BEEN DOWN SO LONG IT LOOKS LIKE SHTUP TO ME By David Alexander A dark and funny fable of Amazons, Alcohol, and Sex There exists EXPLICIT sexual descriptions in the body of this text. If you are not legally entitled to consume this product, you are the weakest link ... Good Bye ----------------------------------------------------------------- The first thing I saw when I came around were two sets of the biggest mutha tits my eyes ever fondled. There I was, sprawled flat on my backside at the entrance to the Lexington Avenue IRT with an empty bottle of Bolla Soave on the concrete next to me, gaping up into the faces of these Amazon pussies in skintight rawhide bikinis with gargantuan milk-glands practically cutting off my oxygen. They’d fished my weenie out of my fly, and were on hands and knees, oohing and ahhing over my bloated putz like it was the Hope Diamond. At first I figured I was hallucinating from the fifty seven bottles of cheap hooch I’d chug-a-lugged during the past twenty-four hours, then it occurred to me two strung-out junkie sluts were rolling me for change. The third choice was that I was dead. But I was sprouting one of those thick bulgers that come straight from the heart so I eliminated that possibility right off. “Yes, Vagisilia,” I heard the tall bimbo with the tousled black she-devil hairdo tell her blonde girlfriend. “This earthling will suffice.” “I agree, Poonta. His wahooni is large and stout and bloated with the nectarous juices of creation.” Blondie bent low and grasped the thumping, blue-veined shaft of my blood-gorged whopper loosely between thumb and forefinger. “Shall I administer the final test?” Her girlfriend nodded and she locked her voluptuous lips around the bulbous head of my joint and started sucking away like a demon. “Escape is impossible, human!” the big one warned as her pard’s head bobbed up and down over my gland of blammo, noticing I was conscious. “Do not resist and no harm shall befall you.” The blonde one keelhauled her tongue up and down my spit-slicked cockshaft until my fuse fizzled down and I blew up in her face, spraying bucket brigades of my greasy kidstuff where she ate. She came up with fat creamy dollops of my hot gobs dribbling sluggishly down her cheeks like buttermilk. The big pudendoid pinched my rubbery dickhead, milking the last spasms of jizz from its slitted muzzle, tasted some cum and rolled it around on her tongue like caviar. “Ahhhh. . . yesssss.” she groaned lustily. “His froth of life is indeed pungent and tart.” She then turned back to me. “Arise now, surface-dweller, and follow us.” “What?” I tucked my deflating dong back in my pants. “I ain't followin’ you nowhere lady!” I’d been hit with a lotta comeons from hookers in my time, but this was the all-time ruts. I didn’t know what was going down and still thought I was having a boozemare. Then she whipped out what I thought was a toy raygun and suddenly this bright blue beam flashed from its muzzle and covered my body with miniature lightning bolts. “On your feet, scuzzy-one!” she ordered. All of a sudden I was standing. I didn’t want to obey her but couldn't help myself: It was as if every nerve in my body had been unplugged from my brain except the ones connecting to my legs. So I followed them to a five-story office building in the garment district and into a service elevator. The raven-haired wonder woman with the speedbag titties punched the basement button once—then twice again—and the car began dropping ... and dropping, passing the basement ... the sub-basement and the sub-sub basement ... until the panel went dark and I saw layers of rock zip past through the little rectangular window. “Hey, where we goin’?” This was getting weird. “Lemme outta here!” “We are descending to Obgynador, surface-mortal.” She gave me another blast of her zap-gun and I couldn’t speak anymore. What seemed like hours later, the car finally stopped and the door opened onto a gigantic cavern miles and miles beneath Manhattan. In the cavern was a city. Towers and spires out of a fairytale. There was a bright white blob resembling a sun in the sky. In the cave there were women. No men. Just women. Miles and miles of the juiciest, most succulent jungle floozies this side of Sheena the She-Devil. Tits that could choke Godzilla. Asses that could drop a charging rhino in its tracks. It was slash-Valhalla. Not a man in sight—except for me, that is. The untamed pussy pressed in around us, trying to get a taste of my meat. I could see undisguised lust blazing in their cockstarved eyes and if not for the phalanx of prehistoric poontang keeping the natives at bay with spears, thousands of horny superslits would have hurled themselves en masse at my dork and chewed it to a stump in no time flat. I was hustled to this enormous palace at the center of the city; bathed, shaved and left by myself in a room out of a Sabu movie, or one of the tackier Vegas cat houses. The walls were hung with silk tapestries. Cushions littered the floor and burning torches flickered from niches in the walls. Soon, a statuesque, bustaceous fertility goddess with tits that arrived two seconds before the rest of her and an ass that came in three seconds later, jiggled in. She was taller than the Brobdingnagian pudendoid who was feeling my pud when I came to, and stark naked. I scoped those huge, outthrusting tyrannosaurus tits and her sabertooth twat which was so entangled with frizzy black pubes it looked like you needed a machete and three native guides to get through it alive. My cock was ready to broadjump. “I am called Frigga, oh great white putz from on high,” she imperiously declared. “And I am handmaiden to her exhalted highness, Queen Labianda.” She lay on the floor with her legs spread wide and open, parted her glistening cuntlips. The room filled with the primeval raunch of her lube. “Now mortal, you are to ejaculate me full of your human seminal fluids. Proceed at once!” Not one to look a gift slit in the pubes, I climbed aboard like Fred Flintstone on Spanish Fly, cramming my mouth full of creamy titflesh, wriggling my fingers in between her cuntlips to play with her rigid, thundering bud. Frigga’s clam was drooling with chowder and I stopped the preliminaries and took the bitch like Grant took Richmond. I walloped my wang into her snug, satiny groove-tube, feeling my love muscle penetrate in up to the balls while I shoved my tongue down her throat. “Oooooooh. Surface-dwellllerrrr ...” she grunted like Bota the Panther Woman, tightly wrapping her plump thighs around my gyrating ass, “Thrust your swollen wahooni deeperrr...deeeeeppperrr!” She dug her long, sharp nails into my shoulder blades and scissored her thighs around my crazily pumping asscheeks, driving my eight inches of pork sausage in so far my cockhead tickled her adenoids. Her eyeballs rolled up in her head like marbles, her nipples burned holes in my chest, and she came shuddering like a collapsing mineshaft, pummeling the soles of her feet against my asscheeks until in no time flat I was cumming around the final turn myself. As she wiped my dribbling spurts from between her legs, Frigga explained why I had been brought to Obgynador: In a phrase — stud service. See, some unknown venereal disease had wiped out every male in the place and they needed someone to replenish their civilization. They could only remain above-ground for twenty-three minutes at a time and I was the only dude they were able to locate with a large enough wahooni on such short notice. And they could only come to the surface once every two hundred years, because this was really another dimension we were in and some other fairytale bullshit I didn’t follow. Now that Frigga had awarded my meat her stamp of approval, I was ready to blast my Jizz into the cunt of cunts, Queen Labianda. After I was bathed again, dressed and scented with myrrh, two butch looking palace guards in black leather escorted me to her chamber. When I came in she was lying naked in an enormous four-poster bed decked with silk. I was up for whatever was to cum, and so was my dong. Queen Labianda stood up looking like an Amazon out of an LH-Art comic I once read: emerald green eyes, dark auburn hair in thick braids trailing down over big melon-shaped jugs with erect, chocolate colored nipples the size of coatpegs. “Stand ahead of, and face me, surface-dweller.” Queenie commanded. She gestured and I parked myself in front of her. Queenie was a BIG one! Her jumbo-sized dugs brushed my forehead after running her large hand through my hair then shoving my whole head in between the crack of her full-grown boobs. I tried to escape, but my noggin was sandwiched by her two giant milk-makers. I was tossed side to side like dog poop in a bag as Queenie swiveled her shoulders side-to-side for what seemed like eternity. Suddenly she stopped and one of Queenie's hands grabbed the back of my collar, she yanked me out of her smothering cleavage and up to her face. "Excellent, mortal. You have survived the Luam Ygguj. Frigga may have finally discovered a surface-dweller worthy of being my consort.” Queenie said while raping me with her eyes. I was being held over two feet off the floor by one of Queenie's enormous arms. My frame taxed her mighty appendage like a helium baloon. Queenie used her other arm to reach under my robe and shred the leather loincloth as if it were wet paper. Man, that hurt! My rod shriveled like had just seen my Grannie inhale a cock. “Surface-dweller, your wahooni is not swollen. Correct this malfeasance instantly, or I shall rend it from your inferior body.” she warned. My hand raced to my root in double time. I fingered the flesh trumpet like there was no tomorrow! In spite of the overwhelming presence of Queenie, my soldier was saluting the flag in no time!! I was much relieved and still revved up when she put her other hand between my legs and lightly fondled my tightening nuts and stiffening cockshaft. Queenie raised me until my stiffy was at her eye level. “Ahhh ... truly it has been two hundred of your earth-years since I have last enjoyed the incomparable flavor of hot, freshly ejaculated sperm. You must make my mouth overflow with your delicate creaminess mortal, or suffer the consequences.” She lifted me overhead with no apparent effort then eased my rigid, thumping fuckpole into her mouth; taking it all in like a sword-swallower. Rhythmically, I began churning my crank around in her throat, whipping up a bubbling, foamy lather while I rested my hands on her warm, broad shoulders. “Unnh ... gooood!” the royal sleaze squealed with gusto. Carelessly, I thought I should teach her it wasn’t polite to talk with her mouth full, so I whipped out my bursting meat and spritzed my hot suds right into her face. The lesson seemed to her liking, because she drank in the geysering raunch as greedily as if it had come from the fountain of youth. Soon I was up for porking her majesty’s muff and tried to get her on her back and between her legs. “No mortal! It is not permitted!” she protested, flinging me away. Then she squatted on the sheets with her queenly ass jacked at the ceiling, nearly up to my chest, and told me to come in through the rear entrance, doggie-style. Seems this was the fuck position reserved for the elite in those parts. I knelt down behind her, spread the cheeks of her creamy white butt, shoved my face into the kinky pink of her tasty twat and gave her the licking of her life, raking my teeth over her rigid cunt and fingerfucking her until she couldn’t say no and squirmed against me with all she had. After I felt her climax, I clambered up her thigh and greedily pumped my ready-to-burst organ in and out of her chute until my balls got sore from slamming against her hams. In-out bang ... boom ... In-out ... she thrashed and groaned and bucked against me like a wild bronc ... then that searing white lightning exploded in my skull and seething liquid pitchforks of spattering napalm ripped jaggedly from my erupting dick, and I knew I was in like Flynn. I got plenty more tastes of royalty over the next few weeks and had no reservations about being used as a prize stud-bull one way or the other. After all, being the only stiff prick for three thousand miles in any direction does have its advantages. I figured if I played my cards right I’d wind up as High Priest. Or maybe even King. King Eatapuss Rex the First, yeah. I could see it all — after blasting my rug-rat into Queenie’s ovaries. I’d round up the cream of Obgynadorian slash and slurp pussy and bang my wang until I was ready to drop from exhaustion. I could already envision myself touring the kingdom on my white charger, picking out the nubiles and boffing them in alphabetical order. But two weeks after I first banqueted on Labianda’s box, the door to my chambers suddenly burst open and three very tall, very dikey palace guards staggered in. They were drunk. I figured I was being summoned for another planned-parent-hood session but unexpectedly a Brobdingnagian bimbo gave me a flying knee-drop onto my backside and pinnioned my arms back with her shins as she straddled my face and gyrated her sweaty, evil-smelling muff over my mouth and nose with such ferocity I could hardly breathe. “Lick out my crack. Now!” I heard her command from high above. Squirming to free myself proved useless so I gave in and started working my tongue frantically around in her hole and felt her partner in arms pumping herself viciously up and down over my boated upright fuckpole. They took turns alternately riding my rod and brutally grinding their gashes into my face. When they were finished with me, I was chained and unceremoniously dragged down to the dungeons and shackled to a rough wooden table. When I told them I was consort to Queen Labianda, they just laughed. “The queen has been impregnated, surface-scum. You have served your purpose. And now—” she grabbed my nuts and viciously squeezed until I howled in agony “—the queen has given you to us to do with as we please!” Screwed again. I’d been bled dry and thrown to the dogs. I should have suspected that the Obgynadorians really found men repugnant. What they had wanted all along was the scrawniest, wimpiest turd this side of Wally Cox. A hopelessly fucked-up nebbishy asswipe of a man whose watery jism would breed the submissive mouseketeers those over-grown pussies could lord over, dominate completely, use for slave labor and when needed — get them pregnant. The next few weeks were a blur of cunts and mouths and tits and assholes and armpits and toes and tongues and teeth and whips and spears and knives and chains. Cunts mercilessly ground into my face like oranges into juice-squeezers until the mere thought of eating another hairpie made me want to puke. Wild-women hopping onto my cock like kids on a merry-go-round, mouths licking and sucking me off until my balls were collapsed lungs. Once one of the bitch-goddesses tried to hack off my dick and wear it around her neck as a souvenir. Fortunately, there were a few more jungle cunnies waiting in line and they stopped her before it was too late. Finally, they’d had their fill and I was brought to the palace gates and booted into the surging crowd of wall-to-wall nymphomania. Hundreds of thousands of cock-starved females tore at my bod like wild dogs fighting over dinner scraps, but somehow — only half-alive and bleeding from places I didn’t even think I had — I managed to fight my way back to the cavern wall that was the boundary of Obgynador. Don’t ask me how I managed it because I don’t know myself, but with a howling mob of untamed squack hot on my heels, I ducked into the elevator, punched the UP button and gratefully felt it begin the slow climb to street level.