Bouncy

by B. Sobjakken

Every jump swung the giant schlong between his legs, leaving nothing to the imagination about his weapon of mass vaginal destruction.

“He’s looking to add his banana to that fruit salad.” I blink. “What?” “You know, batter-dipping the corn dog. Creaming your twinkie,”

“Bringing the al dente noodle to the spaghetti house.”

“You could probably still see if you stand behind the desk. I tend to work harder when I know I have an audience.”

“I want it more than I want the air to breathe.” Her nose scrunches. “I like you breathing.” “And I’d like to munch your krabby patty.”

“Oh my god. What are you saying? He ate your whisker biscuit?”

My eyes widen at the noise so similar to flatulence even though I know for a fact my buttcheeks aren’t flapping. Tears water in my eyes as I blink up at him. “That wasn’t…I didn’t—“ “Shhh, baby,” he says, his hand pressing down on my lower stomach. He surges forward another inch. “Your tight, tiny canal is emptying for me. It’s my victory horn.”

“Fuck, keep that pussy tootin’. Make room for my baby gravy, love.”