🚀 go-pugleaf

Dangles 
By Pansi Ponde 
In the spirit of the absolutely free Illustrated Reluctant CD Adventure Fiction found in the Perils of LacyFate at http://www.geocities.com/WestHollywood/Heights/8339
Or our SkinFictionStudios sister site at:
http://www.geocities.com/~elayneb  
 
Those sites, like this story are for tolerant adults. If you are under eighteen or find yourself morally challenged by gender eroticism. Scram!

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They dangled from my mouth. I sucked on the rod, and the balls wiggled and bounced as I danced. Each girl had a set and we all had to mouth them hard so, no matter how we jerked around, they didn't fall out. Of course we slid them free back at the tables or, in my case, at a barstool. But the rules were clear; you took a set from the guy who asked you to dance. Well, you smiled, opened your mouth, he slipped the dick end in, and then you led him out to the floor.  
 
The things were big money for the club. Guys paid eighty-five bucks, got hand jobs, then had their dicks holographed and duplicated into fleshy replicas of their most aroused moments. Ten minutes later, each man had a 'key'. And one of those 'keys' now dangled and wobbled against my chin while I bucked and shimmied in front of its owner on the dance floor to that classic take-me song, "Addicted To Love". Thank god this character had a well-cut helmet on his prick; it allowed me to use my tongue instead of just sucking the bulky package in. Do you know how painful it is to suckle a cock and balls into your mouth for all that time? Especially when you're bumping and grinding in a hot smoky disco? Speaking of pain, you don't want to know what happened to the girls who left teeth marks on a key. Ohhhh. 
 
And the four-inch spikes, crushing corset and gyrating  C+ boobs helped not at all. Neither did my ton of blonde curls, jouncing earrings and hobble skirt. In fact, the leather dress was impossibly hot... no, not just torrid looking, HOT inside! And it covered me from neck to ankle-strapped shoes and way down to my wrists. It was searing pink leather that matched my lips, blusher, eye shadow and laser sharp nails. The tiny locks sealing that portable prison were hardly visible. They had me stacked better than Pringles and I looked like some sort of wriggling cocoon-thing in tawdry girlie-pink. 
 
You understand now, huh? I enticed a raping sitting perfectly placid, but gyrating my curves atop those needle points under a quavering cloud of blonde - with a pair of lifelike nuts swinging from my glossy fat lips - hell, I was a Viagra rush!  
 
Except for two guys, the place was crammed with heteros-in-heat. Few of the girls were pros, most just lewd teasers delirious to get their brains fucked loose (to the degree that you could use the word brain in any sentence that described these bimbos). And the men were generally big, primitive bastards. This was the kind of a place that described girls in one word ... 'suckers'.  
 
Oh yea - I'm a man! And I'm no queer. Shit, I didn't look like a man. I sizzled hotter than most of those real babes, and in those victims clothes; I brought nothing more to mind than the word, "bait". Like the thing on a hook, I was a lure wriggling to taunt men into the moist darkness of a testosterone rage. We all have a firewall separating fantasy life from reality. I was a thing that pricked a hot hole through it. But I was a man who sickened at the thought of anything homosexual. Unfortunately, I was neither tall, nor bulky. Too often I'd mistaken gay guys to hit on me. How'd I handle those advances? Well, sooner or later I got pissed, and I picked the wrong guys to get pissed at.  
 
They decided to teach the 'Holier-than-thou' straight guy a lesson. It came in an electrode jock-strap/gaff. The thing produced a hell of a wallop. It was remote controlled. It was locked around my equipment rounding my package back and up and in under my pudenda panties. Put your hand on a crotch in those things, you'd swear you had a cunt in your grip. Instead, you had me, under my electrical webbing. What would I do to avoid another blast from that thing? Well at least, I'd let them: corset, hose, blonde, paint, heel, hobble, leather, decorate, boob and stuff my mouth in a single's bar that was designed to make men make girls who needed badly to get made. I even smiled as guys slid their 'keys' within my fattened lips, and smirked around the things as I minced on out to the dance floor for a carnal dance of the blonde cum-slut. 
 
What I didn't want to do, was leave the place on the arms of any of these cretinous louts. Sometimes we get what we don't want... and more. Believe me, and I choose my word carefully, it was distasteful. 
 



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Didja like this little tail boys and girls? Ohhhh... hope so. Hmmm... wonder what our little homophobe is about to learn? There is probably a lesson here. Just what is the moral of our tiny story? Do you know boys and girls? Will you share it boys and girls?  (Giggle). Is it the same one that Tim Mitty is learnig? Or maybe the lesson Elayne Beneford is studying at our SkinFictionStudios sister site at:http://www.geocities.com/~elayneb Would you  like to learn a lesson like those boys and girls? (giggle giggle giggle).