tagHumor & SatirePornoville Ch. 01

Pornoville Ch. 01

byKOStone©

(All the characters in this story are at least18 years of age. Well actually they are all fictional, but they are fictional and at least 18)

I gave the DVD player a satisfying smack, but the disk was still jammed. It was official; I now had a new definition of bad, having your DVD player break when you are sitting on the couch sans pants with a ¾ erection. I hit the player again, but the blank TV screen mocked my repair efforts.

Great, after a 60 hour work week, I couldn't even spank my monkey. Roberto Benigni had lied, life is not beautiful, it's cruel and your DVD player will break when all you want is a simple well deserved wank. Of course it didn't help that I had run into Lisa Green, one of Karen's friends that day. She just couldn't wait to tell me Karen was dating again, and seemed very happy. I smiled, said that was great news and I was happy for Karen. In short I lied through my tightly clenched teeth.

So much for giving Karen a few weeks to come to her senses, I guess she found someone who liked talking about their day. I sighed, it wasn't that I disliked talking, but I'd been working a lot of 12 hour days for the past six months and talking about my day made me feel like I was still at work. After making it clear on several occasions that she wasn't very happy living with a monosyllabic to non-syllabic boyfriend, Karen had moved out.

I glanced down at the back of the DVD case for the porno that was stuck in my DVD player. There were pictures of people engaging in sexual acts that were illegal in every state in the union where it was perfectly legal to marry your first cousin.

I sighed, "I bet nobody ever had to talk about their day in a porno."

I glanced down at the DVD box; there was a picture of some stud balls deep in a redhead, her stocking covered legs locked around his waist urging him deeper. "Talking is overrated," I heard myself mutter One of the pictures on the box jumped out at me. A bleach bottle blond with improbably fake breasts was splattered with cum. The tip of her pink tongue peeked out from between her pouty lips as she starred brazenly into the camera.

The words just came out of my mouth without any real thought. "I wish I was in a porno."

The doorbell rang and I looked up. I wasn't expecting anyone. The doorbell rang again, insistently, like I was making someone wait. I struggled into my sweatpants as I stumbled towards the door. I took a moment to adjust my cock in my pants and the doorbell rang again, twice, like a small child was on the other side of the door. I opened the door.

A small man of indeterminate age with frizzy brown hair peeking out from under a small grey ball cap stared back at me like I was an idiot. He didn't say a word, his small mud puddle brown eyes locked onto to mine like he was waiting for me to do the obvious. I wanted to ask just what was going on but all I could get out was "uh?"

"TV repairman," the small man said in a squeaky voice.

"Excuse me?" Jesus, this was bizarre.

"TV repairman, your TV is broken, right?" The small man asked in a slow careful monotone like he was talking to a not very bright four-year-old.

"It's my DVD player," I told the small man. I was getting more confused by the second. It was all I could do not to tilt my head the way our family dog used to do when she heard sirens on TV.

"Same thing," the small man muttered as he slid past me into my apartment, lugging a big toolbox.

"Hey!" I yelped. "Desiree TV Repair" was stenciled on the back of his gray jumpsuit. "I didn't call for a TV repairman."

"I was in the neighborhood." The small man said simply. He dropped his toolbox on the floor and looked at the DVD player. "You got this for Christmas, huh?"

"What? Yes, Why?"

"Cheapest model on the market," the small man muttered. A screwdriver had seemed to appear in his hand. He began futzing with the back of the player.

My first thought was to wonder if mom had known it was that cheap. I snapped out of it. I walked towards the small man

He continued fussing with the back of my DVD player, muttering to himself the whole time. I could only make out the words "back plate", "space time continuum", and "cheap."

Suddenly the small man was behind my TV running some green cables from my DVD player to my TV.

"Hey what are you doing?" I demanded.

"Changing the cables," the small man said without looking up. "Your conductivity is for shit young man."

"What do cables have to do with a jammed DVD player?"

The small man looked up from his work and fixed me with an icy stare. "Hey, who's the TV repairman here? Because no offense, but I don't remember seeing you at the correspondence school." Seeing I had no response to this, the small man went back to his work.

"Finished," The small man said as he stood up and walked back to the DVD player. He hit the eject button and the disk slide out of the machine. He looked down at my copy of "The Cuntingtons". "Ah, the early 80's, that was the golden age, there's no magic in this gonzo stuff they're peddling nowadays.

I snatched the disk away from him as I felt a flush creep up my neck. There was an awkward pause and then the next thing I knew the small man had picked up his toolbox and was walking out of my apartment.

"Hey, what do I owe you?" I asked.

The small man didn't look back. "No charge, just enjoy your movie young man." As the small man walked through the door, it closed behind him.

I ran to the door and opened it, but the hallway was empty. The small man had completely disappeared. I slowly closed the door and tried to make sense out of what had just happened and quickly hit a wall. What had just happened made zero sense.

I looked up and saw the menu screen for my DVD player on the TV. It was ready to go. I glanced down at the disk in my hand. I walked across the room and slid the disk in the machine. Yeah, not one of my better moments, but I was still horny.

The menu screen for the DVD came up on the screen and I reached for my remote, but it was gone. There was another remote on the couch right where it had been, but where my remote had been a sleek state of the art piece of new technology, this thing looked like something my parents might have owned in the 70's. I picked it up; it was heavy too, like it was filled with lead.

I briefly wondered what the small man had done while he was in my apartment. For all I knew he could have rigged a bomb in my DVD player. I quickly discarded this thought as pure paranoia. I'd watch the DVD and in about 10 minutes my head would be clear and I could make sense as to what just happened. Now that was a plan that made sense. I pushed the play button on the remote and everything went white.

I woke up in bed. There was just one teeny problem. It wasn't my bed. My bed was a nice, very responsible double bed with sensible bedding I had picked up at a big box store. This was a king sized water bed with, judging by the feeling of them against my skin, rayon leopard print sheets.

Come to think of it, this wasn't my room either. My room had the sensible beige walls of your average new apartment. This room had cheap dark wood paneling, orange shag carpet, and oh my god, a large black velvet painting of a white tiger on the wall.

The whole thing was completely bizarre, and a part of me wanted to immediately get to the bottom of what was going on, but my bladder conspired against me, and I decided my first order of business should be to find a bathroom. I stumbled out of bed, still in my sweats from the night before and walked out of the room.

I found myself in a narrow hallway, and I wasn't alone. I bumped into someone as I stepped through the door. This someone was a young woman with bleach blond hair, and a fairly pretty face, which to be honest I was not looking at right at that moment. In my defense I should point out, that it is hard for the average male to keep eye contact with a well proportioned woman in a micro French maid costume with black stockings and what had to be at least four inch stiletto heels.

She literally squealed when I bumped into her. "Oh, bonjour monsieur Dick," she twittered. It was the most ridiculously bad French accent I had ever heard in my entire life. How bad? Remember when Brenda went to Paris on 90210? This chick made Shannon Daugherty sound like Catherine Deneuve.

I wish I could have told you she was smiling when said this, but my eyes were glued to the cleavage spilling out of the push up bra she was wearing. I said something smooth like, "uh good morning, uh?"

She twittered again. "Oh monsieur Dick, you are sew funny. You pretend to forget my name. I am Yvette, zee French maid. I do the cleaning no?"

She produced a small feather duster and ran it over the wall to right of me singing "la, la, la." She dusted the wall to the left of me, la, la, la, and then she ran that feather duster right over my crouch.

"Oo, la, la Monsieur Dick I think this needs zee special French cleaning, no?"

Before I could respond Yvette had sunk to knees and had pulled my sweat pants down around my ankles. I watched as Yvette wrapped her tiny fingerless lace glove covered hands around my dick and began to slowly jack it to full size. It was then that I noticed something strange.

I mean aside from the fact I was in a place god knows where, getting jacked off by a woman I'd never seen before in my life. No, this something strange was projecting out from the middle of my groin.

Now my cock had always been described by the women in my life as "nice," or as Karen had told me two weeks before she had moved out; "it's perfectly adequate, can we talk about something else now?" The cock Yvette was pumping with long deliciously slow strokes was anything but perfectly adequate. Actually it bordered on "medical oddity", which is why Yvette had to use both of her hands to wrap around it. Huge dollops of precum oozed from my piss-slit every time Yvette ran her hands up my thick heavily veined shaft.

"Oh monsieur Dick, I think this needs polishing no?" Yvette moaned, and before I could even respond she had wrapped her whorishly red colored lips around the head of my cock. She began to slowly bob her head, and her cheeks bulged obscenely as she took more and more of my cock into her wonderful warm wet mouth. I found myself moaning as her tongue worked itself up, down and all around my throbbing shaft.

Almost reluctantly she slid her mouth back up my cock and when it came out of her mouth it was with an audible pop. She then proceeded to smother the head in butterfly kisses and slowly worked her way down my shaft until she was able to suck on my balls. It was then that I happened to notice I had misplaced my pubic hair, but at this point in time I really didn't care.

Yvette worked her way back up to the head of my cock, and proceeded to rub my cock lovingly against her face, as the head left a shiny trail of precum on her cheekbone.

"Oh monsieur Dick," she whined, "You no like my tits?"

Huh, what who? Jesus where were my manners? My hands flew down to Yvette's fleshy delights, which in my fevered condition I began to roughly knead and pinch. The last time I had been this enthusiastic in expressing my admiration for a woman's breasts had been in the 12th grade, and I had received a well deserved slap. Yvette didn't seem to have a problem with what I was doing. In fact, she promptly let out a low hungry moan, and went back to sucking my cock.

I had to get her bra off, and get my hands on her tits. That was the only thing running through my mind at that point. With one hand still tweaking her nipples, I reached down with the other to unhook her bra. Normally me trying to unhook a bra with one hand while I was getting a blow job at the same time would be a recipe for fumbling and awkwardness, but not this time. It seemed as soon as I got my hand on to the center of Yvette's front fastening bra, it popped open and her big tits spilled against my thighs.

Both my hands returned to mauling Yvette's fun bags. They were fake as hell, but her silver dollar nipples were as hard as little pebbles and to be honest at this point I didn't care if they were made by Mother Nature or Dupont.

Yvette slid my dick out of her mouth and jacked it fast and hard.

"Fuck zem; Fuck my titties with your beeg cock, monsieur Dick." Yvette just about pleaded.

It was the best idea I'd heard that day. Yvette leaned back a little bit; I slightly bent my knees, and viola! I was ready to fuck Yvette's gorgeous melons. Yvette spat on my cock and her tits, and I began to slowly pump my hips. Within about eight strokes between Yvette's spit and the precum that was now almost constant dribbling out of my cock Yvette's tits were well and truly ready to be fucked. I began to pick up speed. Yvette, tucked her chin down, and opened her mouth. On every up stroke, the head of my cock penetrated her lips and slid into that hot little mouth. My hands slid up around her head, so I could jam more and more of my cock into her mouth. A part of me worried about her chocking, but the deeper I fucked her mouth, the louder and sluttier her moans became.

Finally, after all this stimulation I felt my balls begin to boil. "I'm going to cum," I moaned.

Yvette pushed me back away from her and grabbed my cock. "Give it to me," she moaned as her hands flew up and down my cock. "Give me all of zat hot sticky cum!"

"Oh fuck!" I groaned as my cum came up my cock like a river of molten lava. The first thick rope of cum flew directly in Yvette's waiting mouth. She pulled my cock back and the next rope splattered across her right cheek, and up over her eye, disappearing into the black roots of her hair. She tilted my cock down and cum splattered her chin and a fourth rope splattered her cleavage. At this point my eyes rolled back into my head and I have no idea where the rest of my cum ended up.

By the time I opened my eyes again, Yvette was purring like a kitten and using my still fairly hard cock to push the cum on her face into her greedy mouth. After carefully licking my cock clean, she gave it a loving kiss, and pulled my sweats back up. She stood up, told me "merci bocue, monsieur Dick," and left signing the most off key version of "Alouette" in the history of mankind.

It was about a minute after she left when I had finally come down from what had just been the most explosive orgasm of my life that I realized (a) I still had no idea where I was, and (2) I now needed to find the bathroom more then ever.

To be continued...

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