Shorty Philpott Derelict Drunk Cock Sucker
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Short Shorts free porn video
Short Shorts
By Peg Thebois
Like my last series of shorts, 3,000 words, but this time instead of
trying to evoke what I wanted in 1,000 words per story I crafted a
quartet of exactly 750 word tales. One of my stories is set within the
world of the Vampire: the Masquerade Storytelling Game which is owned by
White Wolf Publishing.
Scenario One: Take Your Licks
Tony pressed a handtowel full of of icecubes against his face
desperately hoping it would help. Finally Dad shouted, "Tony, wash up."
"I'm not feeling good." Please, please accept that.
"I will not say it twice."
"Yes, Sir." He knew Dad wouldn't buy it. Tony slipped into the
bathroom, staying out of sight. He dumped the icecubes into the sink
with a clatter and ran some water. His face looked horrible. A cut
across the bridge of his nose, was it crooked? The school nurse said
was straight but... Worse were the purplish black splotches under his
eyes. Damn runt.
After washing he went to get it over with. He sat down at the table
looking at his pork chops, peas and carrots and buttered bread. Keeping
his head down but of course Dad didn't miss a thing.
"Who did that to you?"
"Some runt got a lucky punch."
"Runt? In your grade?"
"No Sir..." He shoveled his face full of food to avoid questions, best
eat while he still could.
"Don't eat while I'm talking to you boy." He put down his utensils and
looked up as Dad chewed, it was so quiet he could hear Dad swallow.
"What grade?" This was bad, even though Dad never raised his voice his
eyes showed his anger.
"Grade Four... Sir." The last thing he needed was to forget to say Sir.
"You got your ass kicked by a kid three years younger than you?"
"No Sir, I beat him, he just got a lucky swing from the ground." Panic
struggled with a creeping sense of resignation, he had known this would
be the reaction.
Dad put down his own utensils, and sighed. "Three years. Go get
yourself ready. I'll be in when I am done dinner."
Tony stuffed as much bread in his mouth as he could as he stood up.
"Go!" Tony took his cue and sprinted from the room.
He went to the closet and the black garment bag hanging there. "Stupid
runt." he muttered as he took the pink dress out of its case, he still
hated remembering the day Dad took him to the store to buy it. He hated
this thing, he hated the puffy shoulders, the big skirt, he most of all
hated the stupid glitter, he had to made sure there was none left on him
or he'd get punished again.
He knelt beside his bed, waiting. The floor was hard but he was used to
it.
Finally Dad came in, Tony heard his belt sliding through the loops of
his pants.
"Position." Tony bent over the bed and hiked up the skirt of his stupid
dress offering his naked buttocks.
Tony gritted his teeth before the room echoed with the sound of leather
on skin.
"A busted nose." Forehand then backhand. "Two black eyes." "What are
the other kids going to say about you?" Smack. Tony kept his jaw
clenched, it helped to not cry out. "They're going to say you got your
ass kicked." Smack. That one hit right on top of the last one.
Dad swung wordlessly for a couple agonizing minutes. "Where does this
weakness come from?" Smack. "Not from me that's for sure." Smack.
"You get it from Her." Smack.
Dad only ever spoke about Mother when he was punishing Tony. He tried
hard not to cry.
"Her doing girl shit when you were a kid." Smack. "Painting your nails
and baking and shit." Each of those charges was a smack.
"Did you like that?" Smack. "Answer me." Smack.
"No Sir." His voice quivered a bit.
"Are you crying?" Smack.
He cleared his throat, "No Sir."
That seemed to satisfy Dad and he got back on flow.
"Are you sure?" Smack.
"Yes, Sir."
"Bullshit." Smack. "You probably like getting punished." Smack.
"Get to put on your dress like the girl you are." Dad was working his
legs now, that meant he was running down.
"Is that it?" Smack.
"No Sir."
"You lose on purpose? Are you a sissy? Are you a girl? Are you weak?
You want to keep wearing your dress? You want to wear it to school?"
Every question was answered, "No Sir," and a lash of the belt.
Finally Dad slid his belt on. "We'll see if it happens again."
Alone, Tony finally broke down in tears. Stupid Runt. Why didn't he
just take his lickings like a man? He earned that beating. Playing
with a stuffed animal like a baby, or a girl. Stupid runt.
Scenario Two: The Perfect Night
Carol-Ann had thought the perfect prom night couldn't get any better,
even if it wasn't her own prom. Her cousin Josh had invited her,
introducing her to all his friends. She tried not to think about it;
wouldn't want to ruin her eyeliner. It had been the most fun night
she'd ever had, getting her makeup done, going to the hairstylist who
gave her absolutely seamless extensions to her own sadly lacking mane.
And of course her dress, a dream of pale pink A-line skirt and halter
top glittering with tiny false jewels.
When they arrived at the prom everyone embraced her and made her feel
like one of them, she compared this loving welcome her last days at her
own school; the graffiti'd locker, the names and bullying, the assault
which left her with a dislocated jaw. Thankfully that healed fast, it
wouldn't have made a cute look. Everyone just accepted Carol-Ann for
who she appeared to be.
Their tables had a distant view of the dancefloor, and over the course
of the evening their group fluxed as couples went off to dance and came
back, other people sat down and then drifted away but every one of them
made Carol-Ann feel like a new friend, no judgement, no wary studying
glares, just acceptance. She blushed every time one of the girls
complimented her dress or her hair and offered many of the same
compliments back.
At one point just Josh, his girlfriend Layla, and another friend of
Josh's named Keith sat at the table. Keith smiled at her as he put down
his glass, "So how long do we have to wait for you to hit the dance
floor?"
Stunned she just gave a quizzical, "Huh?"
"The night is almost over and you haven't gotten up once."
Carol-Ann lowered her eyes, staring at the tablecloth. "I don't know
how to dance."
Keith's hand came to light on top of hers on the table. "I'll show you
how, I promise it'll be fun."
"I can't, it's my shoes..."
In the quiet that followed, the song ended and 'Perfect' by Ed Sheeran
started. "A perfect song," Keith chuckled. Standing up he bent over
Carol-Ann's hand and kissed the back of her satin glove. "Carol-Ann,
may I please have this dance?"
Biting her lip nervously she allowed Keith to help her to her feet,
encouraged by her cousin's thumbs-up she went to the dance floor. He
took her hand in his and then hooked his other under her arm. "Now
place your other hand on my arm."
Carol-Ann wanted to scream with delight, here she was, dancing with a
cute boy in her gorgeous prom dress. If her parents only saw her now.
Distracted, she stumbled a bit as she put her foot down wrong for her
high heels.
"I guess you don't wear high heels much?" It could have been
judgemental but not the way he said it, it was like saying 'I guess you
don't go skiing much," sort of pleased to see someone trying something
new.
"No, my parents never allowed it..."
"I guess some folks find it hard to see their little girl growing up."
As they danced another slow song started, they came closer until Carol-
Ann had her hands behind Keith's neck and her head on his chest. She
sighed, feeling his warmth.
"Carol-Ann, may I drive you home tonight?"
"Well, I came with Josh, I don't really need a ride home..." She looked
up, his eyes were so warm and sparkled with delighted amusement. "But,
sure I guess."
"I want to let your aunt and uncle know I am going to be taking you out
next weekend, that is if you want to."
She pulled away from him, surprised and just a little concerned. "Keith
I have to level with you, I'm not really a girl."
He cocked his head to the side. "Well sure you are."
"No, I'm not," she cut back. "That is why I left my parents to live
with my Aunt and Uncle."
"Carol-Ann, you are a girl, no matter what your parents say. You are a
girl because you recognize the girl inside and showed her to us."
"Keith..." She couldn't say any more but threw herself toward him,
crying into his chest as his arms closed around her shoulders.
"So, do you want to be my girlfriend?"
"I won't always look as pretty as tonight you know."
He tilted her head up. "You will to me," and they kissed.
Scenario Three: The Dollmaker
Christaline smiled at the pathetic figure groveling before her, mere
nights before this one had tried to destroy her, and broken her
favourite doll in the process. After just a few tastes of her potent
vitae it was enslaved and docile as a calf. "Strip and stand ready for
the cross."
"Yes Miss Christaline." The last words it ever spoke; the name she had
taken after her mortal life ended and she was embraced by the darkness.
A portmanteau of the names Emmeline and Christabel, the mother/daughter
that were her mentor and dear friend respectively. Ahhh the spring that
London burned, the movement had set at least one fire every day over six
months in the fight for women's rights. The last spring of her life.
She rose from her reminiscing as the creature had obeyed her and stood,
arms and legs spread eagle by the cross. Thankfully she had already
dealt with its vulgar man parts; now the crotch was a smooth plain
broken by a tiny bump, barely the size of a pea, connected to its
urethra. Her doll had already strapped its counterpart to be into
position.
As Christaline approached her subject she flexed her long slender
finger, feeling them grow warm with a rush of blood that she directed
there with barely a thought. "You will regret, as so many have since
the dawn of human history, making an enemy of a Tzimisce," she whispered
into the mortal's ear. Tzimisce, one of the 13 vampires,grandchildren
of the first vampire Caine and the namesake of the bloodline that flowed
down from him, they possessed the art of crafting flesh and bone like so
much clay.
She lay her hand upon the cheek of her new acquisition, but this was no
gesture of affection but feeling for the bones beneath the face, with
brushes of her fingers she pushed the bone higher, filling and
completely eradicating the hinge of the jaw. As tended to happen for
Christaline the nights sort of blended together, she specially suffered
this when she was creating. Her doll saw to the feeding while she slept
each day, nutrient rich liquid syringed into its stomach via a tube
inserted down the creatures throat.
Soon the jaw was set in place just slightly open, enough to permit the
tube. She worked the skin and facemeat of the lips pinching them down
and reshaping them to a petite but perfectly formed little cupid's bow
with an adorable little opening that made the end of the feeding tube.
Her thumb massaged the lips deepening the pigmentation until they were
the colour of poppies. that reminded her of her lost doll; She had taken
it to avoid it being conscripted during the Great War, and it had been
her companion and servant for over a century, hopefully her new doll
stayed with her as long.
The rest of the face she brushed smooth, wiping away any blemishes,
pigment or roughness, bringing forth the bone so that the face had the
perfect sheen of old porcelain, flawless in its uniformity. The only
movement her doll's face could make was in its eyes and she set to work
on those next, broadening the socket and stretching out the eye to
match, a good doll must have exaggeratedly large eyes. The hard parts
were done, a least for now. In time she could rebraid its muscles for
power that defied its build.
Christaline grabbed a handful of hair and pulled, willing it to stretch
and lengthen. As she brushed her fingers through the hair the pigment
there too faded, leaving the colour of flax. She twisted a lock of hair
around her finger, like a girl's nervous habit, but when Christaline
withdrew her hand the lock held a tight spiral pattern and bobbed next
to the dolls face. Still more nights fell away as she laboured over her
work. In the first decades of her unlife a mortal child had been he
sensation of the new audio cinema and popularized this hairstyle of
tight ringlets, Christaline adored it and gave all her dolls the same
hairstyle ever since.
Finally her new doll could be christened with its first dress, the sort
worn by the dolls of her youth. The first task she gave it was a bit of
cleanup. In the weeks of work she had emptied more than a few of the
feeding chattel she kept in the basement, now her dolls could dispose of
the empty vessels.
Scenario Four: From Behind
I stood at the urinal, my dress hiked up around my hips. One hand
holding my penis, the other on the wall steadying me, alcohol and
stilettos are a bad mix. A leather glove came down overtop of the hand
on the wall, pinning it as the other hand cupped my jaw. I caught a
whiff of cologne and my penis got chubbier than a New York cop.
"Look what I found here," he whispered, so close that I could feel his
stubble against my neck. "What a luscious little slut." His pelvis
pressed against me from behind and his cock was even harder, pressing
against my pantied ass.
I whimpered, "Please don't do this; Just leave me alone."
"Don't worry bitch, I'll leave you alone, once I've taken what I want."
He ran his tongue along my earlobe. Damn him, that made my knees feel
weak with pleasure.
"I'm not gay."
"You will be when I'm done." He punctuated this by biting my earlobe as
his hand slid over my mouth to muffle my cries.
After he let go of my ear he kept the hand over my mouth as the other
hand left the wall; I heard the rattle of metal behind me. A moment
later a handcuff closed around my hand on the wall. I followed his
unspoken order and let go of my penis which bobbed fully erect now
andallowed my other wrist to be cuffed.
Not saying anything he manhandled me into the nearest stall. He shoved
me from behind but I caught myself before I went face first into the
wall. "Look at you. Strutting around in those come-fuck-me heels and
that tiny little whore dress. When you were dancing earlier I could see
your panties. I saw you standing at the bar, licking your shiny red
lips like a slut, making promises to any man watching you."
"I'm just here to have fun. Please don't hurt me."
I felt his hand on my hip where my dress had stayed since this encounter
began. "Look at these panties, tie at the side ribbons? And you expect
me to believe you aren't a bitch in heat looking to get fucked. Filthy
cocktease."
I heard him reach into his pocket followed by the sound of his belt,
then his zipper. "Take a nice deep breath slut." His hand closed over
my mouth and nose. Following his direction I inhaled deeply of the
strange smell, kind of sweet, but musky at the same time. My head
started swimming and I was glad the wall was holding me up.
My panties must have hit the floor because my ass opened up as his slick
cock slipped inside of me, no doubt aided by the poppers he'd just dosed
me with.
He grunted as he built a rhythm. My prostate pulsed with every stroke,
god this felt so good, no wonder gay men love it so much. I couldn't
help but moan, god I really was a bitch in heat wasn't I? What if
someone heard my moans and came to investigate? We'd be arrested for
sure. But in the moment I didn't care; I started panting, "Oh yeah,
your cock is so big. Fuck me Daddy. Fuck me hard." It was startlingly
brief, just a few minutes and he tensed up with a groan. Just like that
it was over, hours of prep for minutes of joy, but what joy it was.
He buckled his belt and slipped the condom off. "Catch your breath and
meet me out there."
I sat on the toilet until my legs felt steady again and joined him at
his table. As I sat down he pushed a pint my way while taking a sip of
his own.
"How was that, sexy thing?"
I put a finger to my painted lip and smiled coquettishly. "It was
everything I ever dreamed of. Thank you for fulfilling my fantasy and
making me feel like a real girl. When you suggested doing it in a bar
bathroom I wasn't sure but that was so hot, I was afraid we'd get
caught."
"I love doing it in public, I always get off super fast; especially when
my slut calls me Daddy; that was a nice improv. Do this again?"
"Maybe but not a regular thing."
"Alright, let's finish these beers and get you home to that charming
wife of yours. I have a pie to thank her for loaning you to me tonight.
Unlike you it's cherry."
Tammi
- 27.07.2022
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