“Oh, God, yeah! YEAH!” she roared in exultation as more and more was stuffed into her gob. She really, really loved peanut butter.
It was always a challenge to crack one off surreptitiously and today was no exception. As he commenced the vinegar strokes, a woman suddenly flung the door open from outside and announced in a loud, savagely mocking voice to all in the vicinity that he was “having a shuffle in here!”. There was scarcely room to turn around in the cubicle, let alone to hide, and as faces crowded around the doorway, peering and leering at his exposed form, though he ceased his rapid motions, he had crossed the ejaculatory Rubicon already, and they were treated to the sight of a fountain of white goo slopping lazily out of the top of his column. And, to cap it all, he couldn’t stop a long, very personal, and indeed profoundly satisfied, groan of exultation emanating from his lips, thereafter to be echoed back at him from all present, from everyone they’d told, and from everyone who heard the recording uploaded to YouTube and subsequently remixed to a hundred different jungle beats.
The switch was thrown down. He felt the electricity slamming into every part of his body at once. The voltage coursed agonisingly through his flesh. His skin began to smoke. His bowels expelled everything they could. And yet all the suffering, all the cries of exultation from the bereaved, all the morbid intentions of those who were subjecting him to this final ordeal, could not quite rob from him the memory of the last five minutes he’d spent in his cell with the 1989 annual of ‘60+ And Busty’ magazine. Those creased faces, well-chosen camera angles and implausible norks would accompany him into Gehenna.