The Purple Prose Contest

Cora and I have each come up with an elaborate and cringe-worthy sex scene.  Trying to one up each other to see who could write the worst sex scene ever. We’ve done our part, now it’s your turn! You guys have to vote for which story is the absolute WORST. 


Story #1

Passing Time

“Open,” Gunther commanded. I did as instructed, allowing him to guide his velvet incased steel rod past my lips. I immediately took him to the back of my throat, just like he liked. Before Gunther I’d never taken a man with my mouth, but to my surprise, I didn’t have a gag reflex, deep throating him like a porn star with two months back rent to pay.
I whined at the loss when he pulled away and stood me up in front of the mirror. I wanted to continue to play, but he was an impatient man.
“Your flower is sopping for me,” he mewled in my ear, slipping his fingers through my moist folds. My loins quivered in response to his ministrations and whispered words. I watched in the mirror as he pulled his meaty hand from my panties and ran it up my thigh, lifting the fabric of my skirt and revealing the milky white skin beneath.

“Gunny, baby,” I called out on a strangled moan.

“Shh, Lollipop,” he growled.

Gripping either side of my thong he pulled, the fabric practically disintegrating in his large fists, exposing my glistening pink sex.

“Mine,” he announced as he palmed me. I couldn’t help but moan at the sensation of his hand on my hot, sticky skin. Having him declare his claim on my body had a gush of wetness coating my thighs. Upon feeling my desire, Gunther lost himself in a frenzy of lust. He flipped me around and set me on the counter between the two sinks. Taking little more than a spare second to tear my remaining clothes from my hot and needy body.

Spreading me like an open faced roast beef sandwich, Gunther plunged his engorged meat sword into my quivering channel. The sensation of being over-filled lit every nerve in my body on fire. There was nothing in the world that compared to the absolute ecstasy I felt when we were joined together as close as two people could get.

“Come for me, Lollipop,” he demanded in his gravely voice. Since I’d been with Gunther he’d trained my pussy to react like one of Pavlov’s dogs. When he ordered me to come, my body had no choice but to explode into a million tiny pieces as my orgasm ripped through me.

He continued to jack hammer above me, driving his fun stick into my core.

He grunted his release in my ear, spilling his seed deep inside of me. The knowledge that a part of him would be inside me for the rest of the day pulled a second orgasm from me.

Once we’d both come down to earth, we separated, adjusting our clothes. Without the luxury of panties, could feel a mixture of both of our fluids running down the inside of my leg.

“See you tomorrow, Lollipop,” he said before turning for the door.

“Yes, Principal Doyle,” I said sweetly, as I righted my plaid skirt.

Story #2 

Love’s Lava

Bartholomew swept Rosebud off her feet in one lift off his enormous biceps and carried her to bed. His breath caught in his throat as the impending union of their bodies manifested into an entwinement of their souls and minds. He’d dreamt of this moment since they first met. Night after night, he’d calm his unrepentant man sword with self-indulgent strokes by himself until thoughts of her erupted into a towering geyser of love milk.

But now they stared into each other’s eyes as the hunger swept through them. She licked her lips and his rigid source of heat expanded and stood to observe the delicacies upon which it would feast.

“Show me what’s mine, Tater Tot,” he demanded.

She smiled, removing the robe. He sighed as her translucent skin seemed woven by billons of clouds that had fallen just for her.

Rosebud pleaded softly.” I’ve waited so long. I need you.” She slid onto the bed, offering herself to him.

Kissing her ever so gently, he whispered words of undying love and passion as their eyes danced a harmonious rhythm with the crashing waves of the ocean. Peeling down the nightgown, he lapped his tongue around the circular pink deliciousness of her nips like a suckling piglet until she cried out in glorious splendor.

As the music of her cries rang in his ears, he trailed down her luscious body, lavishing exquisite attention on the glistening portal to his heaven. Gently, he opened her flesh tuxedo to reveal a perfect tinkle flower. It was a flower so sweet, Bartholomew had to taste it for himself.

“I shall feast on you,” he informed her as he dove inside of her. His mind went into orbit as his mouth came alive with an explosion of honey dipped sugar balls wrapped in cotton candy. “I have to have you now.”

Climbing back over her, he lined up his swollen hammer head at the entrance to her weeping tunnel of love and broke through paradise with slow strokes.

“I love you so very much, my Tater Tot,” he whispered into the hollows of her neck. “Your sugar basin was made for only me.”

“Take me,” she murmured. “Take me as only you can.”

Fully sheathed, he began slow thrusts in and out, feeling her body accept him as its own. The leisurely pace prolonged the exalted bliss.

She moaned into his ear, wisps of shooting stars in her eyes. “Oh, God!”

Finally, when he could take no more, he groaned, her name a litany on his tongue as lightning bolts deposited an embalming injection into her core. He held her, basking in the after-glow of love’s lava. For a single solitary moment, they had soared over the earth’s atmosphere into the abyss.

Nothing would ever compare to their fiery furnace of love.

Except the fiery furnace of herpes. Love’s lava had given Bart the gift that keeps on giving.

He’d remember Rosebud forever.

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