings about whether he would come running to pay a fucking fine just because he was the one to blame.

  God, I was waking up in a surly mood. I didn't think I could face the prospect of crawling into that fucking office of mine and facing those disgusting co-workers of mine, the harsh fluorescent lights, the work that I hadn't been getting done for days now and that was now piling up around me at my desk...

  Fuckity fuck fuck, fuckity fuck fuck...

  I sighed, and reached over to my bedside stand, fumbling for the alarm clock, and smacking the snooze button as hard as I could, just to get the God-awful screeching silenced while I composed myself, and then I sloppily tapped my fingers around until I successfully turned the alarm off altogether. With that mission accomplished, I then turned my attention to my phone, which was belting out some little “good morning” guitar chord, which wasn't quite as terrible as the shrill chirping of the clock, but honestly I think you could have your alarm playing the sound of angels singing, yet the fact of it awakening you first thing in the morning would be enough to make you despise it more than anything in the known or unknown universe. I swear to God, the man or woman who develops a system of waking people up without it pissing the hell out of them in their grogginess should be granted a Nobel Prize. Like, that should seriously be the next frontier we pursue in science, I'm not shitting you.

  Anywho, I managed to click off the alarm from my phone, and then I navigated my way through my phone to the contacts list, scrolling through the names of friends and family, Aaron, Adam, Amy, Andrea, Barb, Barney, until ah, there it was, Beelzebub, the name under which I registered my place of employment in my contacts list. I gave it a ring-a-ling, and coughed into my fist as I waited for someone to answer. It wouldn't be hard for me to feign an illness in the state I was in, as the back of my throat had been pounded so thoroughly to a pulp last night, by two very distinguished gentleman, in fact, that I pretty much already sounded like I had some God-awful disease.

  The receptionist picked up, and I rasped away, saying who I was, and that I was feeling a little tad-bit under the weather, and that I didn't think I would be able to make it into the office today. Just for shits and giggles and perhaps authenticity I added a little bit of bravado to it by saying that my reason for staying home was largely so as not to get anyone else sick, a martyr if ever there was one, letting the well-being of others interfere with my intense love of working my ass off. I was a fucking saint, wasn't I?

  “Bitch...” I named the receptionist after I hung up, and threw my phone down next to me on the bed, collapsing back on the mattress, thinking I would now sleep for a couple more hours, or else perhaps the whole day if that's what I so decided upon doing.

  But sleep seemed to be eluding me now that I was partially awake, and now that I actually had the means of doing so since I'd officially called off work. My mind was just too active at this point, replaying last night's scenes again and again and again in my mind, the thorough blackness of the night, the crunching of the gravel beneath my wheels, the slow, cautious inspection of the bathroom stalls, and the cluster of moths clinging for dear life to either of the yellow domes of light in each one. Then, the sudden, brusque, harsh arrival of my lover- or fucker, perhaps, would be the better term- the harsh manner in which he'd torn away my clothes, the burning of my loins as he did so, his abrupt pushing of me down to my knees, the relentless face-fucking, part one of the sore throat I now currently must deal with, and then him bendi
ng me over the sink, humping me like a fucking rabbit, pumping and humping and blasting me to bits, and then the cop showing up and him bolting, leaving me naked but for my skimpy, out of place bra, drenched in the gushing water of the broken away sink, dazed as the blue lights of the police car began to flash against my skin... I was in handcuffs before I knew it, and not in the kinky way you might hope for either, but some quick, frisky thinking got me out of it, as I seduced my arresting officer, getting down on my knees, and sucking on his billy club for a bit, if you catch my drift, wink wink, if you know what I mean, hint hint, do I need to fucking spell it out for you? Christ, police corruption in this country was terrible, second only to the corruption of my own personal morals as of late...

  See, I'd hit a period where I felt as though I'd gone stagnant in life, in just about every arena of existence worth mentioning. I absolutely hated my job, I had no activities or interests outside of work, and prior to recent events I don't believe I had had intercourse with any of my orifices for months. It was a dry spell as frightening as you might care to imagine, on all fronts, as I feared that it was spelling something dire for me, a sort of settling for discontentment in my life that I did not much care to let grow any further than it already had, and which I feared, if left unchecked, might spell out the course of the entire remainder of my dull, unfulfilling existence.

  And that's when I had an idea...

  An awful idea!

  A wonderful, awful idea!

  The awful idea in question was to be known as the Fuck-It List...

  You know how old people who haven't done anything with their lives, or else young people who know they aren't going to do anything with their lives if they have any say in the matter and are afraid of forgetting to derive any semblance of fun out of existence, sometimes make out bucket lists of things they want to do before they keel over and die? This was kind of like a filthy, seedy version of that. I'd put together a huge assembly of ideas for things I aspired to have put into my body in various ways before I died, and then cropped the tangled pubic bush of my list down to a neat little landing strip of just ten (with sexually bribing a police officer just sort of being a bonus boner.)

  So far, I'd managed to jack off- I mean, check off two of the ten items, anal sex and sex in a public place, and to be honest I had to say that, by this point, I was a little bit worse for the wear. Getting up from my bed and stretching, I walked nude across my bedroom to the Funny Business calendar hanging on my wall, and looked at the date. I saw that it had been a week already since I'd started going through the list, and that already I felt as though I should be in a vegetative state with all that I'd been putting my body through with this shit.

  I mean, I liked rough stuff as much as the next girl, but I mean come on! I was seriously killing myself here...

  However, my plan for the next item was to be a little bit more genteel, at least if I had anything to say about it. I wanted to have a sexual experience that didn't leave me questioning the future use of my limbs by the time it was all over with, and I felt that this was as good a time as any to go on to item number three, as a means of continuing through the list without, you know, dying or anything.

  Number three was one of the items I was, well, perhaps a bit uncertain about. Like, I wanted to do it, a lot, and honestly butt sex and public fucking should have intimidated me a hell of a lot more than this, but this was sort of a question of my very sexual orientation, and that's the sort of thing that makes you a little bit uncertain about yourself.

  If you haven't guessed it already, I wanted to see what it was like to sleep with another woman.

  Now, I should preface this by saying that I'd never before had feelings for a girl in that way, and only ever distantly considered the prospect of getting jiggy with my own fair sex. But, I'd heard about the idea that all of mankind is basically shamelessly willing to do it with just about anyone of about any sex or alleged orientation should the social barriers and inhibitions fall, and somewhere deep inside I supposed I could see that. Like, I didn't think about it a lot, but when faced with the prospect, I figured I could probably get pretty horny with another girl's twat pressed up against my own, just as I imagined that the straightest, most masculine of my past boyfriends would probably love the chance to get down on all fours and be fucked up the bung like an animal if they didn't feel the need to suppress such an urge. So, since this whole list deal was about pushing myself out of my own comfort zones and seeing what I liked with a little bit of experimentation, I figured now was as good a time as any to unleash my inhibitions and snatch me up some snatch.

  I yanked the sheets off of my bed and draped them around my nude, sweaty body like a gown, then tripped my way over across the bedroom to my desk, opening up my laptop, and logging onto the dating website I'd been using for my non-anonymous hookups, then opened up a chat tab with one of the cuter female members I'd been talking to there, and seemed to be hitting it off with up to this point.

  “Hey :) Any chance we could meet tonight? ;)”

  Chapter 2

  You know, it was kind of funny. I'd stood at her doorway after knocking, and the seconds had spanned by like hours, and you know what I thought about? I thought about my junior prom in high school. There had been this pussy of a guy I'd gone with to the dance, Chet or Chance or Chaz or something, though in hindsight I have no idea what the hell drove me to do so. The two of us had a miserable time together, and from the get-go he'd been too terrified of me to even look me in the eyes, shaking as he stood in my doorway, too much of a shy bastard to even put on my corsage for me, or put his hands anywhere near me while dancing. And at the time, for the life of me, I'd thought he was being fucking ridiculous.

  But in the moment of waiting for the door to be opened, and for my first lesbian romance to get underway, I think I knew exactly what fucking Chaz Chip Chet Chattanooga must have felt like. See, I'd been dating guys all my life, and sure, I'd gotten butterflies in my stomach before a big date, just like any normal person would. But never any sort of debilitating anxiety like I was sort of experiencing now, and I feel like I know why. Girls, particularly pretty girls, can be real bitches sometimes. That is, we, or at least I, judge people relentlessly in my head, I chew them up, spit them out, grab them up again as they try to flee from harm with their mangled little bodies, and then I chew them up and spit them out again. And I'd never had the slightest belief that men did the same thing, as most of the men I've dated have been far too emotionally dense for any such deep-seated consideration of their partners. With men, or at least with my type of men up to this point in life, if they get a girl with a nice body and open legs, they can be pretty easily satisfied. And I'd always met those qualifications, and had had to worry very little about that sort of judgment as a result.

  Now, however, I was facing the prospect of being with another woman, human females being creatures as silently judgmental and vindictive as you might ever hope to encounter, and I was feeling all of my own shortcomings hit me like a bag of bricks, physical flaws, emotional flaws, was I moving too quickly, yadda yadda yadda, so on, so forth...

  And then the door opened, and I felt as though time froze, as though my heart had stopped, as though I couldn't think, I couldn't think, I couldn't think...

  And I stared into her face, gazing, considering, the realization slowly dawning on me, like frost melting away in springtime as I peered into that beauty, the chestnut hair, the shockingly blue eyes, the light, creamy skin, as smooth as Amish butter, the lips, pink and sweet and sensual, the body down below, toned and beautiful beneath the fabric of her clothes, her breasts plump and perky and firm, the kind of breasts that I myself tried to maintain on a day-to-day basis, everything about her perfect in every way.

  And we smiled at one another, and everything somehow felt perfect in every single way, and I felt myself getting warm and wet between the thighs.

  I'd felt her fingers close around mine, and she'd locked her eyes on mine with her head over her shoulde
r, pulling me tenderly inside the house, and closing the door shut behind us.

  We were on her bed.

  I was sort of just sitting there, not doing much of anything, not really sure what the hell I should be doing, in fact, as the rules of female-female were unclear to me after having bumped uglies exclusively with dudes for the extent of my pubescent life, so I sort of just sat there stupidly for a while, simply reacting to what was happening as best I could, but thankfully she was taking the reins, and directing the course of events on my behalf.

  I was shivering some at first, and she was being very gentle, sort of just letting her finger shimmy all around across my skin, swaying, rolling, very, very tenderly all about, caressing my arms, cupping my face in her palm and looking at me, and then letting her hand fall down along my body, her touch so faint that I'm not sure you could even fully consider it outright groping, but simply light, feathery touching, my breasts lighting up with arousal as she'd slid along them, butterflies flapping up against my stomach as she slid down along it, and oh God, by the time she put her hand at my crotch I was putty in her grip, holding my breath, my eyes wide, feeling the warmth of her palm radiating through the fabric of my skirt, the room sort of spinning around my head, and her hand being pulled very, very gently away.

  And the two of us stared at one another, with expressions on our faces that I'm not quite sure how to describe, but that were very sexual in nature, simultaneously softly and ferociously so. Neither of us smiled, and our mouths were very slightly open, the sound of our breath incredibly erotic, the heat kissing our faces, our breasts heaving, and before I knew it, my hand was in midair, reaching for her, moving as though through ether, climbing through space in slow motion, and touching, very gently, down upon her breast, to which her only response was a soft exhalation, and the slightest upturning of a corner of her lips, into an expression that I suppose qualified as a smile, if a very, very dirty one.