I've got my hands securely fastened around my favorite guypart, my mouth around my third favorite part, while looking up at my second favorite part. (ass, cock, face) In an ideal world, I'm comfortable. In the real world his massive Lennie hands are cutting of circulation to my brain and are slamming my not incredibly large nose into his mutant outie belly button. I move my left hand from ass cheek to balls and begin to pull in a way that I hope is rather painful. I move my right index finger into No Man's Land and press hard and without warning. He grips harder, slams my head faster and says "Fuck, yeah." I'm not getting my point across at all.
It isn't until I do a little teeth grazing that he moves his hands off my head and moves over to my bed. He stretches out on his stomach, ass in the air. I enjoy the view from where I'm kneeling, but decide I'll be able to appreciate it more from up close. I am correct.
Because I have decided he likes it rough (something I have just about no experience with), I decide to go for the gusto and once my cock is inside, I begin thrusting like a drunken swordfighter in a hall of mirrors. He moans "Oh yes." This is followed by a tremendous crash.
Brett is now wearing my curtains like a wedding veil.
"I was biting down on them." He says after I've pulled out to laugh at him. "They felt really awesome between my teeth. Until the rod fell on my head. Is it a good look for me?"
I answer with a kiss. It's a passionate kiss, but nothing spectacular until he bites my fucken tongue
"What the fuck are you doing, freak?" I ask, checking my tongue for blood, there is none. "Did you learn how to kiss from Freddy Kreuger?"
"You're the one who was pulling my sack like you were ripping the tag off a t-shirt, and grazing my cock with your teeth."
"Well you were slamming my nose into your belly dimmer switch."
"I thought you...dimmer switch?"
"Well it's way too big to be a button, unless it's like The Button that Evil Politicians always have their fingers on." And I press his belly button. "Look how much bigger your belly button is than my finger."
"You have freakishly small hands." He says.
"Yea, and look how much freakishly smaller they look next to your mutant umbilical cord."
He grabs my hands, pushes me back on the bed, and sits so that his ass is rubbing against my cock, and lets out a loud, raunchy fart. Eye wateringly bad. Did I mention his half of the pizza had garlic and anchovies on it?
When I coughed his cock slapped against my stomach which made me want to laugh which made me cough more. I sounded like a cat getting ready to cough up a furball. "Get off me, freak."
"Stop calling me freak." He says, moving his gigantic frog eyes until they are about half a centimeter away from my human-sized ones.
"Stop being freaky, freak."
He moves back and centers his ass over my cock, slides down, and
"Ewwwww." I yell, pulling my cock out of his ass.
"What?" He laughs.
"Dude, didn't that fart feel a little wet to you?"
He continues laughing. "It's not like you aren't wearing a condom. What do you care if it was wet?" Still, he lifts his body up a little bit, and I see that my cock looks the way it usually looks when it's wrapped in blue latex. No shit.
He moves back to his cowboy position, and reaches his hands behind him. He pulls one of the curtains in front of his face. "Oh, Mr. Mode, I do declare, I have sat my derriere on something pointy. It feels quite wonderful."
I snatch the curtain away from him, whip it at him a couple of times and throw it across the room. I then sit up, pushing him onto his back and kiss him so I won't have to listen to his horrible falsetto.
We go for about five minutes before I pull out, and we both make rather a mess of his chest and chin. We lay spread across each other for a few minutes. I can feel sleep falling over my head like those fucken curtains when Brett starts giggling. "What?" I ask.
"I think I left something in the oven."
"The oven?" I ask.
He pulls the covers over our heads, and lets out the wettest sounding, garliciest fart in the history of gastronomical problems.
original post: http://community.livejournal.com/bad_sex/1499747.html
It isn't until I do a little teeth grazing that he moves his hands off my head and moves over to my bed. He stretches out on his stomach, ass in the air. I enjoy the view from where I'm kneeling, but decide I'll be able to appreciate it more from up close. I am correct.
Because I have decided he likes it rough (something I have just about no experience with), I decide to go for the gusto and once my cock is inside, I begin thrusting like a drunken swordfighter in a hall of mirrors. He moans "Oh yes." This is followed by a tremendous crash.
Brett is now wearing my curtains like a wedding veil.
"I was biting down on them." He says after I've pulled out to laugh at him. "They felt really awesome between my teeth. Until the rod fell on my head. Is it a good look for me?"
I answer with a kiss. It's a passionate kiss, but nothing spectacular until he bites my fucken tongue
"What the fuck are you doing, freak?" I ask, checking my tongue for blood, there is none. "Did you learn how to kiss from Freddy Kreuger?"
"You're the one who was pulling my sack like you were ripping the tag off a t-shirt, and grazing my cock with your teeth."
"Well you were slamming my nose into your belly dimmer switch."
"I thought you...dimmer switch?"
"Well it's way too big to be a button, unless it's like The Button that Evil Politicians always have their fingers on." And I press his belly button. "Look how much bigger your belly button is than my finger."
"You have freakishly small hands." He says.
"Yea, and look how much freakishly smaller they look next to your mutant umbilical cord."
He grabs my hands, pushes me back on the bed, and sits so that his ass is rubbing against my cock, and lets out a loud, raunchy fart. Eye wateringly bad. Did I mention his half of the pizza had garlic and anchovies on it?
When I coughed his cock slapped against my stomach which made me want to laugh which made me cough more. I sounded like a cat getting ready to cough up a furball. "Get off me, freak."
"Stop calling me freak." He says, moving his gigantic frog eyes until they are about half a centimeter away from my human-sized ones.
"Stop being freaky, freak."
He moves back and centers his ass over my cock, slides down, and
"Ewwwww." I yell, pulling my cock out of his ass.
"What?" He laughs.
"Dude, didn't that fart feel a little wet to you?"
He continues laughing. "It's not like you aren't wearing a condom. What do you care if it was wet?" Still, he lifts his body up a little bit, and I see that my cock looks the way it usually looks when it's wrapped in blue latex. No shit.
He moves back to his cowboy position, and reaches his hands behind him. He pulls one of the curtains in front of his face. "Oh, Mr. Mode, I do declare, I have sat my derriere on something pointy. It feels quite wonderful."
I snatch the curtain away from him, whip it at him a couple of times and throw it across the room. I then sit up, pushing him onto his back and kiss him so I won't have to listen to his horrible falsetto.
We go for about five minutes before I pull out, and we both make rather a mess of his chest and chin. We lay spread across each other for a few minutes. I can feel sleep falling over my head like those fucken curtains when Brett starts giggling. "What?" I ask.
"I think I left something in the oven."
"The oven?" I ask.
He pulls the covers over our heads, and lets out the wettest sounding, garliciest fart in the history of gastronomical problems.
original post: http://community.livejournal.com/bad_sex/1499747.html
