The Lost Erotic Fiction of Eleanor Tastyclits

The Fisherman Who Fucked Himself to Death (1876)

The Fisherman Who Fucked Himself to Death

The blistering sun beat down hard upon Big Hungry Doug as he lay shirtless on the bow of his rowboat.  Salty beats of sweat settled inbetwixt his gross bosoms.  Big Hungry Doug’s dick was red and raw like spicy tacos.  Big Hungry Doug sucked up a big mouthful of sea water and spit it on his own dick like a sprinkler.

Each year, when the snows of winter melted upon the alabaster shores of Londonderry, Big Hungry Doug would take to the seas and fish for three weeks.  Whatever fish he would catch would support his family for the upcoming year.  Inevitably, the fish would run out around mid November and many of Big Hungry Doug’s sons would die.   But each February, Big Hungry Doug would brutally fuck his wife Sherbert and replenish their supply of sons. 

“Sherbert,” Big Hungry Doug exclaimed.  “We have lost eight sons to the cruel winter.  Do you know what time it is?  Must be fuck-o-clock!”

Big Hungry Dog wheeled out the trundle upon which Sherbert spent most of her time underneath the house.  Big Hungry Doug played the song on his pan flute that always made Sherbert wetter than the sink counter of a public bathroom. 

“Slam JAM!  Slam JAM!” he cried as he fucking obliterated her sad muff with his spicy taco dick.  Her vaginus felt like yogurt.  Big Hungry Doug was ramrodding Sherbert with such force that with each pump, his penis would completely exit and reenter Sherbert’s cavernous twat.

Seriously, Big Hungry Doug fucking destroyed that puss like fucking Nagasaki.

With each hellish pump, Big Hungry Doug came closer to climax.  Unfortunately, due to years of consuming exclusively fish, his ejaculate had the acidity level of concentrated lemon juice.  Over the decades, this combined with the ravages of repeated child birth had rendered Sherbert’s vaginal walls coarse like fossilized beef jerky.  The only way Big Hungry Doug could achieve orgasm was by pulling out and twanging on his penis like it was the string of a washtub bass.  His spooge would spray out his butthole, propelling Big Hungry Doug around the room like a rocketship. 

“I’m a spaceman!” he would shout as Sherbert lapped up his butt spooge from the air like a small child catches snowflakes on its tongue.  The babies would travel down her esophagus and live in her tummy for nine months until Sherbert would shit them out in the toilet cause that’s how babies are made.

So now that Sherbert was hella pregnant, Big Hungry Doug took his rowboat out into the open ocean and fished.  That year he caught six trout, blew them all and died of fish AIDS.

The Mystery of the Still Bleeding Anus (1881)

THE MYSTERY OF THE STILL BLEEDING ANUS

Hot Bethany’s tears glistened on her kinda fat but not ugly fat cheeks.  Tears not from sadness but of passion by way of fucking.  Hard Rick had been slam jamming on that box for like twenty straight minutes.  At this point, Hot Bethany could barely recognize her own vagina.  That was to say it was totes mutilated.  Just as he was about shoot his seed all up in there, Hot Bethany awoke, sweating like a Portuguese day laborer.  

Hot Bethany turned to Gross Carl, her husband whom she did not love ever.  He slumbered heavily, fingering his own belly button.  His back hair had been curled like a palm tree in the wind from the box fan that would sweep Gross Carl’s farts out the window.  Hot Bethany turned to her nightstand and opened her Slim Jim drawer.  She pulled out a Slim Jim and snapped into it thusly, enjoying the salty meat explosion.  

Hot Bethany began to cry again.  But it wasn’t due to sadness this time.  It was due to smoke inhalation.  Hot Bethany forgot about the Pop Tarts she had left in the oven almost eight hours ago.  Hot Bethany didn’t have a toaster.  

“Gross Carl!  Gross Carl!  Wake up!”  

Hot Bethany shook Gross Carl, whose manbreasts jiggled delicately like freshly baked flan.  Gross Carl was unresponsive.  Turns out he was dead this whole time.

Smoke filled the room as quickly as Jewish women fill Williams Sonoma on Black Friday.  Hot Bethany accepted death.  But just then…

The door burst open and the smoke all left because of science.  In the doorway stood volunteer firefighter Treat Williams, his big ass penis fully erect.

 His penis was approximately 5 inches in length with the girth of a tuna can.  It was a chode by definition but not in the traditional sense of the word.  It had skin rolls like the neck of a Sharpay.  Thick blue veins criss-crossed like the intersection of the Cloverfield exit on the 10 freeway.  

“Treat Williams?”  exclaimed Hot Bethany.  

“Shut up, you rankled bitch.”  Treat screamed, slapping Hot Bethany right in the forehead with his tuna can dick.  Treat slapped her so hard it made an instant dick-shaped welt which made Hot Bethany wetter than a Japanese nuclear power plant.

Volunteer firefighter Treat Williams picked Hot Bethany up and spun her around so her teary eyed face was facing down toward his mighty chode.  Just as Hot Bethany took Treat’s meaty penis in her mouth, he delivered a tombstone like the Undertaker.  Hot Bethany was immediately concussed.  

“Time to fill your cavernous twat with my nut butter,” said Treat in a terrible French accent.  

Hot Bethany dragged herself, woozy and bleeding, onto the bed.  Treat began humping, punching Hot Bethany’s fucking tits over and over until they were bruised like the last apple at the grocery store.

“Oh, volunteer fire fighter Treat Williams, your penis is so hard to me,” exclaimed Hot Bethany.

“I lost my erection fifteen minutes ago, you calloused whore,” replied Treat.

“Then whose hard dick is in my ass?”  exclaimed Hot Bethany.

It was then that Hot Bethany discovered Dead Carl’s erect penis had inexplicably slipped inside her butt hole at some point during Treat Williams’ painful hump session.

“That must be why your anus is bleeding all over the duvet,” said Treat.

“No,” Bethany cried.  “Dead Carl didn’t die from the smoke inhalation.  He had super butt AIDS.  And now you do too.”

Just then, volunteer fire fighter Treat Williams came with the strength and force of a thousand Japanese earthquake tsunamis.  The frothy, foamy Treat milk filled the room, instantly drowning Hot Bethany and Treat Williams.  But also, it put out the fire from earlier so that’s good.

Treat’s nasty ass jizzums filled the house until it burst out of all the windows and doors.  Dead Carl’s fat ass corpe slid out on the front lawn, still erect and some neighborhood children stopped by and fucked it.

END