Chapter 3: Chap 3: Foreplay while the big tiddies landlord was reciting some deep philosophical shit, I’m not even kidding send help

9:30PM, you know what I did? I did not shower. If the water doesn't work, I'm just not going to, that hoe gotta accept me smelling like rusty old computer keyboard if she want to have my payment. And what do you mean pay the water bills? What kind of weak human being succumb to such capitalist thing? I am a writer, I don't have human rights, I don't pay bills or have lives. I write for fun and die in my sleep with no one that cares enough to do a wellness check and will probably have to resort to dumping my decompose skeleton in a garbage bin somewhere after months of dying and not paying rent.

I do have enough money to transgender myself and get new pairs of boobs and dick, but not any money for food, water or electric, welcome to the 21st century bois.

I never got a chance to be alone with a woman wanting to fuck me before, so at exactly 9:50, I was topless, yes, my titties are shown, but I don't feel like being completely naked, there oughta be something covering my dick; and I chose skirt, because apparently that's hot, according to the trending stories I've been researching on. God damn degenerates, I should have went to college instead.

It's 10PM and I'm waiting for a big titty woman just to slam into my door and get me going.

...

...

...

It's 11PM and I say fuck this, I'm going to sleep. She's not coming.

Maybe my rent is free after she knows that there's a futanari in her apartment.

I was enjoying my sleep shirtless as all NEET writers with no self esteem does when I felt as if some wet oval thing was rubbing on my nipples. Someone was pleasuring me, it was... indescribable, it's... Making my mind go blank, urh- I just want to think about how good it feels, I don't even feel my face, my eyes or anything, it was so sudden and tingly and good... Ah there's electricity running on my nape... Please-

I can't see anything even if my eyes were open, something was covering my face in the darkness of the night, but I can feel a huge pair of jugs on my belly.

"I- uhm" I whispered through my own moaning. "I don't care who the IRS send, I am not paying taxes!"

You are reading story The Writer’s Night at novel35.com

"Relax, poor." A familiar female voice answers with a mouthful of titties (mine). "I'm worse."

"Oya Yanushi? Is that- Ah~... Uerm- Is that... you?" I was disrupted mid sentence by the feeling of teeth on top and below my nipple, and a hand going down my thigh.

"No, I am Ayo Yinusha, the serial bisexual rapist back in the 1800s, I'm immortal, love."

"Who asked?"

I thought that joke was funny, but turns out that just gets Oya or Ayo or whoever this hoe was to got aggressive and grip my cock so tight I squeezes like a puppy toy. "Kya!"

"It hurts..." I tried moving my hand to push her away, not seeing a thing in complete darkness just like the future of my readers; but my attempt was proven useless, maybe because I'm actually enjoying this and didn't want to actually push her away full force but have to act like so so I could get laid without feeling like a hoe. What, don't tell me you haven't done it you whores.

"Ah... Girls with dick, how refreshing," She continued "When was the last time I wonder? The sensation, almost like a sweet red stream in the between and of a white river flowing to the source. I wish for you to may as well enjoy this before death, dear. Since life is nothing but a pool of agony, a stream of impermanent, where we shall always expected to reach the high tides of the doubt, shall I be selfless I do not sure anymore. Never deceive yourself with thoughts like this life is easy and without suffering, accept imperfection with a tolerant and open heart. With each passing day, everything changes, our bodies and thoughts are also different. Everything changes, everything is non-lasting I'm afraid... Even this old thought of mine now. We can forgive others and forgive ourselves, in every moment, I am one with the ever moving motions of laws, I am with the ever circulating molecules that made me. Have you ever thoughts about the days that never ends? I do not wish to open my eyes to another evening with tears and the reminder of packing up those empty... sad nights. I'm afraid, It was one very acceptional thing to tolerate the fact that the sun shall shine on us once more; and the loop of infinite shall conquer what's left of strength. Maybe, and perhaps only maybe, it's possible and we are once above the concept of pain, but then all of a sudden in a bluemoon; the mode of production of material life determines the process of social, political and spiritual life in general. It is not human consciousness that determines their existence; on the contrary it is their social existence that determines their consciousness. Now when at a certain stage of development, the material productive forces of society will come into conflict with the relations of property in which the productive forces have hitherto developed. From being developed forms of the productive forces, these relations have become chains of the productive forces. This contradiction is resolved when there is a new and progressive production relationship in line with the already grown productive forces. As the economic base changes, all the massive superstructure is turned upside down more or less quickly. Now I might be randomly rambling stuff to look smart here; but consider this: All things and their reflections in the human brain are in a state of constant change and development. The source of that development is the struggle between opposites in the heart of things. The mode of development is the transformation of quantitative changes into qualitative changes and vice versa. And the direction of this development is the upward movement in a spiral, not in a straight line. The content of these two principles is reflected in the three basic laws of the materialist dialectic, also known as the law of unity and struggle of opposites, the law of the transformation of quantitative changes into positive ones. qualitative change and vice versa, the law negates the negative."

Yes that's all that this bitch said while sucking on my tits.

"Now then... For the main course, I'm already wet, ehee...~" My lovely landlord then strip my skirt off for me to be naked before getting into position for a cowgirl but not putting it in yet; and yes, I don't wear underwear, I have a dick. That's a poor excuse, I just wanna sleep with the wind blowing onto my crotch, I admit it.

Oh boy, finally losing my virginity, yayyy. But I'm kinda wanna touch her boobs first but at this point I'm too afraid to ask.

You can find story with these keywords: The Writer’s Night, Read The Writer’s Night, The Writer’s Night novel, The Writer’s Night book, The Writer’s Night story, The Writer’s Night full, The Writer’s Night Latest Chapter