Homer Simpson

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Homer Simpson. Like Odysseus searching blindly at sea for the Golden Fleece, so have I yearned greatly for your affection. Only you can quench my endless needs. Only you can bring the sustenance that feeds me sweetly. And fully.

Your smooth yellow skin.

Just the thought of it keeps me raging in the night, softly tickling my highly aroused nerve endings begging just to brush your chest, begging just to dip your pancake hardened nipples into my cavity, that half an inch of flesh working like the thickest cock...adoodledoo. I throb like hot, new fondue!

How many times lover have I reached my peak off of your bright red nipples note tonight? I lose count at 132. Each time it hits, it's like being born new, into your reality, a world of perfection etched by your chiseled gut. Fuck, I cum at the most basic form of thought at the extension leading from your chest.

Now that it's in my mind, I can have nothing else. I must ride your gut like Zorro galavanting away from his enemies, the quest of climax on mind, strictly blind to all else except for my wet, wet separation sliding across the hill of your stomach. I press my hips deeply into your body, and for a second a part of your skin almost slips inside, and for a second I die, because the ecstasy has taken control.

Pour another beer across your chest Homer, and let me feel the sizzling carbonation mixed in with your stagnant sweat override my nervous system, depleting my dopamine for everything it has. FUCK ME, I scream, sliding wildly now across the sheen, basically colliding with Emotion itself, the warrior to take me away to that paradise I only find with you.

I've cum well over a thousand times now, my dear. I've grown quite tired I fear. But my body now lies complete, I could greet death as a friend now if I need. Oh Homer. Let me ride you into my version of heaven forever.

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