Scooby 69 Xxx

It was the summer of '69. Fred Jones steered The Mystery Machine through the midwestern countryside on Route 666. Daphne Blake, his sexy redhead girlfriend, bobbed her head to Strawberry Alarm Clock on an AM radio station. Meanwhile in the backseat, nerdy Velma Dinkley wrinkled her face in digust at the smell of marijuana smoke coming from her boyfriend Shaggy Rogers, sitting next to Scooby-Doo the Great Dane. Scooby was the only talking dog in the world, but they didn't consider that the least bit fucked-up.

"Like wow, Scoob. This is some primo fuckin' boo!"

"A true conna-reur of reefer, Raggy," Scooby replied; struggling to pronounce the words.

"I wish you'd kick that nasty habit," Velma whined. "It smells like a burning beehive, and it turns your brain to mush."

"I know, baby," Shaggy replied seductively. He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. "But you love the way it gets me all horny for you."

"Jinkies, you're such a jerk," Velma giggled.

Fred made a left turn onto Crystal Lake Road, and adjusted his orange ascot. "It was really nice of my Uncle Owen to let us spend the week at his Victorian mansion in the wilderness while he's on vacation in Vegas."

"This'll be such a nice romantic getaway, darling," Daphne beamed while stroking his blue pants.

"Unless another ghost or monster shows up," Velma muttered behind her.

"No way," Fred replied confidently. "Nobody's gonna disguise themselves as a psycho clown or a headless specter to scare everyone away from the estate, so they can buy the land dirt cheap and build an overpriced spa retreat."

"But a monster

always

shows up,

every

fucking place we go. A perfect batting average of criminal insanity."

"Chillax, baby," Shaggy said.

"Reah, Relma. Rop being ruch a buzzkill," Scooby remarked through a dense fog of Mary Jane. They passed throught the small village of Haddonfield, with a neo-gothic mental hospital on the outskirts

.

Twenty minutes later, the psychedelic VW Microbus finally arrived at 13 Elm Road, the last house on the left. A creepy mansion in the middle of nowhere, illuminated by a spooky sunset.

"Zoinks! This place sure looks scare-air-

ey!

" Shaggy exclaimed.

"Reah. Like Lon Cheney's worsht rightmare," Scooby added sarcastically.

"Scary or not, that weed is giving me the munchies so fucking bad. Let's go find the kitchen."

"Ree too, Raggy. I could eat a whole Ranksgiving rinner."

They mansion was full of dusty nineteenth-century decor and creaky floorboards. Fred and Daphne went into the living room, found an old Victrola record player, and played a rock album by Three Dog Night. Shaggy, Velma and Scooby went into the big kitchen and raided the icebox.

"Wow-eee, Owen definitely loves to eat."

"Rike uncle, rike rousin."

"I'm gonna fix us a super-duper triple-decker Shaggy Sandwich."

He pulled out a big slab of swiss cheese, a huge hunk of prosciutto, a jar of gherkins, and a bottle of mayo. Then he threw it all together on giant slices of foccacia bread, and cut the sandwich into three big pieces. Shaggy and Scooby opened their jaws as wide as they could, and devoured their dinner like the starving drug-addled freaks they were.

"Wow, Shaggy. Watching you eat like a pig gets me all hot and bothered," Velma said dreamily, while rubbing her clit through her red miniskirt. Meanwhile, Fred and Daphne kept go-go dancing to "An Old Fashioned Love Song."

"Three Dog Night is so groovy!" Daphne beamed.

"A far-out band, baby."

"They're gonna sell more records than the Beatles."

"And get more pussy than Mick Jagger."

Fred got right up against Daphne's bombshell body and gyrated against her thighs in tune to the music. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and grabbed both his ass cheeks. His dick rose to full attention. The record ended a minute later, and she kissed him tenderly.

"This

soooo

romantic, Freddie. I feel like the sultry debutante in 'A Hot Summer at Thorncliff Manor.'"

"I don't read any stupid romance novels. I prefer the real thing."

"Me

too,

" Daphne purred. She squuezed him tighter and kissed him hard. Their passion quickly escalated, and before he knew it, her purple dress was on the floor, and she was yanking his big dick out of his pants.

"Fuck yeah, girl. Suck that cock like a Scooby Snack."

She giggled sweetly and went down on him like crazy. Slurping and gagging and groaning while holding the shaft hard with one hand and stroking her fire crotch with the other. He grabbed her long red bangs and twisted them into a bunch, using it as a handle to force her lips all the way down to his hairy balls.

Scooby, Velma and Shaggy ambled into the living room after finishing their 2,000 calorie sandwiches.

"Hey guys, doncha want something to eat?" Shaggy asked while turning a corner, before noticing the fellatio. "Oooh, never mind. You already

found

something to eat."

"That's a good idea, guys," Velma snickered. "Let's have a freaky love-in in this creepy mansion."

"I second that motion," Shaggy replied while taking off his green shirt. "I've been trying to cut back on sweets, so I'll just have some pu-tang for dessert."

They all got naked on a bear-skin rug in front of a fireplace below a portrait of Aunt Matilda, Owen's beloved wife who died in a tragic woodchipper accident. Velma deep-throated Shaggy with the same enthusiasm; still wearing those geeky thick-framed eyeglasses. Scooby-Doo sat in a corner by an antique escritoire, watching the pornographic action with a very indignant expression.

"Dishrushting," he muttered. "A dog would never ruck a rock."

"Shut up, Scoob," Shaggy muttered right back. "You're just angry because we had you neutered last week. That's what you get for humping too many canine hotties."

"Ruck you, rash-hole."

Velma pulled out and sucked Shaggy's balls. Daphne pulled her lips away from Fred's cock with a loud

poof

sound, and stuck her tongue right down his pee-hole.

"Damn, Daphne. You're a maid in the kitchen, and a skank in the sack," Fred groaned.

"I'm a wild ginger who always gets what she wants. Fuck the shit out of me, blondie."

"Yes, ma'am."

Daphne got up and bent over against a grand piano, with her big milky tits smooshing outward on the fine mahogany cover. Her wet pussy peeked out so cutely.

"Let's play a skin symphony on this Steinway grand. You know I like it rough."

Fred grabbed the narrow love handles on her perfect s-shaped figure, and slammed his dick right up her twat. He crashed against her pale heart-shaped ass over and over and over, making her moan like hell with his chiseled quarterback body.

Velma kept performing fellatio on her ditzy stoner boyfriend. Then she went over to a bookcase full of leather-bound volumes of forgotten lore, and spread her unnattractive lumpy body in a wide X-shape against the shelves.

"Get over here, Shaggy dear. I love books, and I love sex, so pound my pussy like a slutty librarian."

"Like, hell yeah! My library books are way overdue."

"Naughty boy. Get your ass over here and pay me a big fine."

He grabbed her flat chest and shagged her right into the bookshelf, making her squeal even louder than Daphne. He smacked her bony hips over and over, banging her booty against a six-volume set of Shakespeare.

Fred kept fucking Daphne on the piano, spanking her ass about twenty times. She flung her arms out in utter ecstasty, striking the ivory piano keys at random with both hands, making a spooky cacophony of sound. Shaggy thrust his pelvis back and forth at a much slower pace, under the lethargic influence of all that THC.

"Like, holy fuck!" he exclaimed. "I'm gonna shag a big wad all over your face!"

"As usual. Let me take my glasses off first."

"I'm gonna blow one on the hottie," Fred groaned. "Come on, bitches. Get right next to each other on the floor."

Velma took off her geeky glasses, set them down next to

Bleak House

by Charles Dickens, and dropped to her knees next to Daphe in the middle of the Victorian living room. Fred and Shaggy assumed the position for a two-man firing squad. Fred pulled his trigger first, unsurprisingly.

"Hoooo, hoooo, hooooooooWAAAAAH!"

His splooge exploded outward in a huge geyser. Most of it landed in Daphne's flaming red hair. The incredible sight pushed Shaggy over the edge.

"Like wow, like wow, like

wow, ooooooh

zzzzzzZOOOOOOOINKS!"

He shagged out a smaller wad, landing right on Velma's oustretched tongue. She swished it around for a moment, then took it in her mouth and swallowed it with a sweet giggle. Daphne brushed Fred's jizz out of her hair and licked it off her fingers like vanilla cake batter. Then they French-kissed each other quite eagerly.

"Lick her pussy, Velma," Saggy suggested.

"Hell yeah," Fred concurrred. "Spread those legs and let the geek chick have some fun."

The girls giggled, but gladly took their suggestion. Velma stretched Dapne's legs far apart and settled down to graze. Licking her labia like a veteran lesbian, while they guys cheered her on. Shaggy lit up another joint full of red dragon and masturbated slowly with his free hand.

Velma sucked her clit while growling fiercely. Daphne's shrill moans echoed throughout Uncle Owen's mansion. She let go of Daphne's legs and jammed three fingers up her pussy, finger-fucking her ginger friend in a rapid blur. Daphne did the same thing simulaneously to that frumpy brunette, starting a frantic race toward Orgasmville. They achieved a perfectly synchronized climax, soaking the bearskin rug with female ejaculate.

"Good girls!" Fred proclaimed. "Keeping Mystery Incorporated nice and satisfied."

"Groovy slutty ladies," Shaggy beamed. "The nerdy one gets the job done just as well as the hottie."

Velma giggled at their boyfriend's dry wit. "Damn, I wish I was a sexy redhead like you," she murmured to Daphne.

"It's much harder than it looks, honey."

"Of course," Velma replied while putting her glasses back on. "Pretty girls rule the world, but heavy is the head that wears the crown."

A few seconds later, they heard a loud thumping sound coming from the back of the mansion.

"Zoinks! What the fuck was that?" Shaggy exclaimed in sudden fear.

Loud footsteps raced toward the living room, soon revealing a tall hunchbacked man in a green suit with green skin and evil yellow eyes, scowling at the gang with murderous rage.

"Jeepers, it's The Creeper!" Daphne shrieked, cowering into Fred's arms.

"Creeper! Creeper!" growled the Creeper.

"Hey, I remember that guy," Fred said fearfully. "He was a bank robber, and all he could say was 'Creeper! Creeper!'"

"Like, didn't we throw his ass in jail?" Shaggy groaned.

"Creeper!

Creep-er!

"

More loud footsteps approached the living room from the back of the mansion, revealing another familiar monster, right out of a bad black-and-white horror flick, wearing a nineteenth-century upper-class waistcoat.

"Holy shit, it's the Headless Specter!" Velma wailed. The specter growled with a distinctly femine voice, despite not having a head.

"The Headless Specter is a woman now? What the fuck is going on?" Shaggy shouted.

"How the fuck should I know?" Fred shouted back. "Run for your lives!"

The Creeper blocked the front door, so they ran butt-naked toward the back door, but the Headless Specter blocked that one, so they ran in a helpless zig-zag pattern throughout the huge manor house. The two monsters chased them relentlessly through the dingy corridors, never quite fast enough to catch them. Like they wanted to keep the hunt going as long as possible, for the sheer sport of it.

"Hey guys, where's the music?" Shaggy asked while running past the master bedroom. "There's always some kind of music playing when get chased by ghosts."

"That music was just in your head, you fucking stoner!" Fred growled.

The monsters chased them back down to the first floor. Daphne managed to open a window, and they jumped out into the dimly lit barnyard. The Creeper and The Headless Specter burst through the back door in hot pursuit, and they ran around in the mud like a bunch of nude hippies at Woodstock. Velma tripped over a rake and careened onto the ground, making her glasses fly off.

"Oh no, my glasses! I can't see without my glasses!"

Everyone else tripped over her, sprawling out on the lawn.

"I told you to get contact lenses, you stuck-up bitch!" Shaggy snapped.

The monsters caught up to them, and glared down like demons.

"Roh no, our goose is rucking rooked!" Scooby whimpered like a pathetic puppy. The Creeper and The Headless Specter laughed evilly, then they pulled out two huge butcher knives.

"Oh

hell

no!" Fred exclaimed. "Those corny ghosts are going Norman Bates on our ass!"

"Please don't kill me!" Daphne wailed pathetically.

"Me neither!" Velma pleaded. "I'm sorry we foiled your half-baked evil scheme and sent you to prison, where you got ass-fucked by all the other monsters."

"

Creeper!

"

The Creeper stabbed Velma right through the left eyeball, all the way to the back of her skull. She collapsed in a lifeless heap, and everyone else screamed in utter terror.

"Zoinks! Holy f-f-f-f-

fuck!

Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is..."

"Creeper!"

The Creeper severed Shaggy's jugular vein and carotid artery with one swift stroke. The Headless Specter slit the throats of Fred, Daphne and Scooby like well-trained Soviet assassins. That was the final episode for Mystery, Incorporated. End of the road. Case closed.

The Creeper pulled off his horrid green mask, but it wasn't Mister Carswell, a crooked bank president. It was Uncle Owen, smirking triumpantly.

A head popped up from the chest of the Headless Specter, but it wasn't the head of Penrod Stillwall, the great-great-great grandson of Jefferson Stillwall, a confederate aristocrat. It was Bambi McPherson, Owen's gorgeous blonde girlfriend.

"Fuck yeah, baby!" Owen cheered. "Those meddling kids ain't gonna meddle no more!"

"Payback for all our friends they sent to the slammer," Bambi beamed. "See you in hell, ya hippie punks!"

"We sure will. In the meantime, the mafia boss will cut us a nice big check."

"Five hundred grand! Mama needs some new Pradas."

"But first we have to get rid of the evidence. Let's grind up their corpses in the woodchipper."

They dragged the bloody bodies over to the woodchipper and ground them to a nasty pulp, which they covered over with dirt and hay. They carefully hosed the lingering evidence off the crime scene, and then the twenty-something Bambi kissed her forty-something lover like the crazy golddigger she was.

"You're my soulmate, Owen."

"No doubt, Bambi-boo. Let's get married in Vegas."

"That sounds

soooo

romantic!"