Don’t Put It in If You Can’t Get It Out

Don't Put It In If You Can't Get It Out

By Lucifer Peters

Quick! What's the difference between a Fairy Tale and a Sea Story?

A Fairy Tale starts out, "Once upon a time", and a Sea Story starts out, "Now this is no shit".

Ok people the story I am about to tell is totally true, except for the parts that aren't. If you skip the untrue parts, you would miss all the fun parts, and be left with only the true parts, that probably prove that I am totally a sociopath.

It was the late seventies and we were still young (and always very horny). We were somewhat sexually adventurous, and we were (at

least I was) always up for trying something new.

It was around this time that we discovered Kama Sutra – Oil of Love, while we were on a quest to try out anything that might be interesting. Well, Oil of Love was interesting. It is massage oil with a hint of cinnamon in it. So it makes things all nice and warm, and it makes pussy taste pretty good too. Its main drawback is, being an oil, it makes a hell of a mess of the sheets, and also sort of ruins a nice pair of panties. That can get expensive if you are in the habit of buying nice knickers for your wife so you can take them off (of your wife that is).

By that time in our marriage we had a couple of kids. Now sexual adventurousness and kids don't necessarily go together. So we kept the bedroom door locked at night, and tried to convince the kids that wild animals lived in the room.

We had been married for almost ten years, and my wife was no shrinking violet in the bedroom. She had come to appreciate occasional rough sex, and I was more than happy to oblige.

Now I have always loved eating pussy and exploring its intricacies, and as I said, my wife didn't mind if I got a little rough once in a while. One of my favorite things while eating pussy was to gradually increase the number of fingers until I was on the edge of fisting her. That was the point where she usually decided that it was too painful, and asked me to stop.

Well one night we were playing with the Oil of Love, and making our usual wild animal noises, when I tipped the last of the bottle into her pussy. That pretty much topped her off (like an overfilled car engine). Since I had a hell of a slippery mess anyway, I started in with the pussy stretching fun.

Suddenly a thought (if you could call it that) popped into my head. I (thought) 'wonder if that empty bottle would be fun'. So I tipped the neck of the bottle into her pussy, and stirred it around a bit. She liked it, so I kept working it. Pretty soon I had her pussy opened up the full width of the bottle. She didn't complain; as a matter of fact she really liked it. The bottle in her pussy also afforded a nice view of the internals. Every boy's wet dream.

The more I played, the more she liked it. So I tried fucking her with it. Remember the 'Oil' part? Well it was nice and slick. Very slick. Suddenly the bottle slipped out of my fingers. Mind you, her pussy sucked it up like the Enterprise going into warp speed. And her pussy slammed shut.

She looked at me with a look of half bewilderment, half worry, and said "What did you just do? I looked up at her, and looked at her pussy, then back to her. I probably said something like, "Let me see if I can get it out." Nice confidence builder, rocket boy.

Well the membrane of her pussy was stretched tight as a drum around the bottle, and just a tiny circle of bottle was winking at me from inside her pussy.

I tried to slip my fingers in around the bottle to pull it out, and found that it was wedged tightly against the bone, pretty much all the way around. My messing around also made her start to bleed a little bit. She figured out in a hurry that I wasn't getting anywhere. And besides it was starting to hurt.

We had a brief discussion about what to do, and decided that we had little choice but to go to the emergency room. I had visions of walking my wife into the emergency room at a huge hospital, in the middle of the night, with a bottle stuck in her pussy. Some doctor would probably walk out into the waiting area with gunshot victims, alcohol poisonings, and women with bottles stuck in their pussies; and say something like, "Hey dude, how'd you get the bottle stuck in your wife's pussy." Hell might freeze before I got laid again.

Then I remembered that there was a small community hospital, not far away that would probably afford all the privacy that we might hope to find. So I dialed them up and talked to the doctor on duty in the emergency room. As it turned out, the emergency room was empty that night. He was more than a little concerned that there was bleeding involved. But I assured him that it was only a small amount of blood, and I was sure the bottle was intact. None-the-less he told me not to waste any time getting there.

I dialed up the neighbor lady and asked her to keep an eye on the house in case the kids woke up and freaked out. I told her we had to go to the hospital, and not to ask why.

On the drive over, I had time to wonder how the insurance company might respond to this incident. I had visions of financial ruin if they told me we were on our own, because insurance does not cover bottle-in-pussy as an insurance code. At any rate we didn't have much choice.

At the hospital they were ready and waiting for us when we walked in; cheerful, reassuring, and way more smiling than was really necessary.

Well she was in the emergency room for only a few minutes, when the doctor walked out with a bottle in hand, and gave it to me. He said, "You might want to keep this as a souvenir. Put it on the mantle or something to make you smile in your old age." I asked him how she was. He assured me she was fine. Said he jut inserted a bamboo depressor along side the bottle and pried. Said she spit it out like a cannon ball.

A few minutes later my wife came out wrapped in her bath robe, and suggested that we get the hell out of there. We exited forthwith. A few steps down the sidewalk she burst into hysterical laughter. We hurried home and finished what we started.