EULA: The following shall constitute the sole license agreement between The party of the First Part, hereinafter known as "Author," or "Me," and The Party of the Second Part, hereinafter known as "Reader," "Wanker," "Pud Knocker," "B-b-b-b-bad To The B-b-bone," or "You." The Author has placed a single copy of this file in the Nifty Archives. No other copying, posting or distribution is permitted without the express written permission of the Author. This license permits you to engage in acts of pleasure with, by, between, within, upon, next to, about, uhh... in the vicinity of, and/or while electronically in contact with yourself and/or such others as may, from time to time, from place to place, for good reason, for no particular reason, and in consideration of, or in the absence of such valuable consideration, let you. So there! Click the "X" in the upper right hand corner to signify your agreement to the terms of this End User License Agreement... agreement.

Cubic Rubes

"The Real Slum Lady"


Mike was doing this head bobbing thing with his arms out to the sides, making, like, a walrus body.

"The Real Slum Lady, the Real Slum Lay Day, unh, uh-unh, the real slum lay day, the real slum lay day!"

"Fuu-uck! Emimen. The Real Dumb Labia, The Real Dumb Labia. Mike, you're so fucked!" I laughed.

He just keeps going with this look like a blissed out walrus. "Unh, uh-unh Unh!"

"You can't touch that! You can't touch that! The real slum lay day, unh-unh, unh, the real slum lay day, the real slum lay day!"

"Christ! Who the fuck would WANT to touch that! God, get me a backhoe!"

"Ho! Ho! The Real Slum Lady, The Real Slum Lady. Unh, uh-unh Unh!"

"Ya know, Mike. I'm gonna have to do ya more often. You're a lot more fun with your nuts empty."

"The real dump slay me, the real dump slay me! Do me, quick!" he yelped, tearing at his belt. "The Real Slum Lay Me, The Real Slum Lay Me!" By then, the pants were falling off his ass and he was grimacing into an imaginary microphone, bent over.

"Looks like Eminem singing to some guy's dick!"

"In his head. The Real Slum Lady, The Real Slum Lady!" Mike's moving around like a passionate washing machine. Waggling his ass at my face.

I finally got fed up and plunged my hand into his pants, sliding down to take his nuts in my hand, from behind. They were soft and big and moist and he moaned appreciatively and he was hard and I gripped the buried part of his dick, up above his balls and bent it a little. He moaned again and grabbed my wrist with his thighs, thrusting and wiggling: "The Real Slum Lay-day, The Real Slum Lay-day!, Oonh! Uh-uh-oonh! The Real Slum Lay day, The Real Slum Lay day." The way he was gyrating his hips, I had to follow him around like a fuckin' idiot to keep lined up with my trapped scrotum hand.

"Innnh! Innnh! Too! Weird!"  I cried in this sort of monotone robot voice, to his rhythm. "Too! Weird! Innnh-Innnh! Too! Weird! Innnh-Innnh!"

He's all like, "The Real Slum Lady, The Real Slum Lady!" with his ass wiggling rhythmically.

"The least you can do is do this naked, you fucker," I said, giving his balls a little squeeze.

"Eeesh! Okay, Okay!" his eyes got wide, there, for a second. Which cracked me up.

He smirks. "If you insist! Pants system -- Defeat!, Innnh-Innnh! Pants system -- Defeat!" and off they came. He's wearing these fucked up grey boxer briefs which are, like, mostly holes. So I stick my finger in one and start tickling the top of his wanger. Didn't take much to get (the rest of) his interest. He growled and that was all she wrote: my dick was in his mouth faster than you could say "Oh GodOhGodOhGodAhhhOhGodOhGodSoGoodLetMeSuckYou."

That fast! And it felt so good going in, going in! Those Lips!

Fast enough, cuz then I got his and he smelled like those first drops of rain on the sidewalk and he was so big and teen and plenty and he sucked my dick so hot and good I was coming, like, right now his smooth thighs on my cheeks and I coulda had that dick in my throat for the rest of my life, once he finished shooting, too.

God, it's good to be a boy!

Send comments to: hkeylocalmachine@hotmail.com. I intend to answer any messages received. Please submit flames in cuneiform on fired clay tablets in a plain brown wrapper delivered by a brown-shoed square in the dead of night. Or not. Your call.