Dear Reader,

This story was written in collaboration with my friend VioletVixen, who is currently not active on StoriesOnline, but whose stories (and tits) may be found elsewhere on the internet.

Grusha

One morning, GrushaVashnadze awoke to find his PMs filled with a steaming slut. Opening the message, he unintentionally kickstarted a series of double entendres that would change his erotica career forever.

Subject Line: Let’s Be Friends?

VioletVixen: Grusha!

I just read your Alison series, and I’m completely obsessed. I hope this doesn’t come off too strong...?

We might not be acquainted yet, but I hoped you could help me fine-tune my skills as a filthy writer. It’s always been an aspiration of mine to become a true word-wench, if you know what I mean.

Subject Line: Filthy Friends It Is

GrushaVashnadze: Hello, Violet.

I don’t normally spread my literary wisdom around so loosely. Being filthy friends is one thing, undertaking a tutelage in grimy grammar and slimy syntax is another. Not everyone can become a good writer, much less a word-whore.

Subject Line: Teach Me Your Filthy Fucking Ways

VioletVixen: Always a pleasure waking up to you deep inside my inbox.

Your wordplay teases me, Grusha. You are exactly what I need to push my skanky style to the next linguistic level. I would do anything to study under your massive literary prowess.

To show just how eager of a writer-slut I am, I’ve sent an attachment. Two, actually. Jiggly ones.

Open and enjoy, Grusha. I know how much you want to press those perky little buttons of mine. Tell me what they do to you. I want to hear all of it.

Subject Line: Cumslut Application Accepted

GrushaVashnadze: Vi!

Those cute little attachments of yours are so yummy, scrummy, cummy. Consider yourself fucking hired, my word-slut apprentice. I can tell you’re a cuntwhore with consonance.

For your first day on the job, I’m gonna ram this big hard throbbing message up your hot juicy inbox. How do I know you really want my experienced motherfucking metaphor of a message?

Prove you can handle it, bitch.

Subject Line: This Is No Fucking Farce.

VioletVixen: I’m serious. My inbox knows no limits.

VioletVixen may be a homophone, but I’ll make an exception for that phat chode of a motherfucking message. Knowing it’s being stroked by your filthy keyboard ... so fucking hot. A massive motif like that makes me drip like no other. Your throbbing syntax just turned this horny little bitch intertextually-fluid.

Now hurry up and fill my fuckbox, you teasing bastard. Don’t make me wait.

Subject Line: Why Are You Ignoring Me???

VioletVixen: It’s been days since I’ve woken up to your steamy message nestled in my slutty inbox.

I miss you so fucking much. Why can’t you give me what I want? You know how much I strive to be the best writer-wench there ever was, the one, Grusha. I can’t do that without you filling me with inspiration.

You leave me no choice but to rub one off in the subject line. Alone.

Subject Line: Take This, Word-Whore

GrushaVashnadze: You fucking needy, clichéd cumslut.

Is acting like a pathetic pastiche the best trope you can come up with?

If you want my message up your tight inbox, slut, you’re gonna have to fucking beg for it. Go on, tell me how much you fucking need it. I said on your knees, bitch, and fucking beg! Go on, worship that fucking message, cuntwhore, before I ram it all the way up your needy little fuckbox.

Make your argument well, and I might even spray-coat your whore-interface with my literary adage.

Subject Line: Fucking Fuck My Fucking Box

VioletVixen: Oh God, fuck, please, Grusha.

I’m such a greedy little message-fucker. Your fucking inbox-slut, wanting to stuff my whore PMs with your filthy messages. Spurt your words deep inside me while you shout insulting invectives at my worthless writing. Feed this depraved dickslut all your dirty diction, big boy. I can’t get enough of your epithets.

Subject Line: Do As I Say, Bitch

GrushaVashnadze: You want my message shoved up your inbox, bitch, play with it first.

Go on, spread it wide so I can see your wet pink folders glistening at me. Now stick one little phrase in there, go on, nice and slow, yeah, in and out like that, baby. Now two subordinate clauses. Is that good, slut? Now go on, I know what you want. Ram that whole fucking fistful of sentences deep in that fucking inbox. Hear it squelch. Is that good, whore? Go on, ram it in and out like a message-starved box-slut.

Now taste it. Is that good, bitch? Like the taste of all your wet stinking fuck-words?

Subject Line: JUST FUCKING GIVE IT TO ME YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!!

VioletVixen: Holy fuck, Grusha!

You are so fucking filthy. You make me squeal anaphoras like a nasty little syntax pig. You like watching Violet’s pervy persona fill her dirty inbox with all her vocabulary? You like seeing all my allusions disappear deep inside my flappy pink folders, huh? You like watching my interface scrunch while I stretch my hairy box to its breaking point? You filthy fucking wanker, watching me stick verbiage up my cunty message-deprived PMs.

God, you know I love the taste of my slimy, musky imagery leaking from my flappy folder-lips. I’d eat that goo off anything. This filthy cumwhore loses control when she catches a whiff of that lust-filled lingo. Mmm ... I’m licking it off my trash folder now. Haven’t cleaned it out in weeks. It reeks of piss-poor poetry, and I don’t give a shit.

Subject Line: That’s Better, Word-Whore

GrushaVashnadze: Good bitch, Violet.

Now it’s time to shave that fucking word-count down. Yeah, bitch, take a razor to it. Erase all those fucking redundancies until you can run your cursor through your smooth outline. Better get your cuntschlicking consonance in order if you wanna be a real smooth smut author like me, bitch. Yeah, that’s it, scrape off all those fuzzy idioms.

While you’re at it, scoop your slimy fuck-word drool out of your diction-deprived slut-box. That’s it, you filthy fucking worthless writing whore, smear them around your slutty subject line. Circumlocute it with your cummy keyboard. Show me all those filthy strands of juicy jargon.

Now where are you gonna stick that fistful of analogies next...? What about that cute little outbox of yours?

Subject Line: Spreading My Prose For You

VioletVixen: Fuck, Grusha, making me your subordinate slut-clause!

You know what? This greedy little cuntfucker still needs to learn how to use her outbox. God, it’s such a tight fit. That puckered boxhole barely fits one word, much less a fistful. Don’t even mention enjambing an entire filthy fucking cum-filled paragraph slicked up with raunchy run-ons up my stinking box-walls like a scum-encrusted simile...

Subject Line: Teaching My Apprentice Shit-Slut a Lesson in Analogy

GrushaVashnadze: Well, cumwhore, if you want to learn to be a proper writer like me, you’d better gain a bit more versatility with your vocabulary, hadn’t you?

I mean, what kind of writer-slut are you if you can’t be an analogy-whore? So, on your knees, bitch. Wipe some of that fuck-word-goo on the entrance to your puckered outbox, and you might just be able to squeeze a word in edgewise. If not, I might just have to come over and ram my whole stiff fucking message in there and make you scream words you didn’t even know you knew.

And don’t you fucking dare touch your inbox subject-line until you’re done, you filthy whore! Only good girls get to do that...

Subject Line: My Analogy Is Gaping