Breakfast at Tiffany’s

This is my entry for the Euphoff competition for deliberately bad erotica. I hope you find it as dreadful as I do. For more awfulness have a look here

If your love sausage performed, if your manmeat assuaged her voracious sexual appetite, Tiffany would invite you to stay the night and cook her breakfast, a feast of bacon and eggs and black puddings that broke through the skin like monstrous bellends, and, of course, sausage. I stood at the cooker, my rising member pushing hard against the knobs, in a throb of anticipation. ,

“One sausage or two?” I asked Tiffany as the fat in the frying pan began to spit.

“Only one “she said, dropping to her knees before me, “the love sausage I enjoyed so much last night. She parted my dressing gown and took the hanging meat my manhood into her marvellous mouth. My shaft of satisfaction swelled in the voluptuous currents of her mouth.

I grew hard as she licked at the lollipop of delight, sucked at the sherbet fountain of sensuality and said

“I want you inside me again, I want your meat in the cavern of delights that is my vagina, I want that manly mayonnaise swimming up to my egg.  And then who knows?”

“You want to make a baby?”

I had hardly dared hope for this but she dashed my rising dreams of fatherhood.

“Next time maybe, but not today. That fucking app. That fucking useless app.. I’ve come on and I’m early. But so what? There’s fun to be had this way too!   I am so horny!  I want you, want to bathe your love sausage in my sensual sauces.”

She took me in her mouth again, made me hard, then pushed the bulging Bratwurst of my loins into her womancave. She gasped as she came and I withdrew, saw my proud pole of pleasure, a love sausage seasoned in the consummate ketchup of her endometrial effusion.

I went back to the cooker, cracked two eggs into the pan of sizzling fat.

“Black pudding too Tiff?”