The Cursed Cunt

 

“Oh yeah, cunt!” he muttered under his breath.

“Yeah, hot fucking cunt!” he continued, ogling the juicy specimen of beauty displaying herself to his lustful eyes. Her pussy was indeed beautiful – pink and delicate, with a finely-crafted blond landing-strip, held open by a pair of painted fingers, so that he could gaze into its hot, wet, steamy depths. He stroked his cock in anticipation, feeling his shaft stiffen and grow, and feeling that exquisite yearning sensation spread outwards, filling his body with testosterone-fuelled bliss.

The owner of said cunt looked at him seductively, the tip of her tongue gently tracing the outline of her lips, her eyes cheekily inviting, one hand kneading her huge, perfect, surgically-enhanced breasts, as the other continued to hold her fuck-lips wide.

Alison Goes to London

 CHAPTER ONE:
A SEXY TALKING ASSHOLE ON THE WHITESHIT EXPRESS

“Fucking or Non-Fucking?” asked the lady behind the ticket counter.

“Fucking, please,” replied Alison confidently.

“First Class or Shit Class?”

“First, please.”

“Two-berth, four-berth, or seat?”

“Uh… what’s the difference?”

“Well, it’s a long journey, so frankly, if you’re planning on doing any fucking, I would avoid the seat carriages. You can just about give a blowjob, but there’s barely room to spread your legs. Are you travelling alone?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’d go for a four-berth fucker. More fun that way: you might get a nice little orgy going.”

Snow White and the Seven Dildos, or, The Princess and the Cuntsman

 

CHAPTER ONE
In which the Queen consults her Magic Mirror, and receives a rude shock

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the Fairest One of all?” commands the Queen. She stands adorned in raiment of gold, her dark hair graced with a silver crown, her skin pale, her lips full and lustrous – her beauty glorious and, surely, unsurpassable.

“Fair art thou, O Queen,” replies the Mirror, “and thy dark hair, thy pale skin, and thy full red lips are things of great beauty. But yet, show me more, Majesty, that I might tell whether thou art truly the Fairest in the Land.” The Queen smiles knowingly, letting her robes fall gracefully to her waist, revealing her full breasts, firm and luscious as ripe melons.

Metamorphoses

 

Ich komme, ich komme, grünende Brüder…

“I am coming, I am coming,” I sing, as my soft arms extend heavenwards – curling, flexing, fashioning out of my imagination leaves, vines, boughs of ash and laurel – as I embrace the gift of mother-goddess to water-nymph. Below me, strings churn and gambol, myriad-divided, like the viridescent light which shines dappled through my branches. Sinewy lines of unseen woodwind twist and twine upwards. “I am coming, my verdant brothers. Sweetly rises in me the sap of the earth.” Süß durchströmt mich der Erde Saft…

Scarlet Scripture

EPISODE ONE

And there came two angels to Sodom at even; and Lot sat in the gate of Sodom: and Lot seeing them rose up to meet them; and he bowed himself with his face toward the ground; and he said, “Behold now, my lords, turn in, I pray you, into your servant's house, and tarry all night, and wash your feet, and ye shall rise up early, and go on your ways.”

A Worthless Filthy Fucking Smoking Trash Cunt Whore

  

CHAPTER ONE

Tracy liked to smoke. And she liked to fuck. And she liked to smoke and fuck. And fuck and smoke. In fact, she loved smoking and fucking so much that fucking without smoking just wasn’t quite the same. Though smoking without fucking was still pretty fucking good.

The only problem was, Tracy’s boyfriend Charlie didn’t like smoking and fucking. Don’t get me wrong – he liked fucking. But he didn’t like smoking. And he didn’t like Tracy smoking. And he didn’t like fucking Tracy when she smelled of smoke. This was a problem, because Tracy didn’t just like smoking. She loved smoking. She adored it, she worshipped it, she lived for it. Which is kind of hard when your boyfriend hates it.

The Fockit, or, In and Out Again

 by GrushaVashnadze

TypeTalk

 

Fuck, thought Joy, as she settled into her cubicle at the Royal National Institute for the Deaf Message Relay Centre. Eight more hours relaying inane bullshit down a telephone line, she continued to self-commiserate, as she logged onto her TTY – huge and modern, like a typewriter on steroids, with handset and microphone to match, the latest in 1990s technology. How are the mighty fallen! she moaned silently as she donned her headphones. Last month – a triumphant Romeo and Juliet at the Old Vic (“Joy-Beth Stuckey is a revelation as the Capulet princess, combining teenage playfulness with a mature and alluring sexuality.” – The Stage). This month – out of work and back to the call centre grind. At least the deaf relay work is less mind-numbing than the John Lewis catalogue line (“No Madam, your toilet paper dispenser does not come with toilet paper installed. You have to buy your own toilet paper, Madam. My pleasure, Madam.” Go fuck a dog, Madam…)

All Systems Functioning

 

Earth date 1^st April, 2121. Time 12h03m56s GMT. Space Station Alpha 69. Geostationary above Mars. Unmanned. Nothing to report. All systems functioning.

***

Earth date 2^nd April, 2121. Time 15h05m23s GMT. Space Station Alpha 69. Geostationary above Mars. Unmanned. Nothing to report. All systems functioning.

Claire's Cunt Kitchen

 

This two-part “Christmas special” follows on from the conclusion of Alison Goes to London – but it can also stand alone. It is 2051, and under the “Enlightenment”, Europe is ruled by Pleasure, and love is eschewed. Claire and Bradley have graduated from the Royal Academy of Fucking and, assisted by their friend, up-and-coming anal slut Riley, have set up a fuck-café in Cuntden Market. However, their best friend Alison has fled the Union and has married Rob who, being black, is an “Undesirable” under Enlightenment law. Alison’s parents, pillars of the fucking establishment (her father being the CEO of the biggest butt-plug company in Europe) are, naturally, scandalised. At least, London’s Princess Asshole Hospice is now free of its sadistic former director Dr Hildegard Fotzenficker and her sidekick Nurse Datchet. It was Hildegard who brutally killed Rob’s father; despite this, Rob tried – and failed – to save Hildegard’s life before she fell to her death at 38B Tottenham Cunt Road last year.

Young Cunts

 

This is an Alison Goes to London ambiquel –
which is, of course, a cross between a prequel and a sequel.

 It is dedicated to Violet,
who always said she would like to read a story about young Cunts. 

Our Porge

 

“FUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!” She would have screamed it out loud, if she could have been sure of not being heard. As it was, she screamed it deep into her heart, where it burnt, scraped, and dug, till she folded up double on her bed with anguish.

She looked again at her phone.

Sorry, love. It’s over.

Soeliram

 

Soeliram,
Anak manis djanganlah ditjioem;
Kalaoe ditjioem merahlah pipinja.

“Sweet child, let her not be kissed,” she sings in her native tongue, “or ruddy will her cheeks turn: soeliram…” Her voice tinkles and her spirit soars, as the bundle in her arms latches onto her full brown breast. The child’s eyes are wide and sincere, sparkling like burnished bronze under candlelight, as mother and baby commune through song and shared body-being. “Anak manis,” she warbles again, “sweet child…” Her own eyes gleam happily, as baby’s slowly close, softly urged into slumber by the stroking of a maternal finger. She gently places him in the cot, folds over the blankets, stows her breast back into her bra, and buttons up her faded floral-print dress.

Widadari Ophelia

 

“Back soon, mbak!” I called towards the kitchen.

“Jalan-jalan?” – “Going for a walk?” came Sri’s voice, amid the clatter of pans and the scent of terasi and lemon grass.

“Is that OK?” I asked.

“Of course: Ningsih can help me with supper. Be back by sunset, though.” Her voice, tinkling like degung, radiated trust and cheerfulness. My heart twinged briefly, but I dismissed the feeling with a deft and practiced gesture of moral legerdemain.

Pink

 

(Historical note: The import and sale of chewing gum has been illegal in Singapore since 1992.)

 ~

“Alamak! So sexy what!” grins Aini, eyes squinting against the tropical afternoon light as she looks up from the pool. Her bathing costume is a modest maroon one-piece affair, melding into the rich dark skin of her short round body, carefully conserving her full breasts from view.

Fuck-Talk

One morning, GrushaVashnadze awoke to find his PMs filled with a steaming slut. Opening the message, he unintentionally kickstarted a series of double entendres that would change his erotica career forever.

==========

Subject Line: Let’s Be Friends?

VioletVixen: Grusha!

I just read your Alison series, and I'm completely obsessed. I hope this doesn’t come off too strong...?

We might not be acquainted yet, but I hoped you could help me fine-tune my skills as a filthy writer. It’s always been an aspiration of mine to become a true word-wench, if you know what I mean.

Fuck-Talk Too

 

Dear Reader,

If you’ve never met Grusha and Violet before, you might consider reading their first collaboration, Fuck-Talk, first. Then again, you might not…

Double Stopping

 

by CuriousAnnie & GrushaVashnadze

She’s sex-on-legs; so, of course, she plays the cello. It’s all about that hourglass shape. Add the facial ecstasy, the poise, the curl of the back, the lunge – and bingo. After all, music critics think with their dicks.

Jade’s pretty. That luscious body and those dark glinting eyes had me drooling the first time I saw her at Royal College. Even then a serious player; her whole body, arms, shoulders, hips, seemingly brought to bear on making love to that cello. And the instrument responded, singing out in pleasure.