Chapter 10

Then I hit the road again, getting the hell out of that town, laughing to myself as I remembered Miss Snob. She would be damned careful in the future whom she put the snub on, trust me-if she lived to even consider putting the snub on anybody. Bitch.

Meanwhile I roamed the land, taking ass where I felt like taking it. I realized again and again that a broad stinks, that a bitch will do anything to be fucked, that everything chaste about a broad is in the guy's mind, not in the girl's cunt. And I wanted to do something bigger than ever. Somehow I wanted to do something I never had done before. So I decided to go all the way.

I put an ad in some underground newspapers: "Swinging male with plenty of Go wants to meet hip chick with like motivations." And I listed a number for them to ring, "day or night."

I got plenty of calls, you can be sure. Oh, a lot of them were thrill-seekers with nothing to deliver, but you'd be surprised how you can work those over, too, if you handle the situation right. Here's how: Don't mouth off about yourself. That's the mistake most guys make. They think they can ball a chick by giving her dimensions over the phone, and they yak about their sex prowess the whole damned time they're on the line. It doesn't excite a girl to tell her you can give her a jazzing. But it excites her like crazy if you sweet-talk her into thinking that she's the most formidable fuck in the world.

Now that's difficult on a phone, and you can't be the big comic artist, either. You've got to smooth-talk her down the line to that point where, excited about her own possibilities, she'll ring you again to hear praise of herself. After a couple of times like that, she'll stop being the thrill-seeker who called you originally just to be part of an act and she'll start wanting the real thrills that were always behind her motivation. That's when you can cash in your chips for more nookie.

It was exactly those that I went after with my ads. I couldn't care less about the real swingers. I wanted the smart ass kind who read those ads, feel secure and snug at the end of a phone line, and laugh at the ad-maker behind his back. I wanted to get those babies.

And I did. It took awhile, and I lost some in the process, but I got the number I wanted: a solid dozen. That's right. I lined one solid dozen of them up, arranged to meet them, got together with them, and put the tag on each, luring them to my pad after a reasonable time and when I figured their hots were sufficient to insure they would show.

They did-on the same day, exactly as I had planned it. Oh yes I worked that out too. I had them all arrive on the same day at the same hour, got them all into the room together, and then watched the fireworks start. Do you know what I'm talking about? Figure it for yourself: twelve broads, finally lured to a place where they think they're going to be the individual star with no competitors around. And what do they find? Eleven other broads with the same notion. It does something to the female ego, I assure you.

For one thing it makes them very competitive. I've always noticed that about twats when they're faced with another vying for someone's affections upon which they're dependent. They're pissy. You can be sure they'd shoot to kill if you handed them a gun. And you can be sure, minus gun, they'll do everything in their power to snare the man whose snaring will set them up as queen bee.

So I proceeded to work on their egos. I suggested that they strip in order to prove their worth. It was a gamble, and they bitched, some even threatening to leave; but I lined them all up naked just the same. As I've said, over and over, broads like to take off their clothes. If men ever understood this, they wouldn't hesitate to offer a broad that possibility. I don't know what it is about the female mind, but something in them makes them think they're worth looking at naked. And they'll take off their clothes every time they get a chance.

So I had them undress, and then, like in a beauty contest, I went around measuring their tits and asses, hips and waists. And those twats lined up as if they were on the boardwalk at Atlantic City, behaving just like broads always behave: vain, vain, vain. And I went around measuring them all, taking thigh sizes and calf sizes; the whole bit.

Finally I subjected them to some tests. I had a plaster cock of myself again and I handed it to each of them, instructing them to stick it to their vags. Some protested anew but I pointed out that a real swinging girl never would bitch about something like that. "In fact," I said, "real swingers want to see themselves doing it on film." That was a new bait. I let it dangle, and moved on to other things.

After they all had tried out the cast of my dick, and I presented them each with a dildo, a dozen of which I had purchased especially for the occasion. They were monstrous things, even bigger than my cock, and the broads flushed just from the thought of sticking those rods up their buns. But I insisted they do so, and they did. Soon twelve twats stood with twelve dildoes in them, all in a long line in front of me. A broad will do anything, trust me.

While they worked the dildoes in their vags, I went up and down the line, kissing and nibbling their titties. They were a bunch of good-looking broads, and it was a distinct pleasure to nibble their orbs. And they loved what I did, too. Some of them even begged me to fuck them, right then. "To hell with the tests," several of them said. "Let's fuck right now. Come on."

But I wasn't about to do that. I had other things planned for those bitches. And I simply laughed lightly when they begged for my cock, and told them, "Another time."

I let them all work off a come with their dildoes, then took the instruments away from them. It had been a beautiful sight to watch, twelve broads standing or lying or sitting, all in the big studio parlor of the pad I had rented for the occasion, and to see them sending those leather dildoes up their cunts crazily while they worked themselves to comes. And more than that it was a pleasure to observe that broads would allow themselves to be subjected to that scene. If anyone had asked them beforehand, individually, if they ever would admit such a thing to happen, I'm sure you know the righteous answer those whores would have given the questioner.

But a bitch is always a bitch, and if you travel on that assumption, you'll never be short of ass. It's when you're a fool and think a cunt is above such things, that you make your mistake. It's when you think that there's at least one bitch somewhere who won't yield to such suggestions; that's when you're in trouble. Because, you see, there is no girl anywhere who really is different. They're all the same; every damned last one of them. None are different. Absolutely none.

And I proceeded on that assumption when I made a return date for the twelve to show up for "more fun." Ten showed up the next time, and I knew the other two would show on a third time if I handled it right. So I let the ten play with their dildoes again, made them think they were still being tested, led them to believe that all kinds of things were in the offing for the mate I would choose; and then went to locate the other two lost lambs when that session was done.

I had to put the make on them individually, flattering the bitches and cajoling them, and bringing them around to considering the beauty of attending another session. However I did not fuck them. I was determined not to do that. I could have creamed either one of them in no time flat; they practically begged me for it because they wanted it so badly. But I refused to do that. And I stayed with my refusal.

Then they all gathered again. It was the third session, and I introduced them playfully to ping pong paddles. They chased each other around the room, and they thought it was a lot of fun. Some of them even had little comes when I whacked their fannies with the paddles. Then I had them turn their paddles around and fuck their holes with the handles. It turned them on, and some of them actually rode their paddles to new comes. It was crazy to watch them lying all over that studio parlor, ping pong paddle handles up their snatches. They would be writhing and turning, left and right, their gazes delirious, and they would be yanking from and shoving to their snatches those paddles crazily. Damned nuts.

That was another session. They were becoming hooked on the thrills. They thought of themselves as real swingers, and they looked forward to the next time we would get together. "Let's have something different," they said. "Let's have something different." Asses.

I gave them something different. For the fourth session, I gave them all puppies to suck their vags. It was Rover all over again, and I taught them how to get dogs to learn to suck their twats. I should mention briefly how that's done. It's really very simple. You just put some horse meat up the broad's twat, grease her hairs with some of its juice and let the puppy learn to lick the cunt to get at his reward. You'd be surprised how fast he learns to like twat for its own sake. It's a habit, like every other habit.

The broads loved it. They went insane from the good feeling the puppies' tongues gave them. "Oooh," they squealed, "we never knew anything like this could be so good." And they hugged the little animals to their snatches. Even as the pups were being hooked, so too were those bitches being snared-but good.

So it was a simple matter to bring in the motion picture camera on the next occasion when the dogs ate their vags. At first, some expressed concern, but they all probably realized it was their claim to fame. They all could be Garbos of the cunt. And they began mugging for the camera before it was over, posing and letting me photograph their ugly cunts close-up; and they even spread their vags with their fingers so that I could go right in for the closest of such close-ups.

After awhile they took anything. Every session they took more. No matter what I offered to them, they grabbed it. They stuck carrots up their cunts; they stuck turnips up themselves; they reamed their own asses with bananas. They loved anything I suggested. They subjected themselves to a milking machine that I had picked up at a hospital auction, and they even suggested that I get a wringer washing machine so they could "wring out" their tits. Nothing was unusual for them, and they welcomed everything.

Finally I had them ready to go all the way. And the day came when I lined them up in a row in that parlor, told them to lie down in that same row, and then inserted an electric cock to each of their cunts. They didn't know what it was, thought the cocks were just a set of dildoes, but couldn't understand why a cord was connected to all of those prongs.

Then I turned on the machine, and the vibrations started. Have you ever watched one of those machines in action? They're amazing. Built exactly like a cock, and you can order them according to the size you want, they work on a power principle, moving back and forth in a cunt at the rate of pushes per minute which she desires and which she regulates on a dial that looks like something attached to an electric blanket. She can speed up the motion or slow it down to her heart's content, and no matter what speed she sets it for, if she sets a release mechanism, it will actually fire warm cream into her hole at the end of that time, increasing its motion automatically as it heads towards its come. The machine is amazing.