Freedom Day Requested Stuff - 04/07/15 (and now the fifth too, whoo)

Request by Joe - I kindly request the addition of girl with a crazy long tongue - open up the opportunity for rimming, tentacle-ish fancy, etc. Think it could be fun.

  With your pants around your ankles, she shoves you forward so you fall against the wall, throwing out your arms to support yourself. She roughly shoves your legs as far apart as she can, then drops to her knees behind you. You gasp as you feel her hands softly wrapping around your ankles, then shiver as she slowly drags them up your legs, past your knees and up your thighs, finally bringing them to rest firmly cupping your buttocks. You feel soft breath against your crevice, then a pause, then something hot, wet, and wriggling pressing against your ring. Her tongue, that huge, squirming tentacle of a tongue...

  You let out a breathless grunt as her thick, pulsing tongue gently but relentlessly forcing it's way into your anus, pausing, hesitating as you clench involuntarily, waiting for you to relax slightly, then pressing forward with its invasion of your innards. You groan softly into the wall as her thick, phallic tongue is thrust slowly forward and back, pulsing gently as she tenses and relaxes it, filling you tight
and then softening. The friction and waves of pressure against your prostate are delightful, but almost overwhelming, your knees tremble, and when she wraps cool fingers around your rock hard dick and tightly clenched balls, they nearly give way.

 You swear softy, voice trembling and breath catching, and the minx continues her three pronged attack, one hand slowly but firmly stroking your length as the other gently squeezes and kneads your sack, and that tongue, that incredible, inhuman tongue, thrusts and pulses and pumps in your quivering asshole. She seems to be in no hurry, but there's no way you can tolerate this kind of sensation for long. Shivering all over, you bite your lip, trying to hold back, but it's useless...

With a inarticulate noise, somewhere between a grunt and a growl, you cum, hard and fast, legs quaking, every ounce of you a-shudder, a indescribably *deep* climax that seems to be dragged out right from the core of you. Her hand shifts, cupping the throbbing head of your cock in her palm,
catching the spunk as it's pumped out of you, each thrust of her tongue seeming to force out another jet.

 Her tongue tenses, pressing against your prostate harder than ever as her ball kneading hand clenches tight, milking, pushing, squeezing the last drops from you... and then her hands are releasing you, the tongue that was filling you so completely withdrawing slick and sure, pulling out, leaving you with a strange, sad feeling of emptiness. Your logs finally give out and you first slump against the wall,
then collapse to the ground, flopping to one side, breathing heavily, slouching back against he wall as you look up at the minx who's just drained you.

 Her tongue dances in front of her like a skinless snake, red and wet and pulsing. Looking you square
in the eyes, she holds up one hand, the cupped palm full of your spend, and more overflowing is, dribbling in dangling gobs down between the fingers and running in rivulets down her wrist. With slow, deliberate movements, she wipes her hand against her tongues, her eyes closing slightly as she tastes you, rubbing her palm up an down the quivering red serpent until she's sure she's got every drop. Only then does the tongue withdraw, slow and sensuous, back between her lips, the impossible length vanishing easily and silently until it's all gone.

 Finally shutting her mouth, she smiles close lipped at you, runs the back of a hand across her lips, then turns and gallops off, in search of her next meal, in search of further prey...   

 Request by JoeBobtheFourth -  "A dickgirl who just wants to cuddle and spoon in an abandoned house, but wakes you up to her vigorous humping, then apologizes and runs away?"

 

 The kitchen of this house seems well looted already - you wander through instead to the living room, a small room made smaller by the heavy, old furniture, all covered with china figurines and nick-nacks, and poke through the cluttered detritus that represent some poor saps life, not hurrying - the rain is pattering hard against the windows, the day outside chill, you have no urge to be outside again soon.

 There's a cough, and you turn, alarmed, to see that someone else decided to use this house as shelter from the storm before you. Emerging from beneath a ugly knitted blanket is a girl, no more than eighteen by the look of her, yawning and stretching. She notices you, but makes no move to attack, merely makes a lazy attempt to speak through her yawns - "mmmmm'ello" - so you wait just a little cautiously til she's composed herself, giving her a good once over as you do so.  She's neither pretty nor ugly, though her features are a little too strong to be plain. Average build, with long dark brown hair tied back in a pony tail, a floppy fringe at the front that reaches almost all the way down to her eyes, which have such heavy thick lashes that they seem to hang half closed even when she's looking right at you, like she is now. Her look is pure council estate, firm and young and ripe, but somehow also gritty and worn, tough and jaded, and as chavvy as a backwards Burberry baseball cap.
Her complexion is an unnatural looking orange, bought from a sun bed or a bottle, and she's taken much effort to cover the flaws in her complexion with concealer, which only serves to draw more attention to them. She seems painfully ordinary, really, you think, feeling a bit of an asshole for thinking so.

 She yawns again, stretches, the ugly rainbow blanket sliding off her shoulders, and your attention is grabbed by her small but *remarkably* pert, perky breasts - it looks as if she's shoved two oranges up the front of her tight, pink and grey rugby shirt. You make an effort to stop staring at her boobs. What's wrong with you? Meet a girl who isn't sex crazed,  and all of a sudden you are. Over her rugby shirt, she wears a power of necklaces, strings of fake pearls, wooden beads, a St. Christopher medallion, in her ears, huge hooped silver rings. Shoving the blanket to one side, revealing a faded denim skirt and decent legs as orange as the rest of her, recently shaved and with dirty knees, she hops clumsily to her feet, goes to speak, stops, yawns again and smacks her lips.

Finally she seems able to speak.

 "Hiya," she says, stretching again, again in a way that makes those amazing firm round little breasts rather hard not to stare at,"I'm Brooke."

 You give her your name and she nods, then looks at you for a while from under her heavy lids. There's a smell nagging at your nostrils, it's not unpleasant, a warm, safe smell, like milk and malt, you're not sure when you first noticed it, is it just the smell of this old room? No, it seems to come in waves when she moves, is it her, or the old sofa she's sleeping on? She yawns again, and, as so often happens, you find yourself yawning back. She smiles at you, expression unreadable.

 "You here 'cause of the cold?" she drawls.

 "The cold?" you ask. It's a bit chilly, sure, but that's not the first thing on your mind. You're still ready to jump back if she attacks.

 "Yeah, you know. The cold and the rain and all. It's freezing in here. None of the heating works any more."

 "Yeah, the gas is off," you say, "In case of explosions and stuff."

 Because of the outbreak, you want to say, the one that's meant to have turned you into a ravening, raving mutant nympho, but you decide that if she's not going to mention it you won't. She's acting way more normal than anyone else you've met in the wild, and besides, it seems rude.

 She sits down on the sofa again, and you notice she's shivering a little. She pulls her legs up and stretches them out beneath the blanket, starts to gather the ugly multi-coloured blanket around her, then pauses and looks up at you, eyes opening wide for the first time - big sad brown eyes, deep, deep wells of loneliness and sadness and need. She shivers a little more, blinks, pouts just a little. The rain beats against the window, hard as ever.

 "It's really, really cold," she says, shuffling herself against the back rest of the sofa, leaving a little room in front of her, *just about* enough room for you to lie down there beside her, "You must be cold too. Come on, I'll share my blanket with you. We can keep each other warm, until the storm passes. Won't you lie down with me for just a while?"

 If you did, those crazy little baseball breasts would be pressed right against your back...

OPTION HERE ---
 IF NO - 

 You shake your head.

 "Sorry, I have to keep moving," you say, sadly, "I'm sure the storm will pass soon."

 She sighs and rolls her eyes, suddenly not looking so cold after all.

 "Suit yourself," she says, wriggling into a comfortable position on the sofa and closing her eyes, "You look like a wimp in any case..."

 She pulls the blanket over her head, presumably going back to sleep until some other survivor passes by. You shrug and move on, doing your best to put those boobs out of your mind.

ENDSCENE

IF YES -

 It *is* kind of chilly, and there really isn't much sense in going back outside while it's raining so hard. Besides, the girl, Brooke, is clearly harmless, uninfected, or else she would have jumped you by now. Maybe she's even immune! That'd be something... With a strange kind of saucily sardonic smile, lopsided and playful, Brooke lifts up the ugly rainbow of the blanket, revealing the sweet shadows and curves of her body beneath it, mysterious and promising, the warm, safe smell that was hanging around her intensifying, concentrated beneath her blankets. You sit down on the sofa, yawning, thinking you must be more tired than you thought, kick off your shoes then lie down and curl up in front of her as she lowers the blanket over you, wrapping you in safety and warmth, her arm snaking around you and holding you close.

 She snuggles against your back with a sigh, her breasts as firm as you could ever have dreamed, her lips brushing against your ear, murmuring nothing, her arm sliding down towards your waist, fingers
gently, softly unbuckling. You sigh, contented, drifting off, thinking just how wonderfully firm those breasts are against your back, wonderful little lumps, rubbing so tight against you as you drift into a dream, your pants pulled slowly down your thighs, the firm lump in her crotch, rubbing so firm against your bare ass...

 You come to slowly, sleeps ebbing away in waves, like the outgoing tide, but it's okay, every thing is still fine, you're warm and safe and secure, Brookes' curves pressed tight against you, one arm wrapped around your stomach, holding your body tight against hers as she moves slowly and rhythmically, like the tide, her crotch grinding against your ass, giving the strangest sensation of something inside you, filling you almost entirely before sliding back, the sensation so strange, the shape of it no more recognizable, the ridges, rings, the mushroomed tip pressing delightfully against your innards, rubbing, as she gently pumps back and forth, against little spots and clusters of nerves you never knew you had in you, making you gasp and yelp, the sounds seeming to come from a long way away... but if it's you making those noises, you think with treacle slowness, you should probably go see why you're making them.. you stir, trying to rouse your body into motion, you think you're wriggling, but it's hard to be sure, you don't even seem to have the strength to open your eyes...

 You feel something brushing your ear, a soft caress, a tickle, Brookes' lips, whispering for you to stay calm, relax, even though you can feel her moving faster now, and surely that's a sign that there's something wrong? The sense of sensation is slowly returning, pressures and tingles slowly making sense, the pressure beneath you is her other arm, reaching up, taking its turn at holding you tight, so that the arm reaching round from the top of you can move away, slide searching fingers downwards, you know what she's reaching for, you're sure, if only you could remember its name... the rhythm of her hips against you, faster than ever now, not a tide any more, but some sort of machine, a piston, a machine that's... that's plugged into you? It retreats, almost removes itself from you.. from your ass.

You moan, slowly waking at last, then there's another tickle at your ear, a sound half grunt, half giggle, then you shudder as her tongue slides down the length of your ear, and spasm as she slams the full length of her dick into you in a single thrust.

 You yelp, eyes open now, but she has you pinned to her with one arm, holding you close as she vigorously reams your ass with her ridged, corrugated dick, panting hard, whispering into your ear, little yelps and murmurs that aren't quite words, nipping at it with sharp little teeth. Her other hand, the one not busy pinning you against her, is has its fingers wrapped tight around your dick - your dick which, you realize belatedly, is throbbing, achingly hard, harder than you've ever known it - and she's jerking you with the same rhythm as she's fucking you, rubbing you inside and out, faster and faster, and just when you think she surely can't increase the pace any further, she battens her teeth hard onto your shoulder, pulls you tighter to her than ever,and does just that...

 Her swollen phallus spasms inside you, exploding, squirting god knows what deep into your innards, and with three more hard fast strokes, her length pulsing and throbbing inside you at the same time, she has you at your peak too, a wracking, spasming climax that seems to involve your entire body, and seems to go on for minutes, your balls spurting until they're empty, then going right on pulsing, ejaculating nothing, piping hot air. Your head spins, dizzy, but you're awake now, wide awake, the pheromone or whatever it was worn off, its work done. You're kitten weak, your ass is sore and your
cock and balls are throbbing, but you're awake and can move again - just about.

 Brooke, gathering her own breath, rocks her weight back and then forward, rolling you off the sofa and onto the floor, her long, thick mutated member sliding easily out of you as you go, and you lie there in a heap for a little while, body still tingling, pulling yourself together. Brooke is more used to this than you are, apparently - looking up at her as she straightens her appearance in a hand mirror, you wonder how many times she's set this trap already, how many unsuspecting survivors she's caught. Once she's inspected her make up, she pulls her denim skirt out from the tangled mess of blanket on the sofa, and shakes it straight. She's naked from the waist down, casual and relaxed, her mammoth length slowly but surely shrinking, ready to sleep until it's time comes again. Pulling on her skirt, Brooke catches your eye, and sighs.

 "Okay, okay, so it's a bit of a mean trick. I can't control the sleep thing! It just.. happens. Anyway, it wasn't all bad, was it? You cam so hard you nearly turned your dick inside out. Look, I'm sorry, alright?" she says,folding her arms beneath her breasts. She doesn't look all *that* sorry.

 "Not accepted," you grumble, sitting up on the floor with your back against a chair, rubbing your arms.

 "Oh, stop being such a big cry baby," says Brooke, frowning but avoiding your eye, "You totally came your brains out and you know it."

 You shake your head.To be honest, you are a whole lot less upset - if that isn't too mild a word - than you feel you should be. The infection seems to make most people kind of manic, but Brooke is still pretty coherent - her behavior has definitely altered though, or at least, you hope it has. Could the virus also be altering the way *you* behave, the way you think? Wait, no, it mustn't be, or else you couldn't have thought that... unless...

 You sigh, rub your eyes, then look at your watch. Stopped. You look over at Brooke, standing by the doorway, looking healthy and confident and ready for anything.

 "How long were we... were you..?"

 "Oh, hours and hours," she says with a grin, "It's nearly dark now."

 "Great," you say, contemplating the walk home on exhausted, wobbly legs, "Fantastic."

 "I said I was sorry. Next time I'll try to be more gentle."

 Next time? hold on... But with a wink and a quip, she's off, leaving you recovering on the floor staring after her as she wanders off into the dusk, leaving you with a wink and a worrying promise that she "might see you around"... Wearily, you set off for the long walk back to your base, hoping you won't see her again *too* soon...