Sofa Kingdom

“The one who learns and learns and doesn’t practice is like the one who plows and plows and never plants.”

― Plato

The black beauty ― each tit the size of a 20 pound medicine ball ― lay prone and strapped to the mattress, unable to move. Such was by her request.

An impossible maze of rope ― the intricacy of Charlotte’s Web ― secured her to the Sealy Serta, and kept her from goin’ anywhere.

A white gargantuan ― with a hula hoop-sized afro ― worked the lewd lariats like a desperate sailor battling the arctic seas, during peak fishing season.

From this position, the immobilized woman barked orders, and kept the attention of the hotel room on her. “So, you’re Hugh?!” the ensnared sub with a mouth queried, as I entered the temporary accommodations.

The shabby shelter reeked of sweat, with a desert dry drop of urine to give it that “real” feel.

Outside, the Starsky & Hutch glow of the Circus Circus sign stamped the acrid night like an “IMPORTANT INFORMATION ENCLOSED!” notice on a package.

Of course the do-it-yourself anal tattoo kit you ordered through Amazon Prime is labelled “IMPORTANT!” Do you really think Jefe Bezos wants you feeling like just another SKU Number ― even though that’s exactly how he views you? Do you honestly think you’ll ever see an “UNIMPORTANT INFORMATION ENCLOSED!” sticker slapped across any package at all?

Smiling, I responded, “Yep, I’m Hugh.” I hadn’t been in the dilapidated dive 10 seconds, and I’d already been spoken of ― hopefully in rhapsodic terms.

“I’m Sparrow,” the prone woman replied, futilely attempting to raise a hand, in a welcoming gesture.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Sparrow,” I acknowledged.

“Let’s cut to the quick,” the horny woman snapped. “I heard you got a huge dick.”

“I― I suppose,” I reciprocated.

“Well, I wanna see it. I wanna see if I’d be able to take it―”

An assertive knock ; a glance through the peephole; a twist of the knob; and suddenly we were in the midst of yet another porn actress of limited renown.

“I’m Tonya Tickles!” the bubbly brunette announced, as she entered.

That was all it took for a cell addict to access porn, and determine the newbie in question had done XXX features, and they’d been uploaded to at least one site.

“I still wanna see that giant cock, Hugh!” came Sparrow’s squeal from the other bed.

“Which one’s Hugh?” Tonya questioned, pointing to the men about the room.

“That would be him,” one of the other attendees motioned my way.

“Come here,” Tickles gripped my groin, leading me to the mattress. “Let’s see what you got for me.”

From the opposite box spring, Sparrow stared intently.

At that point, it was a free-for-all, as Tonya was the nitrous necessary to ignite this turbo.

My fly was unzipped, and eight inches of soft cock released, as I straddled Miss Tickles’ face at the edge of the bed. Lubing my lance with Candy Apple groin grease, I dipped my dong as far down the Internet star’s throat as I could.

Behind the sea of sex that had suddenly burst forth, Sparrow was unable to get a clear view of my shaft and straining head.

Twisting Tonya’s tight twat toward me, I eased my erection into her horny hole, as she pushed back. “Jesus, I’ve taken some big cocks in my day, but damn, man—!”

Glancing to the left, I spied Sparrow struggling to see.

Thrusting forward with vigor, I impaled the porn actress, as she lashed out at my chest, pushing me away.

“Fuck, dude!” Glaring back in a mixture of anger and lust, Tonya’s eyes widened. Protecting herself, she curled into a partial ball, so I’d be unable to fuck her any deeper.

“I wanna see! I wanna see!” Sparrow interjected.

One more quick stab into Tickles, and the adult thespian retreated to a corner of the bed. “I’m tappin’ out!” she exclaimed. “I’m tappin’ out!” A Judo chop to the floor, NASCAR style, and the checkered flag had been waved.

In response, I gripped my hammer at its base, and wandered over to the edge of the bed, facing Sparrow, so she could get the optimal view of my concentrated cock.

“Oh, damn! That ain’t goin’ in here,” she announced, with a truncated nod to her pussy. “You’re too big for me! I sure do like watchin’ you stroke it, though.”

“Mind if I touch you?” I reached a hand out to Sparrow’s bountiful breasts.

“Go right ahead,” came her rejoinder, as she did her best to arch her back, and present her titanic left tit.

That barrier between bodies breached, I bent forward, feeling her flabby flesh fall through my fingers the way whatever’s inside a Stretch Armstrong might end up oozing through one’s flanges.

Without warning, the alabaster anomaly with the love bush reemerged, sliding a well-lubed, 8 inch dildo to the hilt, inside Sparrow’s pussy.

A fan of tandem routines, I spit on my index and middle finger, and began workin’ her clit, simultaneously. A couple orgasms later, and the door to the room burst open, as yet another horny honey entered the fray, racing headlong for my hot dog.

“Isn’t this the most beautiful cock you’ve ever seen?!” the latest edition squawked. Immediately sucking my shaft, the naughty newbie gazed into my eyes. “I know you don’t remember me, but I’ve sucked your dick three times now at the club!”

Re-entering the fray alongside, Tonya shared my schlong, as I received that coveted dual blowjob all men crave.

Here at this forbidden hotel party, I felt like a local rock star with a few groupies. It was exactly what I needed, but again, not what I wanted. I knew the night would end, and I’d eventually revert back to a state of depression ― a Jekyll and Hyde.

In Covidia, that was the default setting ― one of deep despair, and a sense of dread. How could it be anything but?

Covidia: Where every day is Halloween, since we’re constantly covered in face masks.

Fearful, we listen to the 2-D heads on the telescreen, and capitulate with their demands to separate from each other. Those we’ve placed in “power” call it “social distancing,” and tell us it’s for our health. In reality, compliance to it is bringing our species to its knees.

We’re one race; one organism. How can anything but cohesion be good for us?

Still, we obey our “masters” ― like the docile drones we’ve become ― and “mask up,” as though it’s not only the right thing to do, but fuckin’ cool!