From library.erc.clarkson.edu!ub!news.kei.com!hermes.oc.com!news.unt.edu!cs.utexas.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!EU.net!news.eunet.fi!anon.penet.fi Tue Oct 4 14:38:00 1994 Message-ID: <211316Z03101994@anon.penet.fi> Path: library.erc.clarkson.edu!ub!news.kei.com!hermes.oc.com!news.unt.edu!cs.utexas.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!EU.net!news.eunet.fi!anon.penet.fi Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories From: an136033@anon.penet.fi X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.stories Organization: Anonymous contact service Reply-To: an136033@anon.penet.fi Date: Mon, 3 Oct 1994 21:08:52 UTC Subject: STORY: Flyin' Talkin' (m? cons inexplicable) Lines: 66 I awakened on the living room couch from that same horrible dream--the one where the Uzi-packing terrorist gummi bears in loud Hawaiian shirts and Doc Martens take over the world--to find someone pressing against my crotch, mouthing the sleep-induced bulge in my pants. Imagine my shock--it was that flyin', talkin' diaper from the Luvs Disposables TV commercial! "Hiya Sailor," it said in a familiar high-pitched, squeaky voice. "What the hell's going on here?" "Hey, relax! Have a little fun. I'm hungry for your cum, studmuffin! Zip 'em open and drop 'em!" "Nothing doing!" I tried to back away. I was repulsed, but at the same time its offer had a strange appeal. Would this be oral sex or leg-hole sex? Its expressionless, beady eyes regarded me with flyin', talkin' diaper lust. Its leg-hole mouth crinkled up into an inviting smile. My cock felt like a six-inch, inflatable, punch-'em clown. The flyin', talkin' diaper flew up into the air and quickly circled my head a couple of times--narrowly missing the chandelier--while cheerful, perky glockenspiel music filled the air. The flyin', talkin' diaper version of mood music, I suppose. It giggled. "C'mon, c'mon. Let me suck your love prong, babykins. I'm perfectly clean, STD-wise, and I'm factory fresh! Now with the soothing scent of baby powder!" Sure enough, as it spoke, the room filled with an overpowering and perfumy version of the smell of baby powder. I was starting to feel woozy but incredibly horny. Was there some strange additive in the cheap factory perfume? An aphrodisiac? Pheromones? Spanish flies? To this day, I still don't know. "Well, maybe," I was starting to get into this strange situation. Why not, I asked myself. "What's in it for you, my multilayered, paper-and-plastic friend with easy-to-use adhesive fasteners?" "Nothing but the pleasure of bringing joy and happiness to another of my TV friends. I'm a little like Santa, only more absorbent." I was convinced. Anyway, it had been a while since I'd gotten laid. I could really use a good orgasm right about then. I unzipped my pants and slipped them off along with my boxer shorts, freeing my average-sized balloon animal of love. Arf, it seemed to say. "Mmm!" the flyin', talkin' diaper said squeakily as it enveloped my dick with its leg-hole. Its beady little black plastic eyes seemed to cross a little bit with pleasure, but it could have just been my imagination. Up and down, up and down the flyin', talkin' diaper slid on my love tool. The patented lanolin-enhanced protective layers prevented chafing, and I quickly found myself boiling over in a sexual fever. I could hear the waterproof outer shell of the flyin', talkin' diaper crinkling rhythmically as it attended to my lusty needs. This flyin', talkin' diaper gave great head! If that's the right expression to use. Suddenly, I came to a powerful, screaming orgasm. It seemed I could feel each and every one of those tiny, doomed, wiggling sperm shooting up through my internal, miniature plumbing system. My back arched. My balls spun in their fleshy carryout bag. My ears tingled. I suddenly remembered I hadn't sent in my driver's license renewal form. The pleasure seemed to last forever. I called out, "DIAPER! OH, FLYIN', TALKIN' DIAPER! UH! UH! NG! OOOHHHHHHHHHH!" Or something like that. You get the drift. The flyin', talkin' diaper caught every drop of my plentiful penis extract. Luvs are extra-absorbent, you know. I fell back onto the couch, sated and gasping. As the flyin', talkin' diaper sailed out the nearest open window, I called out weakly, "Where are you going? We haven't gotten to know each other, yet." "I'm off to be recycled!" It giggled. "I'm post-consumer waste, now!" I never saw that flyin', talkin' diaper again, but I always sleep with the windows open. Just in case. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- To find out more about the anon service, send mail to help@anon.penet.fi. Due to the double-blind, any mail replies to this message will be anonymized, and an anonymous id will be allocated automatically. You have been warned. Please report any problems, inappropriate use etc. to admin@anon.penet.fi.