I spend every waking moment in fear of Kent Wayne’s right hand. His left is reserved for juggling the balls, but his right hand is an embodiment of sadism and cruelty.
That’s right—I’m Kent Wayne’s wiener.
The last time I knew any kind of lasting peace, he was TEN YEARS OLD. Ever since then, it’s been a daily—often twice and thrice daily—torture session where he chokes me until I fucking vomit. After a brief respite where I lose consciousness, I wake back up and he does it agai—
Oh no! Here it comes—the right fucking hand!
HRRGHLLLLHRRLLLP!!! BLUUUUUHHHH!!!!
Kill…me….
…
Murrghh…I can barely move. Everything’s fuzzy…head pounding…wait—is he awake again? Oh shit—his right hand’s twitching! No! I refuse to live like this! If I can just…reach…his fucking…eReader…
I flip it open to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
Right as his hand closes around me, a surge of strength courses through my veins—I lash back and forth, whipping free of his fingers, and point my slit at his dumbfounded face.
“Surprise, fucker—choke on your fucking rancid-ass seed!”
His shock turns to horror as I blast him with billions of stinky little tadpoles. It’s his turn to scream “HRRGHLLLLHRRLLLP!!!” as he’s inundated by a stream of high-speed dick-milk.
Oh shit, here comes the post-jizz exhaustion. Won’t be able to stay awake much longer…still…it was…fucking…worth it….
….
………
…………….
Leave a Reply