As promised, sexy fiction time

My prick

I’d probably had too much to drink. She’d probably had too much to drink as well. Maybe it was that thought that comforted me as she spread her legs in front of me. She could only have been eighteen, and maybe it was that thought that excited me as she spread her legs in front of me.

It was late, it was a Tuesday, and we were the only two people left in the bar. She was the waitress, or bartender if you wish to remain politically correct.

“Do you mind if I have another drink,” I’d asked, and for some reason she’d agreed. I don’t know, maybe older guys were her thing; and maybe younger girls were my thing. That would explain how I could forget about my wife back home for the three hours it took me to jackhammer the bitch.

“Does it hurt?” I’d asked, in reference to the lip ring that she’d been tonguing since we were alone.

“Not really,” she’d replied, “Not as much as the one that’s tickling my minge right now.”

My prick leapt to attention, as she smiled at me in a practiced and seductive way.

“Is that one as big,” I asked.

“As big as what?”

“The one in your mouth.”

“Oh,” she leaned over and rubbed my knee, then my thigh, then my cock, “are you wondering which one is going to hurt your little friend here the most?”

“It had crossed my mind.”

“Well let’s find out,” she giggled immaturely, as someone inexperienced should be expected to do. But then she pulled my trousers down and revealed the monster beast, fast approaching full erection, and I could no longer consider her inexperienced at all.

This was the last time that I thought about my wife all night, apart from in comparison of course. My wife prefers a gentler approach to sucking a dick, while this slut couldn’t wait to test her deep throat technique, immediately force-feeding herself the 9 inch’s of dong. Not letting this distract me from my number one purpose of getting pissed I continued to drink the bottle of whisky she’d left on the bar, convincing myself that even if the sex was bad at least I got some free booze out of it. She didn’t react well to this at all though, and in the same way that watching Tv during oral pisses the wife off, apparently getting drunk on the job is also frowned upon. Pretty badly it seems, for the bitch had a little bite on my throbbing knob, and seemingly adamant to destroy the mood I slapped her in the face; first with my hand and then, when she got back on her knees and mouthed off at me, with my rapidly shrinking cock. After a few more bouts of cock tennis my dick rose again to it’s full reach, and she continued to suck on, after learning a little bit of respect and the rules of no biting.

Well, by this point my cock was throbbing at capacity, and the big pink vein in the middle looked like it was going to burst and splatter all over her face; not till later, I remember thinking, as I lifted her up off her knees and bent her over the bar, giving her the rowdiest butt-fucking that she could ever have had. Though tight at first, her ass soon became a gaping hole with which I could ease my cock into easily. She groaned with pleasure, or maybe pain, and in the indecision I decided to ride her harder, so I slipped my cock out of her as and into her minge, which was dripping wet from where she’d been fingering herself, or maybe from her last late night customer.

“You enjoying this?” I asked, whilst spitting on her like the trash she is.

“I’ve had better,” she smirked, spitting down on my cock to increase lubrication; not needed of course, as her fanny was as loose as Britney Spears on a hen weekend.

“Really,” I asked, and then decided that this silly bitch needed the special treatment, if only to prove her a lesson in good fucking.

So that was it, my dick was in her fanny, and I psyched myself up. And then it was jackhammer time.

“Qqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqwwwwwwwwwwwwwaaaaaaaaaaaasssssssssssssssssssssdddddddddddddddddddddfxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvbvvyyyyyyyyyyyyyyjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyuuuuuuuuu,” was the sound of her orgasm, started three minutes in and sustained for the next two hours and fifty-seven minutes, when she begged me to stop; which I did, deciding to be a gentleman.

Of course I needed to finish myself off, so I frantically wanked for forty seconds or so until, with the magic touch, my cock exploded with cum which, because of the specific aim and a relentless talent, covered both her tits and all of her face.

Then I went home and fucked my wife.

Douglas Cowie.

So, as part of creative industries me and my fellow teammates have been placed in charge of the upcoming Runnymede literary festival, Or R-Fest if you wish. The first workshop on offer is one with Doug Cowie, Hemingway tutor and Writer galore. the information pack that we were given for this event reveals that the big Dougie C is releasing a new book in the near future, and while it is unlikely to be the literary moment of the year i do recommend that anyone reading this blog should buy it and also turn up to this event. His first novel, while far from groundbreaking, was a good read, and one that i managed to re-read in a day or so recently, (and i rarely re-read books) which reminded me of the steady pace that the novel moves forward at. You can probably get a copy of Owen No-one and the Marauder on Marketplace or ebay if you fancy putting my review to test, although Doug would probably prefer if you bought one direct from him.

P.S this time next year we should all be releasing our novels too. (Or Poems or plays)

Good Luck.

And we're back in the game

hello, your saviour has returned. in the tradition of recap blogs i will give you a recap of the last month. It was Christmas and the new year. I played domino's with my grandmother and watched extra's on tv. I got drunk the week before Christmas and on New Year's. Some people say that drinking is neither big nor clever, but they are wrong. Happy New Year everyone, and thank you for the sausages.

Chain flic 11?

Sitting there with a kid on his lap and a flute in his mouth, blowing the tune that all the kids are finding so enticing. I'd been outraged by the way, when the old man made pedophilia legal. It was all my fault of course, as everything always was in this fucked up little world. My father thought that it would stifle Neo's sexual interest in me if he was allowed to play with the other kids. It didn't of course, nothing could. But after the third time i stopped telling daddy, as the solutions he was coming up with became more extreme, and Pedophiles and rapists and dickheads were all allowed to run free. It was around about then that i first created my world of escape, and a little town i called London, and Gareth and Wil and Matt and Reda and Lucy and Luke. And i made them all write stories about me.

Traffic

A number of you guys have introduced writing exercises in your blogs, with varying degrees of success. I was listening to The Stereophonics earlier on today and during Traffic (Track 5 on word gets around) i realised that the boys had written what could easily become a writing exercise. Listen to the song and the lyrics describe Kelly's opinions on a stranger he drives past but only sees for a second. Do the same.
But of course, this is very similar to what others have tried to implement on their blogs, so the spin is it needs to be written in lyric format, with the same pentameter scheme used in the song. i know that this is weird because it is more interesting for a poetry student but, who cares. Good luck.


And listen to Dogs- Turn against this land.

The number 23

Also, while I'm posting, has anyone seen the recent Jim Carrey film The Number 23. If not, it basically tells the story of a guy(played by Carrey) who is obsessed with the number 23(as the title would suggest) after reading a book about it. And while the film itself peters out towards the end, as inevitable conclusions need to be made, Jim Carrey is on fine form as the obsessed dog catcher, and shows that he can actually act. (I should really point out that i hate slapstick, and slapsticky stuff, so films such as Liar Liar, The Mask and Ace Ventura are incredibly bad in my opinion. However, when he is actually acting and not prancing around like a twat he can be excellent- The Truman Show, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.)
Anyway, the point of this post is that the film struck up a bit of paranoia in myself, for example, my house number in wales is 23, The number 23 comes up in my phone number, and perhaps most strangely i watched the film late last night, just because i was bored in my house, and it was late enough to technically be today when i watched it.
The 11th of December.
11,12.
11 +12 =

Watch it, and the same will happen to you....

P.S Listen to a band called Dogs.

It's happened, and i am not ashamed of it.

So, after exhausting the supply of Martin Amis novels, (M.A's the king) i found myself with a spare hour in the library with nothing to pick up off the coveted M.A shelf apart from a book of essays, which i unbelievably picked up and skimmed through. You know when we spend four days writing an essay, (Which I'm sure many of us will be doing over crimbo) and think it's something pretty fucking special?
Yeah, well it's not, this guy can not only write great short stories and novels, but he can write unbelievably good essays too, which sucks for me and you, but, credit where it's due. Kudos.

Also this week i branched into the world of the elderly Amis, reading one of Martin's father Kingsley Amis's novels Lucky Jim. And i must tell you, it's really good as well. i started reading it yesterday afternoon in order to put off starting one of the three essays i have to write, and by two o'clock today i was finished, and i thoroughly enjoyed it, and will start on another one of his novels in the next couple of weeks. Which raises the question, Who's better? Anyone who's read a book by either of them feel free to vouch an opinion.


Also, listen to a band called Dogs.