Saturday, August 6, 2011


Good evening.  This is a joint post by Hamtackle and Terlet.  Terlet just bought a house and Hamtackle gave him the house warming gift of a bottle of absinthe.  We have both been drinking heavily and are doing a joint post tonight.  It is fucking sexy.  So whip out yer dilder sticks and bum plugs and get ready for ........


Oh, Glistening back of my present conquest, our passion has ignited a memory of lovers past.  The arch of your back spins me into a fury of contemplative splendor.   Reflect  my satisfied visage as I recount you the tale.  

The journey began back in my father's prime,  when I was but a sexual pupae yet to display the glory of my promiscuous  aptitude.   My father dabbled in the sinful magic of many fetishistic practices and I spent the mornings watching the wenches gather their dignity and shuffle back to the gutter their kind find so accommodating.  I dreamt to one day move beyond my petty shamblings and fill my father's sultry boots.  Unbeknownst to him, I shadowed my father in an apprenticeship of the depraved and bore unseen witness to countless carnal atrocities.   It was on such an excursion when upon anointing the prostitute with his lust gravy the door burst open with the fury of a scorned lover.  A three fingered man of transparent lowly birth entered the room with a misanthropic mindset and a handful of flintlock pistol.  With hateful disregard he opened my father's underside with a well placed mound of molten lead.

The whore screamed and ran from the room leaving my father to die, erect and unfinished.  I fled from my hiding in the closet with the single minded intent of retrieving my birthright and enforcing the sexual retribution of my father's legacy on any willing womb in the land.  

And that brings us here, my darling.  Your pulsating nethers engorged with the consequences of a night's fruitful  rustlings.   I implore you to turn your attention from my thrusting, look deep into my passionless eyes and listen to my final musing. Our successful fornication has been seen through to completion by our willful participation.  You will leave my enchanting villa this evening content with the knowledge that you  are now bearing the seed of my clandestine insemination.  

The distaste of your immediate departure may be lessened by the donation of a few meager sheckles.  In time you will grow to understand the painful legacy of bearing my involuntary lineage.  I shall always see your visage in the reflection of other women's back-sweat. 


  1. You seem to think that that man might be Brent Michaels. It is in fact none other than Dame Sir Richard Grieco.

  2. Fuck! Brett, not Brent. Oh just forget it!