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There’s a guy on my living room floor in a mini-skirt and hose with my cock in his mouth and dirty hands from being under a car all day. He’s begging me to fuck his ass with this 1” dowel rod wrapped in duct tape that he carries with him in his bag with the lingerie, the poppers and the glass pipe he’s been smoking the crank out of. He’s wanted by the law for some robberies and parole violations, and his picture’s down at the post office, so he only comes by in the wee hours. Not only that, his girlfriend is about half-retarded and crazy and comes hunting for him in the daytime. I worked his ass over good for about an hour, but all I was really looking at were his dirty hands and the chigger bites all over his legs from binkin’ off in the woods behind the apartments looking for dope in the underbrush. Sounds crazy, but there were enough binkers at Plantation View at that time that it paid off periodically for those intrepid searchers in the thicket. It’s odd. I nutted on his face and noticed a little tick on his nut sack near where my fist held the wooden instrument firmly. There were a lot of others like him. There was a guy I grew up with who was the same way. He’s a mechanic and one of the biggest rednecks I ever knew. He also loves to get wired up, throw on the sluttiest little outfit he can find and ride a dildo for hours watching porn while I talk to him like a twelve year-old crackwhore and make him beg for dick. That gets so goddamn boring. I told him to knock himself out, and then I went back to my room and read a book. I knew he’d be right in the same place a few hours later when I came back to run him off. ”Man, you talk shit good,” he mutters as he tries to swallow and drips sweat all over the arm of the sofa he was riding and covering with moisture and lube for the last six hours. He’s got this big, yellow, plastic corncob that has an electrical cord attached but not plugged in – at the plug end at least, and it’s burrowing in and backing out of his pale hairy ass. I don’t want to think about it. “Just shut up and eat my cock, you filthy little bitch, before I wear yer ass out and make you cry some more. Are you listenin’ to me?” How do you put a price on intellectual property? |
