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When Your Dink Squirts Curses


Guest PozGoat

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I love glory holes, but I really love the the pig bottoms who bend over, spread'em, and offer themselves to vermin like me.  You know the scene.

 

Friday night it was hot as fuck.  Every one was sweating.  So what is there to do but head to the tubs, totally horned, cleaned-out, carrying a brand new bottle of poppers.  Like the prissy hole that you are, you throw a self-mini-fit when you see the line out the door at the tub entrance. How can a queen hole like you be forced to wait in line?  The it hits you:  you're a VIP and so can check in through the back door.  Yeah, your sweet ass will be hogging the glory hole booths in no time.  Fulfilling your destiny.  Yeah, being the worthless hole that you really are, attitude and all.  Too good to wait in line like all the other sweaty faggots.

 

Enter me.  Wasting me. The bathhouse vermin. The rat swarm. The pestilent.

 

I look down at my wasting waist.  I am marked with the lesions of lovers past.  My doctors tell me it's called Kaposi Sarcoma, but I think of of each lesion a stamp which each of my past lovers has left on my torso.    

 

Meanwhile, you're an impatient, stuck-up, bitchy hole who is too good too wait?  Above all, you plan on owning the entire row of glory hole booths at the local big city bath on a sweaty Friday night?  You are a special hole, aren't you?  It's your plan to drain every cock in your ass, isn't it?  To 'hog' all the tops and all the cock and cum to yourself?  Isn't it?  What a fuckin' pig hole you are.

 

Enter me.

 

The booth door next to you slams shut with a different sounding thud. You hear the door lock latch shut. It's so dark that you can barely see.  Your heart is thumping.  Some thing seems extra-kinky.  You take a hit of poppers and and look down to your left at the glory hole.  Some thing is sticking through it.  Whatever it is, it's long and bends somewhat to the left.  It looks like the right horn of some sort of beast. You know, of course, there's a cock sticking through. The poppers have your head swimming and your hole in control.  Every impulse within your body tells you to back up onto that horned devil stick.  So you obey and align your ass so the cock of death can slide into your body, which sucks it in. Your impatient pig hole needs to sin.

 

Like the hole that you are, you take this anon-sickly, horned cock in you. Knowing you are 'sticking it' to the other bathhouse bottoms by draining all of the tops, thus also owning the glory hole booths.

 

Your hole feels so good as it sucks my death stick into your guts.  I hear you begging me to cum in your guts.  You want my raw, anonymous load, and you're gonna get it.  My vermin sperm is going deep up into your ass, flooding your guts with my sickness, blowing my waste and pestilence into your body.

 

A cock that squirts curses is the cure for your impatient worthless hole.  Remember, bitchy bottom faggots:  I may be the 'hunk' on the other side of the booth.

 

Five weeks later, why are you so sick?

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