squeeeb

another old one, this is the last of them that i will post

the sun shines through the blinds, the rays visible in the dust in the air. it is warm, but not hot, cool but not cold, room temperature, just right. i place my hand on the small of your back, lean in, and kiss your neck. i nibble gently at your ear, sniff your hair, my other hand lazily making circles around your chest and breast. my hand glides up your back, up your spine, barely touching your skin, as i nuzzle the hallow of your neck and shoulder, kissing, gently touching with my tounge. you put your hand on my chest, you hear your name in every beat of my heart that you feel. i play with your breast, gently pinching your erect nipple, gently sucking your breast. you wrap a leg around my waist, feeling me hard against your thigh. my hands hover mere millimeters over your skin, just so they brush the little hairs, sending electric tingles throughout your body. i lean in for a kiss, but stop a hair's breadth away, savoring the anticipation, letting the tension build. i kiss you, firm and soft and wet.
you roll over, onto your knees, and put your butt in the air, offering me a choice of pleasure. i start at your clit, licking my way up, between your wet lips, up to your ass, sending shivers up your spine. you push back, against my mouth, trying to get my tounge deep into you.
suddenly a ninja weilding a laser katana and a lacrosse stick with razors in its edge comes through the window. i tuck and roll, coming up under his weapons with a punch to his solar plexus, and my fists are met with a sting. he is a robot ninja, whose sole focus is to destroy me. i quickly do a back flip away, to the other side of the bed and reach under, grabbing an octopus by his large, wet, bulbous head. i had genetically altered the octopus in my secrect lab in the basement of my attic, and now his tentacles secrete four kinds of deadly potent acids. i throw the octopus at the robot ninja, and he explodes on contact, causing smoke and debilitating the lacrosse stick wielding arm. the ninja is slown, but not stopped, as he moves toward me with purpose, wary, yet on the offensive. i quickly run into my other room, stubbing my toe on the damn dresser as go, wich only slows me down a bit. i run into the other room, screaming obsceneties like a wounded nun, and grab my accordian. knowing that a robot had to be programmed by a human, and counting on human's need to insert private jokes and a bit of thier own personality into all thier creations, i figured the robot would likely be subject to music. so i quicky go into a polka version of "A Night on Bald Mountain" by Moussorgsky mixed with some "Astro creep" by white zombie, calculating that the frequencies and tempo will be enough to disrupt the semi damaged ninja robot. as he enters the room, he is taken by the music, and starts a herky jerky rythem, dancing like a coked up hooker. the dancing causes him to strike himself with his laser katana, and as i speed up the tempo, he speeds up his movment, causing his circuits to fry and him to self destruct. it's over in a matter of moments.
i return to the bedroom, flush with once again cheating death, my blood engorged member a full two inches, pulsing and throbbing, as i pounce on you and ravage you like a viking who just got back from a really really long time at sea.

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onward to mayhem!

tecoyah

Seriously...you have a skill

I hope this is not the actual....last

I dont like disapointment

Jetée

Agreed.

If you have the talent and skill, why not rekindle your imagination and writing prowess to produce some more intriguing stories.

You would always have a willing audience here on TFP.

Hopefully you will find what works out best for you

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As human beings, our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world (that is the myth of the Atomic Age) as in being able to remake ourselves.

—Mohandas K. Gandhi

Sultana

Once again, today you've made me smile. Unimaginable!

You define "Unexpected Twists", mi amigo.

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"Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath.
At night, the ice weasels come." -

Matt Groening

My goal? To fulfill my potential.