The Adventures of Eggy.
Authors Note:
This is not fan-fiction, though its armature was roughly wooed from a certain sitcom about seven castaways on a desert isle—or something else.
So, not intended as either direct FF or parody, though it was inspired by Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips’ Criminal series The Last of the Innocent, which deconstructed the Archie Andrews comics as violent crime noir. Familiar, but different is the goal. A comment on, not a rip-off of. Except in this case it’s all about sex. And manipulation. And subverting expectations. And product placement.
As with that, though only aspiring to be a quarter as good, the names and situations are reflective rather than referential—these are not intended to be anything but dark mirrors of some comic stock characters—even so I hope they live on their own, generating some laughs and some heat, while the occasional knowing nod of recognition may happen to the attuned reader.
I began with the idea of writing a story that had a new sex act in every sentence. Too hard for me, but the gauntlet is thrown for other writers to pick up. I believe that’s how Faulkner got his start.
So this is a tale that grew from an attempt to write a short short story and failed miserably—it starts hot and heavy, with explanations coming in their own good time.
The good news is that the first part—sections 1—18 are written and will be posted as edited. Enjoy. All characters are of legal age in their fictional jurisdiction. No fish were harmed in the writing of this tale.
BOOK 1, Meet the Egg.
1. HALF AN HOUR AGO
It all started with the big bang. Orgy that is, though technically it may be thought of as two orgies, up in the kitchen and down in the basement rec room where the kids hang out. It was the late-70’s, a time of big screen porn and big hair, skin-tight jump-suits and permissive parenting. Of suburban swingers key parties and big 20 dollar bags of mid-western ditchweed stored in high-school lockers.
On the kitchen’s sunshine yellow linoleum floor Troy thrusts with long slow strokes into Gail’s buttery bum. A foil wrapped package of Dairyland’s Best slowly melts in the summer heat on the floor beside them, finger marks marring the square end where Troy scooped out a dollop to use as a lubricant. She’s wrapped her legs up and over his shoulders and is pushing back and moaning. A thought dimly comes to Troy, “Stella thinks she’s the only “10” in town, but her mother Gail has to be a twelve. Long, longer legs. Bigger, rounder boobs. Tighter ass too.” Not that he’d had much experience with Stella’s ass, just that once, so far, and it didn’t end well. “God Damn”, he exclaimed as he cums yet again, the fifth time in the last two hours. Glancing over he saw both married couples, Carl and Sheila Parker, Sam and Betty Bullman still going at each other hot and heavy. But the fog of lust was clearing, even in his thick sex-obsessed head.
As he slipped out of Gail’s ass, he remembered why he was in the kitchen in the first place, to get something to drink after smoking that bomber with Marc and Eric, and damn he was thirsty. Just then Carl came with a loud groan into Sheila, he’s a big man with a funky near-afro and several bronze and silver medals hanging from his neck, swinging like wind chimes against his large, hairy chest; Carl was sitting on a kitchen chair with Sheila astride him, riding his cock, facing away, her nice full and surprisingly firm tits swaying in time to the music his medals were making, her long groans and his blending like a Gregorian chant accompanying each push into her twitching twat.
What Troy saw was making him jealous. Though tall and good looking, athletic in build yet something of a klutz, and generally pretty dim overall, he was very proud of all the girls he’s “made” and had learned the hard way long ago not to talk about past lovers, and certainly never to current ones, he couldn’t help but boast to the guys, and in turn find himself with the rep of being a stupid swinging dick—in fact he’s the smart-yet-horny monkey in the house that day with the largest number of previous sexual partners, fellow students—and a couple of their mothers, college girls, at least one female gym teacher—it may have been two, but it may also have been the same one twice, he wasn’t sure—and of course sweet ass little Stella, who he breaks up with and later has had back-together-again hot and sweaty sex three times already this year, him just beating the next highest sex-partner counts of Carl then Sheila who are going through a swingers phase to liven their hum-drum middle-aged middle-class white-bread marriage. “Damn! Carl has a huge dick!” Troy observed. Damn Troy loved to say “damn”. And as I said, jealous.
As Troy’s breathing came back down to normal, he reached into the open fridge, its motor whining, straining in an effort of keeping everything cool—forgotten ajar since the whole fuck-fest started. The young hunk flexes his muscles and loudly proclaims “Yeah!", then pulls some OJ in a carton out and closes the fridge. And as he’s a guest in the Bullman’s house doesn’t drink from the container, but pulls down a glass and pours one for himself, then directly down his parched throat. Sheila sees this and gestures, Troy pulls down another glass and fills it, bringing it over to her. She settles down fully impaled on Carl’s hairy monster dick and gulps down the juice, grabbing Troy’s smooth muscular teenage ass with her left hand, bringing him close. With her right hand she grabs a napkin and wraps it around Troy’s soft and messy penis. A few rubs and it starts to rise again. “What stamina!” she thinks. Still slowly grinding on Carl’s stick, she turns the napkin inside out and uses the other side to remove as much of the buttery santorum that clings to Troy’s wang, then pops the slowly hardening organ into her mouth.
Gail slowly becomes aware after the daze of her last orgasm. She watches as Troy brings Sheila the drink. “Hell, he was up my bum, he should have got one for me too. I’d have sucked him off, if I’d thought of it”.
Her attention is drawn to Sam and Betty Bullman going at it, Sam is speeding up and Betty gasping louder, her legs dangling off the kitchen table where she’s sitting, with Sam standing between her gams, as Sam calls them, pistoning into her sopping cunt, rocking the table with each thrust.
Gail gets up off the floor, taking the OJ carton out of Troy’s hands; he’s now swinging it back and forth wildly with occasional sloshes out the top while Sheila is sucking him off, up, down and sideways in time with Carl’s well hung sausage plowing her furrow.
Sheila’d fantasized about Troy’s hot body, but never seen a way to get to him that made sense. What was happening didn’t make sense, but his ass felt firm and tight as she pulled him down her throat. “Damn!” Troy thought again, then had a pang of fear on feeling her butter-greased finger working its way up his butt. “I hope she’s taken that big ring off,” flashed through his squirming mind—he tries to pull back, but her grip is too tight. “Aaaagh, there it is”, as the smooth round opal in the ring rubs against his sphincter and he cums, Sheila is prepared and relaxes her throat, allowing his seed a straight shot at her guts.
Gail takes a long satisfying drink straight out of the carton washing down the last taste of the cum Troy has coated her throat with an hour or so ago. Sam and Betty cum together in a loud squishy sigh, then Gail sits on the table next to Betty, handing her the juice. Betty takes a big slug, and when Sam reaches for the carton Gail snatches it back from Betty’s well-manicured hand. She then slowly pours the last of it across her chest and down into her pussy, then tosses the empty container into the trash in the far corner—a three pointer. “You want some juice—you can get it off me!” she says.
Sam pulls his now deflating somewhat road-worn cock out of Betty and struts over to stand erect as only a decorated ex-petty officer can in front of Gail leans over and begins cleaning her tits with his tongue. Slowly following the trail of juice down her chest, into her navel and down to her Troy cum and tangy juice flavored-filled gash, Sam dives right in. Betty turns to Gail and purrs, “I bet you didn’t know that Sam is the best pussy eater in all the tri-state area. He’s been perfecting his technique for years. Lucky me. Hahaha,” giving off her distinctive half laugh. Gail reaches out to the somewhat frumpy but very naked and sweaty house-wife next to her and plunges her tongue deep into Betty’s shocked but eager mouth.
Sam’s ministrations have got Gail’s motor running again, sweat breaks out across her brow as she strokes the back of Betty’s hair with one hand and gently caresses her left tit with the other, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger, tongues dancing together between gasps for air.
“Sam’s tongue tricks are old news, but Betty, you’ll never find out why,” Gail thinks, remembering a tipsy St. Patrick’s day a couple of years ago that included a memorable secret side-trip to the upstairs walk-in closet with Sam. In her opinion Betty was right; Sam was the best head she’d ever had—including a very talented all-out lesbian college room-mate who shared her bed for two semesters.