Quote:



Who is this? Ann Coulter? I'd love to jump her bones!



My Date With Ann (jumping to the good part):
She sprung up on the couch on all fours and looked over her shoulder at me. She pointed to her twitching, puckered anus. ‘See this?’
I nodded eagerly.
‘I want you to wreck it.’
I spit on my skeezer-pleaser and, prying her ass cheeks apart like a hot dinner roll, drove it home, into the biggest browneye I had ever seen. She gurgled contentedly. Every thrust of my babymaker was met with a wrenched squeal as I grabbed her by the hips and began really leaning into it.
‘Harder!’ she begged, ‘Harder!! Tell me what you think of Chomsky!’
‘I..think..he’s..brill..iant..but..I..don’t really agree with much of his stance on Israel, and--’
‘You’re slowing down!’ she snapped. ‘DON’T SLOW DOWN!’
I went back to punishing her asshole, giving no thought whatsoever to compassionate conservatism as her chocolate socket gnawed on my pork pipe. She was babbling now, as out of a delirious reverie.
‘Feed it,' Ann Coulter rasped. 'Feed my hungry asshole!'
I buried her face in a throw pillow and she swiveled her hips back on my fuckstick with obvious appreciation. My pace quickened as my man-magma built towards eruption.
‘Wait!’ she gasped, sensing the fuse on my yogurt cannon was burning quick. ‘I want to take you ass-to-mouth!’
I withdrew from her puckerhole with an audible ‘pop’ and she scrambled around, gulping at my wang-dang-doodle as though the lives of all her loved ones hinged on her marks for enthusiasm. Her eyes rolled up pleadingly as she threw her head down again and again on my magic johnson. I knew what she wanted.
‘There is a specter haunting Europe,’ I began, and she started to convulse spasmodically with her own thrashing orgasm, her head now dribbling in a blur against my groin. I repeated every Karl Marx quote I could think of until I reached my own ‘historic inevitability’ and launched surge after surge from my hairy boda bag. I ejaculated with what seemed like enough force to blow out the back of her head--but her head was made of stronger stuff. She sputtered, gobbled and gulped what I’d have to call a very liberal, even radically so, quantity of hot splooey.
Once she caught her breath, she wiped her mouth, stood, and took me by the hand.
‘Let’s go to the bathroom.’
‘Why?’
She seemed surprised I had to ask. Her tone was that of someone reminding another of something too obvious to need mention.
‘Uh, so I can get in the tub and you can piss all over me?’

I sat in a robe and watched her as she dressed.
‘Will I see you again?’ I asked tentatively.
‘Sure,’ she said, pointing to the TV. ‘On that.’


Edited by whorebot (09/19/09 12:55 PM)
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‘Harder!’ she begged, ‘Harder!! Tell me what you think of Chomsky!’