Pounded By The Pound: Turned Gay By The Socioeconomic Implications Of Britain Leaving The European Union

by Chuck Tingle

  “Oh god, my fucking prostate,” I moan, finally realizing what this bizarre sensation is. “I’m gonna cum! Keep hitting that prostate deep in this tight gay asshole!”

  Harder and harder I bounce on the coin, losing myself in the overwhelming sensation until, suddenly, it’s just too much to hold back any longer. I find myself blasting across the pound’s shiny surface. Load after load ejects from the head of my shaft, spilling out onto Perper in a beautiful display of pearly white spunk that splatters this way and that. My teeth clenched tight, I hiss though the opening as my body struggles to understand all of this sensation.

  Finally, the feelings pass and I collapse back onto the floor behind me, sweaty and exhausted.

  The coin immediately stands up and looms over my muscular body, spreading my legs open and positioning himself before me.

  “I love you,” Perper admits, tears of joy in his eyes, “and I want to cum inside of you.”

  “Please,” I tell him, a wry smile on my face as I reach down and spread my reamed asshole open.

  Perber wastes no time slipping inside and getting to work, picking up right where he left of with a powerful pound pounding. He hammers away at me with staggering enthusiasm and then suddenly pushes down as deep as he can go, holding in place while letting out a rumbling groan of pleasure. I can feel his warm coin spunk spill out into my ass, filling me up to the brim and then spilling out from the edges of my tightly plugged butthole.

  When the sentient pound finally finishes he removes himself from me, letting a torrent of jizz come tumbling after. It runs down the crack of my ass and onto the pub floor, pooling out around us in a beautiful mess.

  The pool doesn’t stop growing, however, seeping out across the floor below in an ever expanding puddle of jizz that soon begins to crackle and snap with sizzling electrical energy.

  “It’s happening!” Perber shouts excitedly. “Our love is real!”

  “Of course it is,” I tell him with a wide smile, throwing my arms around the coin and pulling him close. “No matter what happens, I’ll always love you.”

  Suddenly, the air of the room changes completely, the creeping silence and dread replaced by the warm din of a humming tavern. I look up to see that we are surrounded by men and women in the heat of conversation, but the second that they see me and my coin lover, everyone stop to stare.

  The music that had once been filling the air comes screeching to an abrupt halt.

  “What in the fuck,” someone finally says, breaking the silence.

  “Listen to me,” I tell the crowd, springing into action. “My friend and I have come from the future to warn you about the upcoming vote to leave the European Union.”

  “The what?” comes the same drunken voice.

  “The European Union,” I repeat. “Brexit!”

  “Who the fuck cares,” says the man. “We need to stop them mainlanders from coming into our country, anyway.”

  I shake my head, trying to reason with them. “You don’t understand, it’s all going to fall apart. It’s complete chaos. We need to stay. Don’t let your hatred blind you.”

  “Fuck off!” another voice shouts.

  “Yeah, get outta here with that nonsense!” someone else chimes in. “I don’t want any damn foreigners coming in here and mucking stuff up for us real Brits.”

  More and more angry patrons add their voice to the ruckus, silencing my plea for peace and acceptance.

  Suddenly, a loud whistle cuts through the chaos. Once more, the bar falls into a silence as Perber steps forward to address the drunken mob.

  “All you need is love,” the coin suddenly sings out.

  Silence.

  “All you need is love,” the handsome coin repeats.

  More silence.

  Perper hesitates, then changes his approach ever so slightly. “All you need is butts,” he sings once more.

  Suddenly, I see tonight’s pub crawlers take notice, the men and women perking up slightly as these words resonate just the tiniest bit more.

  “All you need is butts!” one of the drunks yells back in refrain.

  Suddenly, the whole pub is singing along as loud as they can, belting out the words like their life depended on it. After another rousing chorus, Perber climbs up onto one of the tables and addresses the gathering.

  “We’re a fantastic country, with a rich heritage,” announces the living pound, “but being a part of the European Union doesn’t take away from what makes us Brits. In fact, the EU just means that there are even more butts to go around!”

  “Yeah!” replies the crowd enthusiastically.

  “German butts, French butts, Spanish butts!” Perber cries out. “There’s no end to the variety when you open your heart’s butt to your neighbors! So when it comes time to vote, let’s keep our asses wide open!”

  The entire pub explodes in a cheer of excitement as a warm smile slowly begins to creep out across my face.

  Perper climbs down off of the table and then walks back over to me, the crowd now caught up in excited conversations of their own. The coin takes me in his arms and kisses me deeply.

  When we pull away, I can’t help asking him what all of this means for the future.

  “I have no idea,” the handsome pound admits, “but it’s a good start.”

  “All you need is… butts?” I question.

  “Love is the real answer,” Perber explains, “you know it, I know it. Sometimes it takes butts to get peoples attention, though. I have faith that they’ll look even deeper and understand the real meaning.”

  “You sure about that?” I question.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” the sentient coin says with a laugh.

  Some say that love is the soul of books, and what better way to show a little love then with a free gift? Here to tingle you to the core is a bonus story for your reading pleasure:

  MONDAY POUNDS ME IN THE BUTT

  By Chuck Tingle

  If there’s one thing that I know how to do like a pro, it’s party. Honestly, it doesn’t matter where or when; whether we’re talking about a seductive dinner soiree or a wild warehouse party downtown, I go hard.

  So hard, in fact, that lately I’ve been having trouble pulling it together when Monday finally rolls around.

  I can deal with the hangovers, sure, because I’m used to them by now, but that hard earned experience seems like it’s just the thing that’s been dragging me down lately. I’m only human, and there is only so much alcohol that my body can take. After years of late nights and long weekends, I’ve finally started to feel it all catch up with me.

  While I was once able to force myself awake on Monday morning, pushing past the throbbing in my head and powering out the door, lately I haven’t even been given the chance as I simply sleep through it.

  I’m thinking all of this as a constant throbbing pulse pushes its way through the vast darkness of my sleepy brain. I’ve been dreaming, my thoughts a strange blanket of hazy unknown that is slowly taking shape. What is that terrible tone that seems to drill itself over and over again through my body, a terrible, aching slam that stays relentless no matter how much I toss and turn.

  Finally, all of this abstraction begins to take shape as I recognize this constant whine as the familiar, piercing tone of my alarm clock. I slowly force myself to open my eyes, darting them back and forth across the room as I struggle to understand my surroundings.

  I know that this is my own room, but how I ended up here is something that eludes me. I certainly don’t remember going to bed last night.

  Today is Monday, I suddenly think.

  I glance over at the squealing alarm clock, trying to adjust my vision enough to make out the bright red digital letters before me. They float in the air like strange blurry clouds and then gradually come together, eventually creating the sign of a waking nightmare.

  The numbers read eleven thirty, meaning that I’m already three hours late for work.

  Immediately, I sit uprigh
t and turn off the blaring alarm, then grab my phone to find six missed calls from work.

  “Fuck,” I say aloud, trying my best to jump out of bed and then immediately tangling in the sheets. I slam hard onto my bedroom floor, a sharp pain in my face as I stagger to my feet and then throw open the door of my closet. I desperately begin to cobble together a suit and tie.

  Skipping my shower and breakfast, I run my hair under the faucet for a bit and then grab an energy bar while running out the door.

  Once in my car, I consider calling in to tell them that I’m on my way in but then realize, in an office as ruthless as mine, this is not the best idea. Like I said, my hard partying ways have been catching up with me and my boss has just about had enough of it. I would not be surprised if this particular fuck up is the one that finally gets me sacked, and I figure I have a much better chance of talking myself out of this unfortunate outcome if I’m actually there in person.

  Thankfully, I’ve already missed the morning traffic so I make it to the office incredibly quickly, screeching into the parking lot and throwing open the door just seconds before the vehicle has stopped moving. I’m straightening my tie as I march up to the front door and throw it open, passing through the lobby before our receptionist can even acknowledge my presence.

  I continue down the hallway past a series of rooms, rounding the corner and then literally slamming into my boss, Mr. Perper.

  Fortunately, it’s not hard enough to seriously injure either of us, but the look on Mr. Perper’s face is enough to nearly stop my heart cold. He is utterly furious, absolutely red in the face with so much anger that he can hardly get out the words when he tells me to step into his office.

  I follow Mr. Perper like a dog en route to punishment, head down and tail between his legs. While we walk I can see my friends peering out from their desks, appropriately worried for me and the impending doom that awaits.

  Finally, we reach Mr. Perper’s lair and step inside, the man slamming his door loudly and then taking a seat at his desk. I begin to head for the chair across from him but my boss stops me.

  “No,” Mr. Perper shouts, “don’t sit, you’re not going to be here long.”

  “Please let me explain,” I stammer, trying my best to hold myself at some level of dignity, despite the fact that I probably still reek of booze from the night before, “there was an accident on the freeway, you should have seen it, traffic backed up for miles.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Perper exclaims. “You’re really going to just lie about it? Be a man, Wimbs.”

  “I’m telling the truth,” I counter.

  “Did you know that we take the same freeway to get there in the morning?” asks Perper with a sigh.

  I freeze. “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “There was no wreck,” Mr. Perper says, shaking his head. “You know that you had a very important client meeting this morning with Starbutts. That’s a massive account, Wimbs, one of the biggest that we have.”

  “I know,” I assure him, “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, you should be,” Mr. Perper says, “because they left us, they’re taking their advertising budget elsewhere.”

  My heart skips a beat. “What?”

  “That’s a twenty million dollar account,” Mr. Perper informs me.

  “You’re kidding,” I stammer, “they left?”

  “Well, their project manager missed his meeting for the third time,” Mr. Perper offers.

  “Holy shit,” I exclaim, “I’m so sorry.”

  Mr. Perper just stares at me, a seething anger in his expression unlike anything I have ever seen.

  Suddenly, though, it breaks. A smile carefully begins to spread across my boss’s face until finally he is beaming with a wide, goofy grin.

  “No, I’m just fucking with you, they didn’t leave,” Mr. Perper reveals.

  “They didn’t?” I gasp. “So I’m not fired?”

  “Oh you’re still fired,” my boss explains, “I just wanted to mess with you before you go. You know that feeling of horror you just experienced? That’s what it was like for me explaining to our largest client that their project manager was a complete and utter fuck up. Fortunately, they understand that you are not a representative for our entire company, and they have decided not to leave... yet.”

  I am equal parts relieved and disappointed, sad that I’ve been thrust into the harsh world of unemployment but ultimately glad that I didn’t take the whole ship down with me.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize, hanging my head and accepting my fate, “Monday really fucks me up the ass.”

  “What was that?” my boss questions, his eyebrows raised.

  I said “Monday really fucks me up the ass.”

  “You’re dating Monday?” Mr. Perper questions.

  I suddenly realize the mistake that has been made. My boss thinks I’m referring to a personification of the first day in our workweek, where I had simply been using a common expression.

  In the split second that I have to react, however, I recognize how much this changes his attitude and suddenly instinct takes over.

  “Oh yeah,” I lie, “I’m with Monday, we were really going at it this morning and that’s actually why I’m late.”

  Mr. Perper seems confused. “I had no idea you were gay.”

  I’m not, but he doesn’t need to know this. “I sure am,” I profess.

  My boss leans back into his chair, clearly thinking hard about something.

  Finally he speaks. “Listen, maybe I was being a little harsh earlier,” Mr. Perper says, a tense caution in his voice. “I honestly had no idea that you were so close with such an important day of the week.”

  I nod, trying to figure out where he is going with this but not exactly sure. I’m just thankful that my lie appears to have worked, for now.

  “Have you ever thought about how much business we could do if we were to implement your boyfriend within this company?” Mr. Perper asks. “I’m sorry to be so blunt about it but, come on, Monday is a huge deal. I mean he’s been coming around every seven days for as long as I can remember.”

  “I’ve thought about it,” I offer, lying through my teeth, “but you know, it just seems kind of weird to ask my boyfriend to do something for my work like that.”

  “What if your job depended on it?” Mr. Perper questions flatly.

  I suddenly understand where he is going with this and I desperately want to agree, if not for the fact that I have no personal connection to Monday whatsoever.

  Finally, I’m forced to answer. “I’m sure I could figure something out, what did you have in mind?”

  “The launch party for our new Starbutts campaign is this weekend,” explains my boss. “I want you to be there with your boyfriend, Monday. Just show him off a bit, let everyone at Starbutts know that we have an entire day of the week in our back pocket.”

  “I don’t know,” I start, but Mr. Perper is having none of it.

  “Alright, I’ll see you then,” my boss says, standing up from his desk.

  Not knowing what else to do, I turn to leave, then stop and look back at my boss. “Does this mean I get my job back?” I question.

  “Job? If you deliver on this, you’ll become a partner,” Perper gushes.

  Thankfully, getting in touch with Monday is not as difficult as one might imagine for being an eternal, physically manifested day-of-the-week. His assistant is very nice and shockingly receptive when I explain my situation to her. She runs the whole plan by Monday and, somehow, he agrees to go along with it for the sum of thirty thousand dollars.

  It sounds like a lot, I know, but it pales in comparison to losing my salary at the office. I need this job, and if spending a little bit of cash is going to help me keep it, then so be it.

  As luck may have it, Monday lives in Los Angeles just like I do, and I have no problem driving to his place for a pick up in Griffith Park before the party.

  The day is out front waiting for me when I pull up, manifesting himself
as a radiating ball of quantified time with a cute smile and incredibly thick biceps.

  As I said before, I don’t have a gay bone in my body, but I have to admit there is something about this particular day that I can’t help bet get a little turned on by.

  Maybe it’s the fact that he seems to rugged and dominating, someone who is not afraid to show up at the top of every workweek, kick open the door and shout, “here I am.”

  “Hey,” I say, reaching out and shaking the day’s warm glowing hand as he climbs into the passenger seat, “it’s great to meet you.”

  Monday smiles. “We’ve met before, you don’t remember?”

  It suddenly occurs to me that I’ve known this handsome day of the week my entire life, our paths crossing like clockwork between Sunday and Tuesday ever since I was born.

  “Oh yeah,” I stammer, I guess you’re right.

  “It’s good to see you again, though,” Monday says and then glances at his phone, “I few days earlier than normal this time. Feels weird, right?”

  “I suppose it is,” I say, then throw the car into drive, pulling out into the street and making my way towards the luxury hotel ballroom where our business shindig is already well under way.

  “You want to listen to anything?” I ask the day, flipping on the radio.

  “I’m cool with just talking,” Monday shrugs, “it’s not that often that I get someone taking me out like this. It’s really nice, actually.”

  A smile slowly creeps out across my face, realizing now just how much this whole thing actually means to the handsome day.

  “I figured you’d have people all over you,” I offer, “I mean, you’re a fucking day-of-the-week. That is so far beyond and kind of normal celebrity.”

  “Yeah, but I’m the day-of-the-week that everyone hates,” Monday says, chuckling to himself despite the deep, aching pain I can sense in his voice.