Blake and the Blowjobs… chapter 18

A young woman’s problems in a highly pornified future world.

(All characters in this story, that do anything erotic, are at least 18 years old)

"I'll have a double cannibal sandwich," he announced. Junior never bothers with menus.

Mrs. Santa Claus flinched. "What," she asked ominously, "is a cannibal sandwich?"

Junior explained, “It is a raw ground beef and onion sandwich with dark rye bread. It is good for growing muscles.”

Disgusting, the only raw meat that I eat is cock, if you don’t count the occasional pussy.

Mrs. Santa Claus looked at him as if she hoped he would crawl back into the woodwork. At last she said, "Mrs. Santa Claus always gives people what they want. But you'll have to eat it in the kitchen; other people will be coming in for dinner."

"Oke," agreed Junior.

"Now what would you like, honey?" she said to me.

"I'd like everything," I answered miserably, "but I'm on a reducing diet."

She clucked sympathetically. "Anything special you mustn't eat?"

"Nothing in particular - just food. I mustn't eat food."

She said, "You will have a hard time choosing a low caloric meal here. I've never

been able to work up interest in such cooking. I'll serve you the same as your parents; you can eat what you wish and as little as you wish."

"All right," I said weakly.

Mother suggested, “You might like a large milkshake. I’ll have one.”

“I’ll have a small one. ,” I replied.

“What flavour,” I glanced at the menu and realised.

Both Mother and I said “Cum!” at the same time. We grinned at each other like two bold lionesses.

Mrs. Santa Claus brought in huge trays of food to the table and as promised she had taken her shirt off. Her motherly-sized melons bouncing proudly in front of her. Charles gave them a polite squeeze. Nobody else in the restaurant really noticed; what used to be porn is now real life.

I tried the milkshake first, Mother and I looked at each other, - - - artificial flavour. That was disappointing, but it was made with real milk. So I drank it down.

Honestly, I tried. I counted up to ten between bites.

(First cock in me, second cocks in me, third cock in me...)

Then I found I was counting faster so as to finish each course before the next one arrived. (Firs kuk-in-m, sec kuk-in-m, tir kuk-in-m…) (Frs’m, sek’m, tir’m…)

Presently, I knew I had ruined my womanly body and I would have to restart life as a hippopotamus. But I didn't care. I was surrounded by a semi-orgasmic warm fog of calories. Once my conscience peeked over the edge of my plate and I promised to make up for it tomorrow. It went back to sleep.

Junior came out of the kitchen with his face covered by a wedge of pink-striped

cake. "Is that a cannibal sandwich?" I asked.

"Huh?" he answered. "You should see what she's got out there. She ought to run a

training table."

A long time later Charles said, "Let's hit the road. I hate to."

Mrs. Santa Claus said, "Stay here if you like. We can accommodate you."

So we stayed and it was lovely; I got laid good and long and hard. But that story is for next time.