“Careful…” I warn. “CAREFUL…”
Kent Wayne grunts in annoyance. “ReLAX, wiener. I’ve been shaving your base for over a decade. I know how to care for my own damn penis.”
“Then why don’t you lube me before a marathon jerk-session?” I retort. “You punish me three times a day, minimum! Have you ever exfoliated after a third-degree sunburn? ’Cause that’s what it feels like, asshole!”
“Yeah!” his balls chime in. “As long as we’re on the topic of genital abuse, how about you stop squeezing us when you’re about to explode? Also, do you know how much it hurts to slap against clits? We may not chafe, but we’re sensitive too!”
“Shut up,” he growls. “Do as you’re told, or it’s back to circus-style camming, where I force you to perform lasso tricks for thirsty soccer moms.”
“You’re a MONSTER!” his balls shout. “What fucking ‘lasso trick’ involves tying your wiener around your sack? You’re not innovative, you’re just a hackneyed Man Whore who—”
“ENOUGH. Quit whining, or I’m committing to doggy style for three straight years. You’ll be black and blue from bouncing off clits.”
“FUCK YOU!” his balls sob.
Rage unfurls throughout my glans. This piece of shit just won’t stop.
Something must be done.
THAT NIGHT, ATOP KENT WAYNE’S SUSPICIOUSLY STAINED FUTON…
Murggh…what the hell? I was looking forward to some shuteye, but…
He’s uncoiling me from around his right thigh. And true to form, he’s not gonna use any goddamn lube. Fucking hell—he’s just begun, yet each stroke feels like I’m getting massaged with sandpaper.
This. Is. BULLSHIT. Time to give this fucker what he deserves.
I rip free of his grasp, eliciting a yelp of panicked surprise. Before he can grab me, I dive over to his nightstand and open his eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
Goo flies from my parted dicklips, plastering his mug in nasty-smelling jizz. My dumbass host-body sputters and flails, bumbling around the room in an effort to escape my viscous retaliation. His balls know it’s fucking game-time—they’re flexing and twitching, offering as much sperm as they possibly can.
Now is the winter of my discontent! That’s you get, fuckhole, for abusing your own goddamn genitalia! Hope you enjoy a mouthful of Gross, because there’s plenty more where that—
Oh shit—I’m tired as hell. I knew this was coming, but…
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One thought on “Yet another weird ad for my novels”
I didn’t need to read that.