The Toy Box: Her Pleasure, Her Rules
Category: Uncategorized
-
the double-ended thing—bright purple, ridiculous—was buried in both of them, ass to ass, like the goddamn Tower Bridge holding up traffic in the middle of a flood. “we’re architecture now,” one of them said, taking a long drag from a cigarette she lit off the toaster. “modern art,” the other added, grinding down like she meant it.
the double-ended thing—bright purple, ridiculous—was buried in both of them, ass to ass, like the goddamn Tower Bridge holding up traffic in the middle of a flood.
“we’re architecture now,” one of them said, taking a long drag from a cigarette she lit off the toaster.
“modern art,” the other added, grinding down like she meant it.
-
She used it like a priest uses ritual. Carefully. With intention. Sometimes violently. When she was done, she cleaned it slowly, like it had been to war.
She used it like a priest uses ritual. Carefully. With intention. Sometimes violently. When she was done, she cleaned it slowly, like it had been to war.
-
He asked her why she needed it. She said it wasn’t about need. It was about knowing. Then she smiled and lit a cigarette. He didn’t ask again.
He asked her why she needed it. She said it wasn’t about need. It was about knowing. Then she smiled and lit a cigarette. He didn’t ask again.
-
In the afternoon, she lay in bed with the shutters open and the sun cut across her thighs. It was too hot to touch, but she didn’t seem to mind. The thing was there beside her. It looked ridiculous. But she looked happy, and that was enough.
In the afternoon, she lay in bed with the shutters open and the sun cut across her thighs. It was too hot to touch, but she didn’t seem to mind. The thing was there beside her. It looked ridiculous. But she looked happy, and that was enough.
-
She had the thing with her again. She kept it in the drawer next to the kitchen knives. He saw her look at it the way you’d look at the ocean before diving in. She didn’t say anything. She never did. That’s how he knew it mattered.
She had the thing with her again. She kept it in the drawer next to the kitchen knives. He saw her look at it the way you’d look at the ocean before diving in. She didn’t say anything. She never did. That’s how he knew it mattered.
-
Not in the Disney way. Not singing teacups. This thing pulses with frequency. It remembers every hand that touched it, every recipe for meat or madness.This isn’t pleasure—it’s data transfer. Her body is the socket. The ritual is the firmware update. She doesn’t moan. She clicks. She uploads.
Not in the Disney way. Not singing teacups. This thing pulses with frequency. It remembers every hand that touched it, every recipe for meat or madness.This isn’t pleasure—it’s data transfer.
Her body is the socket. The ritual is the firmware update.She doesn’t moan.
She clicks.
She uploads. -
Each movement is coded. Each stroke an invocation. The spatula speaks in tongues. The potato masher whispers of insect kings and sterilized lovers.
Each movement is coded.
Each stroke an invocation.
The spatula speaks in tongues. The potato masher whispers of insect kings and sterilized lovers. -
He holds her tits as if they are relics or bombs. Each nipple twitching like an antenna, each heave of meat hanging in some brutal balance. His face doesn’t show desire. It shows concentration, maybe terror. Like he’s holding up the sky.
He holds her tits as if they are relics or bombs. Each nipple twitching like an antenna, each heave of meat hanging in some brutal balance. His face doesn’t show desire. It shows concentration, maybe terror. Like he’s holding up the sky.
-
They are naked, but the woman have penis and man have a vagina. They are staying and watching on you
Two figures stand.
No sound but the hissing fluorescent light overhead—a naked buzz, paranoid and stuttering.They are hairless. Skinhead humans, stripped of time and taxonomy. One breathes in slow revolutions; the other doesn’t breathe at all.
The woman stands with a cock like a chrome antenna, catching frequencies from deep-state radio, coded in lust and lament. The man has a womb-shaped mouth, twitching with the memory of something born too soon or not at all.
They are naked. They are perfect. They are errors in the code.
They watch you—not with eyes, but with memory.
Your own.You try to speak, but the words disintegrate into maggots before they leave your tongue. Language is dead here. Gender never existed. Sex is a weapon, a prayer, a parasite.
You realize too late: you’ve always been standing here.
They’ve always been watching.
The room watches.
You are seen.And the only rule in the Static Room is this:
Everything is true and none of it happened. -
She licked my anus backwards — said the alphabet out of order, blew smoke rings into my asshole, alphabetized my trauma. Said, “You never came right, did you, baby?”
She licked my anus backwards — said the alphabet out of order, blew smoke rings into my asshole, alphabetized my trauma. Said, “You never came right, did you, baby?”
-
Her ass was round like ripe fruit. Her thighs strong. She held me inside her and said, “Don’t fall in love.” I lied.
Her ass was round like ripe fruit. Her thighs strong. She held me inside her and said, “Don’t fall in love.” I lied.
-
She stood without shame, not in defiance, but because there was nothing to defy. The body was only a body — warm, brown skin under the merciless light of noon. The air was dry, still. Somewhere nearby, a radio whispered an old love song no one was listening to.
She stood without shame, not in defiance, but because there was nothing to defy. The body was only a body — warm, brown skin under the merciless light of noon. The air was dry, still. Somewhere nearby, a radio whispered an old love song no one was listening to.
-
She laid her head in my lap. Her mouth found me. She didn’t blink. I didn’t speak. That was the best part.
She laid her head in my lap. Her mouth found me. She didn’t blink. I didn’t speak. That was the best part.
-
She swam naked and laughed. I lit a cigarette. Watched her. Wished I were younger or braver. Wished I were in the water with her.
She swam naked and laughed. I lit a cigarette. Watched her. Wished I were younger or braver. Wished I were in the water with her.
-
A woman spreads her legs wide and a man pees in her mouth
A woman spreads her legs wide and a man pees in her mouth
-
We had sex against the wall. It was fast and hard. She came first. I liked that about her.
We had sex against the wall. It was fast and hard. She came first. I liked that about her.
-
A woman spreads her legs wide and a man pees in her vagina
She sat on the cold metal slab under the ultraviolet lamps, legs open like radio towers, ankles strapped to silence. The gown was paper. It crinkled like static. She blinked sideways. Not by choice — it was how she had been made. Or remade.
The man who entered was dressed in yellow. Not clothing — skin. Peeling like government wallpaper. He carried a jar labeled RECLAMATION FLUID A. I couldn’t read the fine print, but the symbols were older than memory.
They didn’t speak. They had spoken once, and that was enough. Consent had been issued in hexadecimal.
He tilted the jar. The fluid hissed like old tape decks. It splashed between her thighs — not erotic, not clinical. More… ceremonial. A rite, not a fetish. She did not move. Her pupils dialed inward. He murmured numbers — latitude, blood pressure, time since last confession.
The liquid pooled inside her like light through a shattered window.
Something buzzed. A monitor spiked. I smelled ozone and forgotten names.
When it was over, she closed her legs. The fluid was gone. Evaporated, absorbed, repurposed by whatever strange engine her body had become.
He bowed. Left.
She laughed — a rusty laugh. Like the first breath of a corpse learning to dance. -
We didn’t talk much that day. Just her hand in my lap. Her mouth on my throat. I liked her better when she was quiet and naked.
We didn’t talk much that day. Just her hand in my lap. Her mouth on my throat. I liked her better when she was quiet and naked.
-
Young woman sucks the giant cock of an ancient old man in a nursing home
They called it The Silver Wing. Fluorescent hum and antiseptic time. Beds with wheels, wheels with names, names with no faces. The orderlies moved like ghosts but left stains behind. And Room 14C always smelled of licorice and rust, though no one ever brought candy and the pipes were all bone-dry.
He sat there every day, the Ancient — leathered hands, liver-spotted scalp. He said nothing unless spoken to, and even then it was often in numbers and bird names. “Eleven kestrels on the fence, boy. That’s when the sky breaks.”
She arrived on a Tuesday, or it may have been a dream I was having. A girl, or the idea of one. Blonde hair in static disarray. Hospital scrubs a few sizes too big, or too small — they shifted. Her name tag changed hourly: Eve, Echo, Eventide. She smiled like someone who had read all the books and forgotten them on purpose.
They said she was an intern. They said she was in training. They said she didn’t exist.
She spent time with the Ancient. Hours, maybe weeks. I saw her reading his chart upside down, laughing at something no one heard. Sometimes she’d close the curtain. The light would flicker. And when it opened again, he was humming some war tune I couldn’t place and she smelled like static and cloves.
I asked her once what she was doing. She looked at me — through me — and said,
“Memory’s just another kind of body, sweetheart. If you touch it right, it moans.”After that, I started forgetting my own name.
-
She came with sand on her knees and wine on her lips. She didn’t knock. She didn’t need to.
She came with sand on her knees and wine on her lips. She didn’t knock. She didn’t need to.
-
The twins shared one mouth and two bodies. Took turns sucking me off while arguing about politics. I came during a debate about the fall of capitalism. They high-fived.
The twins shared one mouth and two bodies. Took turns sucking me off while arguing about politics. I came during a debate about the fall of capitalism. They high-fived.
-
She was naked on the kitchen table. I made coffee. She didn’t ask for a cup. She only asked for me.
She was naked on the kitchen table. I made coffee. She didn’t ask for a cup. She only asked for me.
-
She liked to be watched. She liked the way my jaw tightened when she undressed slowly. She liked that I didn’t beg.
She liked to be watched. She liked the way my jaw tightened when she undressed slowly. She liked that I didn’t beg.
-
She straddled me with her mouth open. Her hair fell over my face. It smelled like wind. I didn’t want it to end, so I didn’t say anything at all.
She straddled me with her mouth open. Her hair fell over my face. It smelled like wind. I didn’t want it to end, so I didn’t say anything at all.
-
She lay in the bed, arms above her head, hair spread like grain in the wind. I poured the wine. She spread her legs.
She lay in the bed, arms above her head, hair spread like grain in the wind. I poured the wine. She spread her legs.
-
Her skin was tan from the boat. Salt dried on her breasts. I kissed her where the sun had burned her and she sighed like the sea.
Her skin was tan from the boat. Salt dried on her breasts. I kissed her where the sun had burned her and she sighed like the sea.
-
She took off her shirt and tossed it aside like it didn’t matter. I liked that. That she didn’t make it a big thing.
She took off her shirt and tossed it aside like it didn’t matter. I liked that. That she didn’t make it a big thing.
-
She stood by the window. The sun hit her back. She didn’t move when I looked. She knew I would look.
She stood by the window. The sun hit her back. She didn’t move when I looked. She knew I would look.
-
The receptionist was a lizard in a wig who offered me a menu — not of food, but of holes. I picked the one labeled “Unforgiven.” She grinned, pulled back the curtain. I screamed for hours in Morse code.
The receptionist was a lizard in a wig who offered me a menu — not of food, but of holes. I picked the one labeled “Unforgiven.” She grinned, pulled back the curtain. I screamed for hours in Morse code.
-
Her legs around my neck. Her laugh in my ear. Her name scratched into my back. I think that was the last time I saw her.
Her legs around my neck. Her laugh in my ear. Her name scratched into my back. I think that was the last time I saw her.
-
They had a priestess there — Room 2B. Said she could absolve you with her asshole. I didn’t believe her till I came and saw all my sins line up and march out the door.
They had a priestess there — Room 2B. Said she could absolve you with her asshole. I didn’t believe her till I came and saw all my sins line up and march out the door.
-
She kissed me and tasted like sweat and gin. She asked if I loved her. I said “not yet.” That was a lie too.
She kissed me and tasted like sweat and gin. She asked if I loved her. I said “not yet.” That was a lie too.
-
I paid extra for her spit. Said it had heroin in it. I don’t know if it was true, but the way she drooled down my back while she rode me—God, I saw stars melt.
I paid extra for her spit. Said it had heroin in it. I don’t know if it was true, but the way she drooled down my back while she rode me—God, I saw stars melt.
-
We fucked until the rain stopped. Then we smoked and didn’t touch. That silence felt fuller than anything else.
We fucked until the rain stopped. Then we smoked and didn’t touch. That silence felt fuller than anything else.
-
He came in covered in ink, looking for the room where the girl sucks memory out through your cock. I watched through the keyhole. He left a stranger. The sheets glowed for days.
He came in covered in ink, looking for the room where the girl sucks memory out through your cock. I watched through the keyhole. He left a stranger. The sheets glowed for days.
-
Fisted by a jazz solo. Her knuckles spoke in tongues. Every thrust pulled memories out of me like syringes. I wept into the mattress. She smoked a cigarette with her other hand.
Fisted by a jazz solo. Her knuckles spoke in tongues. Every thrust pulled memories out of me like syringes. I wept into the mattress. She smoked a cigarette with her other hand.
-
She had tan lines and bite marks. Both were mine. I felt proud. And then I felt something worse.
She had tan lines and bite marks. Both were mine. I felt proud. And then I felt something worse.
-
She anointed me in spit, lube, and motor oil. Her fingers were inside me and her eyes were on the TV. Static sex. Channel 69 was just me screaming.
She anointed me in spit, lube, and motor oil. Her fingers were inside me and her eyes were on the TV. Static sex. Channel 69 was just me screaming.
-
We drank until her laugh turned lazy. Then she kissed me with her teeth. I liked her wild. It was dangerous. But it felt good.
We drank until her laugh turned lazy. Then she kissed me with her teeth. I liked her wild. It was dangerous. But it felt good.
-
Her nipples were hard in the mountain air. She liked to ride with the windows down and her shirt off. I let her.
Her nipples were hard in the mountain air. She liked to ride with the windows down and her shirt off. I let her.
-
Blowjob in the bathroom stall while the world ended outside. Every time she gagged, the lights flickered. Came so hard I saw my uncle’s funeral. She swallowed a prayer.
Blowjob in the bathroom stall while the world ended outside. Every time she gagged, the lights flickered. Came so hard I saw my uncle’s funeral. She swallowed a prayer.
-
She undressed in the hallway. The light caught her like a painting. I didn’t blink. I didn’t breathe.
She undressed in the hallway. The light caught her like a painting. I didn’t blink. I didn’t breathe.
-
She turned me over like a corpse and dug in with missionary precision. Her tongue was a scalpel. I forgot who I was. I remembered my mother. I begged her to go deeper.
She turned me over like a corpse and dug in with missionary precision. Her tongue was a scalpel. I forgot who I was. I remembered my mother. I begged her to go deeper.
-
We didn’t have a bed that night. Just the hood of the car. Her back arched like she was praying. Maybe she was.
We didn’t have a bed that night. Just the hood of the car. Her back arched like she was praying. Maybe she was.
-
She fisted me with a gospel record playing backward. I ascended. I descended. I died in Detroit and woke up in her lap. My hole glowed. She winked and whispered, “You’re clean now.”
She fisted me with a gospel record playing backward. I ascended. I descended. I died in Detroit and woke up in her lap. My hole glowed. She winked and whispered, “You’re clean now.”
-
She whispered things I didn’t understand. She bit my ear. She made me feel like a man who had survived something terrible.
She whispered things I didn’t understand. She bit my ear. She made me feel like a man who had survived something terrible.
