Rusty Razorblades 1

"Watching television is like taking black spray paint to your third eye."

― Bill Hicks

The fitness trainer ― with fake tits defying gravity ― bobbed in the pool before me, at the distant desert swing club. Suffering from vestiphobia ― a fear of clothing ― she waded nude about the water. Her mulatto frame attracted more attention than Ellen, doing an entire show, while wearing a 23 inch strap-on dildo.

The other attendees stared, as she fondled her fabricated fun bags, slurring her way through a conversation with me.

Who was I? Doesn't matter, but suffice it to say I was interested. I'd be more foolish than anybody who votes, if I wasn't. This woman was delectable, drunk, and desirous.

For sake of reference, I'm the fuck junky ― just some random dude with a boner, and a belief in himself; a single swinger with a goal.

My motto: "5,000 Women or Bust" was the rallying cry for, well, just me probably. Perhaps there was another frustrated individual out there, with a desire to actually do something, while trapped on this looney bin we call Earth.

"Become a billionaire?"

I would've been less excited at the prospect of jackin'-off, with "Chaz" Manson, in a private chat room.

"Work on my stock portfolio?"

I'm gonna skip that one like perfectly flat stones on a placid lake.

Think I'll try to accomplish something nobody I've met has ever done before.

Why be human, when we've all got the ability to be superhuman? Why not tell a different tale on your death bed than: "I willfully enslaved myself, achieved nothing, and did the same shit everybody else did."?

"My sister says you have a huge cock," the gleaming goddess broke the silence.

It wasn't your typical opening line, but:

A) this woman didn't need an opening line. After all, she was a woman, and

B) this wasn't your typical venue. Well, it was for me, but that's because my only social outlet, for the past 26 years, had been sport fucking.

"Goddamn your sister," I thought. "Goddamn her to Hell!"

Of course, what I uttered was something equally retarded. At this point, though, the chick's sibling had paved the path with a red, satin carpet. Even if I suddenly tore my shirt off ― exposing Third Reich tattoos ― while shouting, "Heil, Hitler!", I couldn't have fucked this one up.

Then again, this was me we we're talkin' ― a guy not much taller than the height of the average compact car, yet somebody who had slept with nearly 5,000 women. Thus, when it came to myself, anything was possible.

"I wanna find out," the fit female continued, "if what my sister says is shrew."

Dirt-cheap vodka, pubic hair-covered ice, and an indiscernible mixer, caused that last word to slur like a racial insult.

Again, more nonsensical ― and unnecessary ― gibberish on my part, solely to keep things flowing like hardened concrete. It didn't matter what I said, just so long as I replied.

"Help me out of the pool?" the lustful lass extended a hand, as she walked to the steps.

Of course I obliged, and of course she emerged naked and glistening. Her huge, brown sewer caps stood erect, thanks to a desert breeze. It was 91 degrees out, but even the slightest wind made things frigid for those exiting a pool.

Between her thighs, a bald sausage holster dripped with anticipation.

And to think, this all began as innocently as Saturday morning cartoons; as innocuously as the Pope creepin' around maternity wards.

Wandering into the dungeon at another local swing club, one month prior, I stumbled across succulent slave ass being flogged. Hiked were the haunches of a Latina porn peeress, complete with strategically-placed tattoos. Bare of thread, her brown buttocks took the blows her Master dealt. Her thighs quivered, as her sweat-drenched butthole puckered.

Surveying the situation, I realized none of the other possible suitors were making a move. As such, I pulled up a padded sawhorse six feet from the action, behind the crusty bootheels of the Dom, as he whipped away. Stripping to skin, I yanked mightily upon my heavy horn, until it reached its zenith.

Lustrous with lube, I displayed my offering, in hopes the man in question would turn, and be receptive to adding my member to the mix.

"Take that pain, bitch!" the Master bellowed, his slave howling in ecstasy. He glanced behind himself, to ensure his backlashes weren't in danger of plucking eyes from the faces of innocent onlookers. All he got was a point blank look at 9 1/2 inches of cock.

"Well," he chirped, shocked to find a fully-nude flesh rocket ― ready for take-off ― prepared to penetrate his princess. "You got a condom for that?" he queried, motioning to my upside down exclamation mark.

Dipping into my left sock, I produced a handful of pole ponchos, their pristine packages shining under the trashy, brothel-esque lighting.

"Step right up," the man harnessed his flogger, beckoning me forth.

"Do you mind if I taste her, first?" I inquired

"Not at all," came the Dom's reply.

Dropping my knees to the glossy tile floor, I grabbed the woman's beautiful buttocks, and spread her cheeks wide, exposing rusty wagon wheel. Circling my tongue around the perimeter of her brown leather Cheerio, I steadily spiraled to the center of the orifice.

"Oh, Jesus!" the slave moaned, her balloon knot tightening.

A few minutes in, and I pretended my tongue was a cock, plunging it into the woman's cinnamon ring.

"Oh, God!" the aroused bank teller, housewife, insurance saleswoman ― whatever she thought she was ― growled.

When her juices pooled on the floor at our feet, I stood, and covered my bad girl stick.

From there, it was...

formulaic?!?

I know that sounds horrible, but I'd juggled my balls so many times in this pattern, I could've done so with my eyes closed.

When putting up Numbers to the tune of eight to 10 newbies per week, you risk redundancy. It's difficult to find the unique kernel on the cob, about which to write.

I get it. What a hideous cross to bear. Keep in mind, though, I was sleeping eight hours total, in four days, to make this bawdy blueprint an erection.

I'd hit the swing club on Thursday, bust my ass to hump as much as possible, leave by 4 AM, and be at "enslavement" ― i.e. work ― by 7 AM. Slip this dreadful document into the Xerox, and make carbon copies for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. This I incurred for 2 1/2 years straight.

Such equated to two hours of sleep on those nights, each evening, so I could write about my adventures. All for the opportunity to allow readers to inform me I was a terrible author, and couldn't get laid if I was free bricks in suburbia.

So, when it came down to it, this encounter was fun, but commonplace for me. I do recall the woman in question commenting on the size of my dick, and how she was certain her sister would enjoy paying the entrance fee, and hopping atop my funhouse attraction.

In addition, I recollect the Dom in attendance being erect as George Soros staring at money, due to the prospect of me helping him "train" his slave and her sister.

" 'Sister,' " I queried. "Do you mean a biological sister?"

"The very same," the man responded with hubris, as though he'd produced the perfect chili recipe for the cook-off, that would warrant him the blue ribbon.

"Damn!" I pondered that dynamic.

That's what I'm talking about, when asserting I have to dig deep, to find the exceptional nature to the encounters about which I write. "She sucked my cock. I came," is less appealing than the prospect of suffering through a 14 hour safety training video, so you can cook fries at McDonald's.

If you're gonna read about it, as opposed to experiencing it, peruse something as rare as a raw steak. Chicks with no assholes, or women with beards. That shit's got more bite than a school of Great Whites. Because all my tales are true, it takes time to uncover the more unique stories to relate.

" 'Training'?" I questioned the salt-and-pepper Dom. "What would that involve?"

"Well, I'd love to watch you fuck 'em both, while I showed 'em who their Daddy was," came his rejoinder.

The image of me pounding these sisters, as this dude presented them photographs of their biological father, came to mind, simply because I'm a Mitch Hedberg fan.

My erection bursting from its skin, I asked ― drooling on myself, "Would they be together, while this occurred?"

An insidious smile, the calculating Master gripped his slave's neck, in an overt gesture of control. "Of course," he turned to me, as the woman winced in pain.

Smash that fast forward button on your VCRs to the pool again, where the fitness trainer ― the sister in question ― dripped, nude. It was a month later, and all the pieces to the puzzle were in place, ready to be assembled.

"Would you grab me a towel, baby?" the woman asked, as her sibling and their Dom walked over. It'd been 30 days since our chance meeting in the dungeon. Early ― the Master, here ― had lived up to his word, coordinating this coital conference between the four of us.

And there we stood, amid palm trees sluggishly swaying in arid evening gusts. Early and I, and Alysha and Aphrodite ― two biological sisters.

Toweling off, Aphrodite inquired, "This is my first time to a swing club. What do we do now?"

Early's smile could've been seen from outer space.

From that point, things were an FFM threesome porn, edited by a guy with no patience, a missing thumb, a dull butter knife, and an overabundance of speed.

I was slammed face-first into a private room. Before the door closed behind us, 'Dite ― as her sister referred to her ― was spread eagle atop the mattress. " 'Lysh told me you got the biggest cock in this place," she spit forth.

"Well, I―"

"He doesI" Alysha responded for me.

Turning, I was shocked to find the once-silent sister now nude, as well.

"Every few years, I see one that's roughly the same―"

"He's huge!" Alysha continued. "Show her," she commanded me, pointing to her sister's Bavarian water harp.

Removing my shirt, and dropping my slacks, I dangled my gut tapper, and straddled Dite's face. Sans hesitation, the horny hussy slurped; the fleshy veins of my shaft spilling over her oily lips, as Alysha assumed Doggy, astride her sibling.

In the background, Early grinned like the Devil, after orchestrating the Holocaust.

Both sisters were moaning in anticipation. I could hear Aphrodite's cunt leaking, as rivulets of drool drained down her cheeks. Savoring the superlative suckjob, I simultaneously squeezed my base, until my Dutchman's Foot strained for safe harbor.

Sliding to the edge of the bed, I scrolled through my mental checklist. Again, this was formulaic, but since the formula worked, I employed it every time. Should it fail, I'd improvise.

Gazing up, I caught sight of Alysha's chili chute, as she spread her greasy dirt star for my viewing pleasure.

Dite was vocal, even before I hit clit. She began draining, while I activated her button.

Increasing speed, I tongued her little man in the boat, until she was on the precipice of firin' off a round. Not wanting her to do so on anything but my cock, I stood, spanking her clit with my shaft. This nearly brought her over the edge, as I garbed my groin, and shoved myself in to the hilt.

"Jesus!" she squealed, pushing me back, until she could accommodate my size.

By this point, Lysh had hopped off the bed, and was standing beside me, spreading her screeching sibling's legs. In a matter of moments, Aphrodite came. It was a blast that not only pushed me out of her pussy, but also launched a gusher of groin goo into her sister's face.

"Fuck!" Alysha screamed, rolling away, while shielding herself from the remainder of the eruption. "Damn, girl! Why didn't you tell me you were a squirter?!?"

Aphrodite convulsed, spraying what remained of her load. Leaping from the bed, she raced for the door, and braced against the closed ingress, as she gasped for air. All the while, her cunt dripped it's precious fluid.

Early simpered in the shadows.

I stood, holdin' firewood.

Bursting to cum, Alysha hopped on all fours, locked her gear shift into reverse, and slammed back onto my flag at full mast. In less than 60 seconds, she blew a poon monsoon on my raging moby.

Holding her chest, and inhaling deeply, Dite watched her sibling cum hard on the most fortunate cock in the club, at that moment.

A few gasm spasms later, and Lysha was done, as well, toppling to the bed, as she searched for precious oxygen.

Since this incident occurred two years ago, I'm not certain what was said afterward, and don't care. Such stated, I've been called into action again, as Early asserted both sisters are desirous of a Round Two. To date, the Dom hasn't been able to write a sequel, though, which is just fine. Both ladies are on the list already, so why repeat?

— authored by Hugh Mungus