deepundergroundpoetry.com
R U Just a Brain in a Vat, & if so, How Does That Affect Your SEX Life?
The PROBLEM I'm having here is getting A GRAPHIC image of this.... Burg-sow, my SWEET STAFFED SLAVE MASTER, Honey CUMMER of AN WHOREHOUSE MOUSE WHAT? ERRINGLY TASTY SPURTS OF SPERM so utterly delicious that tears of joy flowing from my eyes mingle with the streamers of your precious ejaculations dripping down my chin after spurting in gouts from my nostrils each time your thrusting penis retracts from my spasming glottis long enough to fill my eagerly sucking mouth to overflowing AS your divine whore-ship's full mess graciously grants me mere moments to gulp a few mouthfuls of air between bouts of beast-he-ill pelvic pumping pounding my bloody lips to shreds a brief respite, so I won't suffocate, butt can continue to give you all the pleasure my poor efforts at labouring in love's vinyards can produce in my oral whorshipping of your blessed lingam. OF COURSE, I WISH no greater gift from you than to sit by my iPad awaiting your e-MALED DEMANDS for my incompetent secret-airy-all services. The IMPERIOUS MANNER in which you direct me to "CUM UP WITH CLEARLY FREE MALE VIEWED POINTS ABOUT HAVING HUGE ELEPHANT COCKS THRUST UP MY BLOODY ANUS, VIVIDLY RECALLING TO MY HORRIFIED IMAGINATION WITH SADISTIC CRUELTY HOW THAT PIG-IN-HUMAN-FORM VIOLATED MY POOR YOUNG HINNEY IN SEE-CUNT GRADE, IS SUCH A SADO_MASH_CHRIST_ON_A_STICK SICK TURN OFF I CAN'T BELIEVE I STARTED OUR INTERNET LUST AFFAIR W/O ANY SAFE WORD; HOWEVER, WHAT CAN I DO NOW EXCEPT SUBMIT TO YOUR BASEST CRAVINGS AS EVERY WOMAN HAS TO HER MASTERFUL HUSBAND SINCE SOCIETY DECREED THAT IN-TIT_TUITION WE WOMAN MUST PAY THE PRICE WHORE, SO YOU CUNT UNDERSTAND WHY WE'D REAM OR WORTHLESS HEADS WITH SILLY DREAMS OF MANHOOD? I TRULY 1/2 tried, MASTER (Reaching up to ease your bondage collar, which I LOVE showing off during endless hours of searching out your favourite fad foods at every super market within a month's trek over treacherous ice-clogged mountain passes to all the lesser slaves who ONLY wear golden rings on the hairy third finger, meaning not even second blessed, of their left hand, traditionally the hand sex-clusively used for wiping shit off your ass or slapping a selfish bitch up side her head 4 keeping her legs crossed when you REALLY need a piece and meaner servants who wear not even rings but company or school uniforms to announce their menial single status with mini skirts to keep their male cow-jerkers or ball-sack-epidemic deep-throw-up traitors TNT state of constant pre-eruptive erect irons, required 4 smother piece-filled fuck-you-ing society, butt you've very thoughtfully cinched the heavy brass studded rhinoceros leather recycled dog collar, "What's good enough 4 my bitch wasn't good enough 4 my Princess!" you'd witless sly quipped, half choking me 2 death b 4 kicking my worthless butt into the abandoned outhouse, where I sleep uncomfortably curled around the splintered remains of the throne when you've got better toys to play with, & strolled away whistling, "Yell, 'Oh, Nose of Sexy Nark, Anna, weight 40.'" to lovingly award your favourite hunting hound, Priestess, with a soft new collar 4 being your beast fiend. Giving me a chance to sir-erupt-tissue-please ease your slave collar off my wind pipes just enough to croak:)
Please observe the difference between searching for "Brain in a vat" or "FAG with his legs spread wide upon an observation table with a suction tube on his member hooked up to some sensor machines" even simplifing the search to "FAG on observation table hooked to sensors" didn't help... so because it's an unfamiliar situation to me, of course, and I NEED a place to begin, a hook to hang my imagination on, if that isn't too weird an idea? May, I take the VIVID brain-in-a-vat image as a starting point, BUNG-HOLE STIFFENER, Sirrah?
[Begin BRAIN IN A VAT...]
The two FEMALE re-searchers [though to be COMPLETELY HONEST the one with Neanderthal features called by the obviously fake and not even very feminine-sounding name, Burnt-toe Skiff-leer, who handles complaints at was actually a transgendered SHE MALE, genetically a MALE although superficially now a WOMAN, currently here at this lab belonging to famed CyberSexual scientist Denise "69-all-day-long" Wilkinson, who as usual was doing as well as the Goddess of Health, which position she had once held, in fact. Burnt-toe was here in Denise's laboratory for help with a rather trivial problem for her that had underwhelmed his, sex-cuse me, superficially her, butt at a deeper level still hampered by masculine limitations preventing fully objective scientific thinking.]
"What kind of questions would you ask a FAG, like I used to be before you helped me see the light and arranged my surgery with Dr. Feel-good," Inquired the hirsute APE WOMAN, BURNT-TOE, grimacing obscenely at the svelte Denise, in a blatant attempt to ingratiate himself which was both completely ineffective and totally unnecessary since Denise had magnanimously decided to help the poor incompetent GHOULISH Gorilla-form girl/boy monstrosity beside her despite his boorish behaviour.
"Can you define the situation a bit further, so I may proceed to establish parameters for our pet brain?" Brilliantly clarified Denise patting the large jar containing a disembodied brain with her right, or most honour bestowing hand, instinctively not disrespecting the 90% deceased former colleague, whose every sensory input she now fully determined with the equipment intricately wired to it's cortex.
The Tog-daylight nodded his feeble partial understanding and explained what he'd hoped to find instead of a brain floating forlornly in a fluid-filled jar. "Oh, well this HOMO would be restrained with his legs spread wide upon an observation table with a suction tube on his member hooked up to some sensor machines, see?"
Nodding and pointing out that such a situation was duck soup to input, then doing so with a few quick finger taps on her keyboard, the lead researcher asked Burnt-toe for some examples of the sort of questions he had in mind. He listened and thought it over with obvious difficulty then haltingly explained his feeble concepts as follows:
"We should ask the restrained faggot stuff like, 'If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?' or 'For male ANAL sex, which position do your prefer: TOP or BOTTOM?' and maybe, 'Why do you CLAIM to feel so comfortable with another MALE'S penis in your ASS? Why do you need this feeling?' And so on.."
Denise nodded reassuringly at her feeble-minded ass-is-tense, then frowned in a bewitching fashion, which would have instantly become more famous then the Moana Lisa's smile save that tragically there was no photographer present to record the magical moment, recalling the poet's lament about flowers blooming unseen and wasting perfume on desert air. "Your questions are a good beginning," Candy Cum, as she called her jurassic colleague to reassure him that his sperm didn't taste so disgustingly nasty she nearly gagged on it every time she sucked him off and swallowed multiple mouthfuls of the fetid fluid, the angelic investigator explained, "but I'll use them to come up with some good CLEAR ones. I mean from my really 100% FEMALE viewpoint," Burnt-toe, "although I'm a wee bit concerned because you couldn't read my last email, as it seemed the information was too much for your over-worked mind to absorb all at once, so maybe you should take a bit of time off to collect some more data for us to look over a little later on &, of course, in your free time if you want to work on a romantic story about us, please don't doubt for an instant that I unstintingly approve of that!" She smiled on him beatifically, to show how fully she stood behind his show of independent initiative.
"Meanwhile, let's clarify and input what you've suggested so far. Hmm.... Tsk, tsk, Burnt-toe" the Genius of Interview clucked illuminating his inherently hampered male mind with the white light of female holiness, "Simply put yourself in the FAG'S position and eliminate the unnecessary. We already have some FACTS in hand.
We KNOW he doesn't meanly "claim to need" but actually enjoys having another man's penis in his ass because he IS a FAG who happens to be fixated on ANAL SEX. Otherwise, he wouldn't BE a FAG, so it's as silly to ask your questions as it would be to ask a glass of water why it claims to be wet or needs to evaporate when the humidity is low, understand?" A light begins to grow in Bung hole's eyes and she smiles upon him beatifically b 4 continuing...
"Furthermore, not only FAGS but any BODY automatically takes the entire world as the domain of their desire, so what's left to input is...." Her fingers dance across the keypad... "What do you want for yourself? Please rank the sex acts you perform willingly from most to least favourite." Denise nods, reflects for a moment, then taps in another, saying, "Here's an interesting one, 'Could you be satisfied by a woman wearing a dildo buggering you, and, if so, what would you be willing to do to her after she got you off?' That should stir up the old brain's horny cells a bit." Laughing gaily, she patted the jar fondly, need I point out with her honourable RIGHT hand? Then, gathering her purse and motorcycle keys from a nearby stand with her right hand and snagging her helmet in the crook of her left arm, leaving her hand free to turn the doorknob, she headed for the street calling back over her right shoulder, "It's NOT a computer, Burnt toe, those answers will take a bit of time. Help yourself to snacks from the fridge & use whatever you need 4 your data gathering. I'll be back later, and you can tell me all about...." her voice is cut off abruptly as the door swings shut leaving the Ape Thing alone with the FAG in a BOTTLE.
[ End BRAIN IN A VAT! ]
& Of course the MAIN POINT is we're actually all probably brains in vats. :D
Please observe the difference between searching for "Brain in a vat" or "FAG with his legs spread wide upon an observation table with a suction tube on his member hooked up to some sensor machines" even simplifing the search to "FAG on observation table hooked to sensors" didn't help... so because it's an unfamiliar situation to me, of course, and I NEED a place to begin, a hook to hang my imagination on, if that isn't too weird an idea? May, I take the VIVID brain-in-a-vat image as a starting point, BUNG-HOLE STIFFENER, Sirrah?
[Begin BRAIN IN A VAT...]
The two FEMALE re-searchers [though to be COMPLETELY HONEST the one with Neanderthal features called by the obviously fake and not even very feminine-sounding name, Burnt-toe Skiff-leer, who handles complaints at was actually a transgendered SHE MALE, genetically a MALE although superficially now a WOMAN, currently here at this lab belonging to famed CyberSexual scientist Denise "69-all-day-long" Wilkinson, who as usual was doing as well as the Goddess of Health, which position she had once held, in fact. Burnt-toe was here in Denise's laboratory for help with a rather trivial problem for her that had underwhelmed his, sex-cuse me, superficially her, butt at a deeper level still hampered by masculine limitations preventing fully objective scientific thinking.]
"What kind of questions would you ask a FAG, like I used to be before you helped me see the light and arranged my surgery with Dr. Feel-good," Inquired the hirsute APE WOMAN, BURNT-TOE, grimacing obscenely at the svelte Denise, in a blatant attempt to ingratiate himself which was both completely ineffective and totally unnecessary since Denise had magnanimously decided to help the poor incompetent GHOULISH Gorilla-form girl/boy monstrosity beside her despite his boorish behaviour.
"Can you define the situation a bit further, so I may proceed to establish parameters for our pet brain?" Brilliantly clarified Denise patting the large jar containing a disembodied brain with her right, or most honour bestowing hand, instinctively not disrespecting the 90% deceased former colleague, whose every sensory input she now fully determined with the equipment intricately wired to it's cortex.
The Tog-daylight nodded his feeble partial understanding and explained what he'd hoped to find instead of a brain floating forlornly in a fluid-filled jar. "Oh, well this HOMO would be restrained with his legs spread wide upon an observation table with a suction tube on his member hooked up to some sensor machines, see?"
Nodding and pointing out that such a situation was duck soup to input, then doing so with a few quick finger taps on her keyboard, the lead researcher asked Burnt-toe for some examples of the sort of questions he had in mind. He listened and thought it over with obvious difficulty then haltingly explained his feeble concepts as follows:
"We should ask the restrained faggot stuff like, 'If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?' or 'For male ANAL sex, which position do your prefer: TOP or BOTTOM?' and maybe, 'Why do you CLAIM to feel so comfortable with another MALE'S penis in your ASS? Why do you need this feeling?' And so on.."
Denise nodded reassuringly at her feeble-minded ass-is-tense, then frowned in a bewitching fashion, which would have instantly become more famous then the Moana Lisa's smile save that tragically there was no photographer present to record the magical moment, recalling the poet's lament about flowers blooming unseen and wasting perfume on desert air. "Your questions are a good beginning," Candy Cum, as she called her jurassic colleague to reassure him that his sperm didn't taste so disgustingly nasty she nearly gagged on it every time she sucked him off and swallowed multiple mouthfuls of the fetid fluid, the angelic investigator explained, "but I'll use them to come up with some good CLEAR ones. I mean from my really 100% FEMALE viewpoint," Burnt-toe, "although I'm a wee bit concerned because you couldn't read my last email, as it seemed the information was too much for your over-worked mind to absorb all at once, so maybe you should take a bit of time off to collect some more data for us to look over a little later on &, of course, in your free time if you want to work on a romantic story about us, please don't doubt for an instant that I unstintingly approve of that!" She smiled on him beatifically, to show how fully she stood behind his show of independent initiative.
"Meanwhile, let's clarify and input what you've suggested so far. Hmm.... Tsk, tsk, Burnt-toe" the Genius of Interview clucked illuminating his inherently hampered male mind with the white light of female holiness, "Simply put yourself in the FAG'S position and eliminate the unnecessary. We already have some FACTS in hand.
We KNOW he doesn't meanly "claim to need" but actually enjoys having another man's penis in his ass because he IS a FAG who happens to be fixated on ANAL SEX. Otherwise, he wouldn't BE a FAG, so it's as silly to ask your questions as it would be to ask a glass of water why it claims to be wet or needs to evaporate when the humidity is low, understand?" A light begins to grow in Bung hole's eyes and she smiles upon him beatifically b 4 continuing...
"Furthermore, not only FAGS but any BODY automatically takes the entire world as the domain of their desire, so what's left to input is...." Her fingers dance across the keypad... "What do you want for yourself? Please rank the sex acts you perform willingly from most to least favourite." Denise nods, reflects for a moment, then taps in another, saying, "Here's an interesting one, 'Could you be satisfied by a woman wearing a dildo buggering you, and, if so, what would you be willing to do to her after she got you off?' That should stir up the old brain's horny cells a bit." Laughing gaily, she patted the jar fondly, need I point out with her honourable RIGHT hand? Then, gathering her purse and motorcycle keys from a nearby stand with her right hand and snagging her helmet in the crook of her left arm, leaving her hand free to turn the doorknob, she headed for the street calling back over her right shoulder, "It's NOT a computer, Burnt toe, those answers will take a bit of time. Help yourself to snacks from the fridge & use whatever you need 4 your data gathering. I'll be back later, and you can tell me all about...." her voice is cut off abruptly as the door swings shut leaving the Ape Thing alone with the FAG in a BOTTLE.
[ End BRAIN IN A VAT! ]
& Of course the MAIN POINT is we're actually all probably brains in vats. :D
Published 4th Sep 2014
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