Smutpunk on Skates Read online

  “You’re licking the dried cum.”

  “I don’t mind. That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

  He licked Heather’s face clean and then kissed her so deeply she almost cracked in half. She was totally spent. She snuggled up against him.

  “You’re so comfy,” She said. He had his arm around her and stroked her back.

  They fell asleep in each other’s arms like that.

  When Heather woke up, there was a box of brand new roller-skates with pink glittery wheels sitting on the kitchen counter.

  Part 2 - Romance with the Alpha Billionaire

  Once turned out, a chick will never be the same. You can now expect all the delights that you never dared to dream of before. Also, you can keep pushing the envelope. Depravity is not a finite unit. Like love, depravity has the capacity to increase infinitely.

  Heather had her hair up in two pigtails, dripping with cuteness. She wore sexy sunglasses with a purple tint. Her lips were stained blood red, thanks to the lollipop she was sucking on lasciviously. Her diaphanous white blouse was too small for her. Her tits popped out of it. Her ass cheeks peeked out every time her short black skirt caught the wind. Her heart panties were the only thing blocking a straight shot at seeing her slit and her asshole. The curve of her pretty ass cheeks—the actual juicy meat—was there for all to see. Her long legs were smooth, tan and sexy as hell in her white roller skates with pink wheels. She spun around, sucked on her lollipop and skated past the fountains of the KLCC toward As Syakirin Mosque. She zipped past all the devout Muslims, with head in their mats, chanting, waving at the Imam as he sang the prayer. She sang the song of her hot ass and skated down the hot pavement, while the smell of rubber trees hung in the air.

  Heather was the pure vision of smut. She was smut. Many Malay girls were smut. All that sexual repression led to one thing, sexual obsession.

  Heather had been together with Charlie the Wok for months now. Ever since she had broken free of that fucker—her old psycho, alpha male, white Anglo Saxon asshole protestant boyfriend aka WASAPB. She had unplugged him and plugged into Charlie the Wok.

  Why did they call him the Wok? He just had this greasy way about him, as if he was deep-fried. The poor bastard wasn’t even fat. He wasn’t a bean pole either. He was what the Korean ladies called greasy, what the Western women called oily.

  Heather knew that Charlie loved her. I mean, hell. He’d pulled out a butt plug that another guy had stuffed up her ass. He’d shown this butt-plug altruism before they were even fucking. That’s a nice guy.

  How many guys have pulled a butt plug out of your ass that he didn’t jam in there himself? Huh? That’s right, none.

  Anyway, Heather skated (butt-plug free) past the beautiful As-Syakirin Mosque, her skirt blowing up in the breeze like she were an Asian Marilyn Monroe.

  Oops, that shouldn’t have happened. Didn’t mean to flash you my pink heart panties while roller-skating, gentleman.

  Over 11,000 worshipers got a glimpse of hot Asian camel-toe when they looked up from their prayers to see what that roller-skate sound was. A few devout worshippers kept their reverent heads to the ground and missed the glimpse of young pussy. Heather wasn’t interested in the mosque, other than to give the pious a little flash. She was really thinking of going to the Citibank headquarters nearby. That’s where that fucker worked. She wanted to strut, flaunt, and make the asshole miss her tight little bootylicious loveliness.

  She skated down the sidewalk, past the palm trees blowing in the gentle breeze and made her way to the massive skyscraper that was the Citibank building. She knew that that fucker would come out for lunch soon and simply skated back and forth on the wide corporate sidewalk.

  Heather was a great skater. She performed. She lifted her leg up, grabbed it to her chest, and spun. She did twirls and jumps and waved her hands like she was a swan about to take off. Sure enough, people stopped and watched. That fucker finally came out. She saw him and was filled with joy of being ogled at lustily by all those office workers while he was powerless to have her. He didn’t show his frustration, if he had any. He just watched her like the confident bastard that he was. She had to admit, white guys just had something that the Malays didn’t. At least over her.

  I mean what am I doing here anyway? She completed her spin and then made her way to the residential Damansara Heights district of the city and sat down for some fried rice with little fish on top with her Mama.

  Lana, Heather’s adopted mama, was an Asian MILF. She was bustier than Heather and equally bootylicious. Heather knew her mother was hot. When they walked down the street together, they usually were stared at, but the Mama was looked at harder, dirtier, with the more lustful eyes. The men who wanted to rut, looked at the Mama. Maybe it was her huge tits. Maybe it was because she just smelled of sex. She had an animal-like musky scent. Lana’s husband was long gone and had left this single Asian MILF to fuck and be fucked by whomever she pleased.

  “Leave that fucker alone,” Mama told Heather. “You have a decent man now. Why can’t you be happy? So he’s a little greasy. So what?”

  “I just can’t. I’m in some kind of haze. I want that fucker to know he’s lost me.”

  “If you still want him to know anything, then he hasn’t lost his power over you at all and he’ll know that, won’t he, lah?”

  “Charlie is just too nice. I need a little challenge,” Heather admitted.

  “Fried rice is greasy and everyone loves it.”

  “I don’t want to date rice, Mama.” Heather took a bite of her fried rice and brought the dish to the sink. “I’ve got to go back to work, Mama.”

  Liam

  The genius of turning a chick out, dude, is that you can string her along at your own pace now. In fact, if you just want to run her down into depravity, seeing her less and letting her have other men will increase her obedience to you and make her try even harder and more desperately to be everything you want her to be. She will satisfy your every whim.

  For months, Heather skated by Citibank headquarters in sexy outfits and put on a show. She didn’t do this every day, but she never missed a week without at least one roller-sexy-flash-panties show. That was her thing.

  Charlie knew about this but thought it best to let this obsession run its course. He knew that that fucker had scarred his girlfriend. Hell, he was the guy that pulled the butt plug out of her ass that day and then took her home and made her his. He had been infatuated with her since she’d first joined their office. She was the perfect woman—in his eyes, so he hoped that her hurt would wear-off and she would be all his. He knew that she was still in some kind of rebound dance. He wanted the real Heather. Not just be a champion to Heather. He would just have to be patient.

  Even though Heather was not totally Charlie’s emotionally, she was his physically and he loved it. Heather was the best he’d ever had in the sack. She was beautiful and sexy. She was a submissive in bed and willing to do anything. The first time they’d made love he put his cock in her ass. She was the first girl to take his dick up her ass before her pussy. It was an omen of how open she would be in the bedroom. She was pliable, flexible and sluttable. It was fantastic!

  As months went by, the sex didn’t decrease much. They still made love each weekend. They spent all Saturday lying in bed, making love. The only breaks were to eat and watch a little TV. On Sunday, Charlie thought it would be best if they got out of the house for a little bit.

  “Let’s get some exercise,” he said. “The Sun is shining. It’s a beautiful day in KL again.”

  That was a joke. Kuala Lumpur had consistently beautiful weather unless it was monsoon season. Therefore, his phrase was incredibly obvious and annoying but Charlie thought it was whimsical. Heather rolled her eyes but she did like skating, so she was game.

  The weather was fucking stupendous. It was sunny and hot, but not stifling. The development across the capital was awesome with its tourist-packed monorails, skyscrapers, and towers. Although t
he modernization was obvious, KL kept the old Victorian charm of the English imperialists.

  Yes, there is charm in imperialism.

  Yes there is.

  Opium, gangbangs, pewter and Victorian homes—that’s what the British gave Malaysia.

  The Chinese built the rest of this unbelievable city. Today, Malays, Indians, Chinese, and Westerners shared it. Heather, a Chindian-Malay, was mixed of everything but white. And maybe that’s why she had a thing for big, Western dick. To be fair, some of these other races had big dicks too, but she gravitated to the cruelty that only a white guy could give her. Charlie the Wok was white, but didn’t possess that ubiquitous dominance. That fucker did!

  As they skated down a big hill toward KL’s Bukit Bintang downtown, she compared the two men in her head.

  That fucker wore a crisp white starched shirt.

  Charlie’s shirt was untucked.

  That fucker wore his brown hair parted neatly.

  Charlie’s was shaved close to his scalp, as if he was an American GI.

  That fucker was always clean-shaven.

  Charlie was shadowed with two or three day old growth almost of the time.

  That fucker grabbed her by the hair when she went down on him.

  Charlie let her swallow his dick at her own pace.

  That fucker slapped her plump pussy lips and even pulled them.

  Charlie nibbled gently on her clit and even tongued her asshole.

  God, I needed that fucker to pound me senseless one more time; to beat me with his massive white dick.

  Charlie’s dick wasn’t small, but that fucker’s cock was a beast and Heather wanted it in her pussy, stretching her out deliciously. She wanted to suck his dick while he tortured her nipples mercilessly.

  Heather and Charlie came down the big hill at high speed. There was a median and then the road forked. Charlie wanted to go right and veered off toward the river, but Heather went ahead and barreled toward downtown.

  Heather shot into downtown at blistering speed. If she could skate like this on roller-skates she could probably win a gold medal on ice skates. She was a blur of sexy.

  That fucker was downtown, waiting for her. He just knew she’d come. When he saw her speeding toward him, he enjoyed the way she exaggerated her form. It made her ass look so full and bulbous. Her legs looked so long and smooth. Her breasts never looked bigger. That fucker thought that Indonesian girls, as he called all Malays—even Chindians, had big, fat asses. They had the thickness of a Muslim with the slender waist of a Chinese chick, he thought. Heaven. He watched Heather roll and licked his chops.

  She was going too fast and he knew she would fall. If she did, he would pounce.

  Charlie, meanwhile, was on the quiet path besides the river, contemplating if he should turn around to get Heather or not. Surely, she would spin around and join him. Right?

  Liam

  I’ll show you how to get her, don’t worry. It’s all about power. They want it and you have it. All her most sacred delights will be yours. You will turn her out. Yes, even you can, hehehehe.

  Heather was speeding on the sidewalk, the sound of roller skates ricocheting loud in her ears while cars honked and people stared and followed her hot ass. Who in their right mind would look away from a hot Asian chick in heart panties underneath yoga pants, flying through the streets? She was the center of attention again and she basked in it. She closed her eyes to feel her own sexiness. It was immaculate. She felt like a goddess. That’s when she hit the log lying across the road (only in Malaysia) at full speed and flipped over. She landed heavily on her back with her head on the ground, her ass up on the log, her skates up over her head, wheels still spinning.

  As predicted, that fucker seized the moment. He appeared, with the blue sky and pristine white clouds enveloping him. He was the Devil. Her Devil. He was handsome and evil. He towered over her and in the backdrop his company’s headquarters towered over him. She felt tiny.

  Heather was stunned by the pain. He took advantage of meekness, grabbed her yoga pants and panties, and yanked them halfway off in one motion. Her little rosebud was right there—puckered. It was expanding and contracting as Heather tried to catch her breath.

  “Help me,” she gasped, but with the wind knocked out of her, there was barely any audible sound. There was no air to engage her voice box.

  In fact, her asshole was breathing better than her lungs. It was opening and closing cutely.

  The asshole was well lubricated with sweat and the morning’s moisturizer, already stretched partly open from the compromising position. That fucker could see the wrinkled rim of her asshole. It was perfectly symmetrical and had little geometrical lines from anus to butt cheek. It was a work of art that Picasso could’ve used for inspiration. That fucker wanted to set up an easel and archive it for the MOMA, but he wanted to take the massive black butt plug from his bag and jam it into Heather’s asshole even more.

  Heather saw the plug in his hand, with sunrays pouring out around it, since he held it in a way that cast a shadow over Heather’s pretty face and blocked the Sun from her eyes. It was like the Sun was a butt-plug from her vantage point. Just as she realized it was a beautiful sight, she then felt the giant solar plug destroy her anus.

  It felt like all of Kuala Lumpur was Heather’s asshole. Her soft tissue, the gatekeeper between external and internal stretched like a balloon filled with helium.

  Stuffed.

  Filled by the plug . . .

  Jammed by the street . . .

  Gorged with Bukit Bintang . . .

  Crammed with KL . . .

  Packed with Malaysia . . .

  Glutted by Asia . . .

  Swamped by Earth . . .

  Overflowing, until all of heaven, space and time was her asshole . . . and it gulped down the butt plug.

  She was fucked. Yeah.

  The swell of her ego . . . getting ogled by all those guys as she skated by was now the swell of her asshole, plugged and at the mercy of one mean motherfucking man. Her ex-boyfriend, that fucker.

  That fucker had plugged her again in this tiny alleyway off from the main Citibank plaza. The handsome devil looked down at her from what appeared to be the clouds, smiling.

  “You’re the Devil,” she whimpered.

  “Ah, good, you’re getting your voice back.” He said. “All the better for me to hear you scream.” He lowered his pants and guided his cock—the big white dick she knew all too well, the one she had been secretly yearning for months—to her opening and jammed it right into her cunt.

  “You’re always so tight when your ass is plugged,” he said as he started jack hammering into her Chindian-Malay cunt.

  Heather felt so full. The plug expanded the walls of her rectum. The space that his cock wanted to occupy inside her was already taken. Plugged. Heather had a big ass, but not so big. That fucker’s big cock and the plug were competing for the same pillowy real estate inside her honey-luscious openings. Where the cock wanted to go, the plug had already staked claim. The plug was creating the pussy of a virgin, even though Heather was far from innocent. She was on her back, in a little office plaza cul-de-sac where she had wiped out and been forced to take her ex’s big, mean cock until his ball sack hammered the plug up her ass, until it literally could go in no more (unless hospitalization was an option). Until she submitted to his every whim.

  That fucker held her hips and pumped away, while the big, black butt plug gripped her tight anal walls and massaged the underbelly of his thick, white shaft until he was on the brink of cumming. He pulled his massive mushroom-headed club out of her cute quivering cunt, brought her leg toward him, kissed her juicy calve in cruel juxtaposition of abuse and love that sent her heart fluttering. He pushed her rollerbladed-foot to his dick. He rubbed his cock on the wheels and moaned.

  “You’re sick,” Heather said as he let her skates jerk him off. Her plump pussy lips were gaping, begging for his cock to come back.

  “I know,” he said. �
��And you fucking love every minute of it. Look at your fat cunt lips flapping in the wind desperately, whore!”

  He pulled on her cunt lips roughly and let them smack back into her pubic bone with a pop. Heather felt like she’d been smacked with a glove.

  When that delicious fucker pushed his victorious dick back into her throbbing pussy, it was utter nirvana for her. Heather saw the Sun dim. She saw stars shoot. She felt like the sexiest roller-skater in the universe. There was that nasty feeling of being an utter slut mixed with the guilty pleasure of fucking an ex. A fantastic orgasm shuttered down her spine and through her lips. Her voice came back and she screamed her own name, “Heather!” as if she was reprimanding herself for being such a dirty little butt-plugged tramp. She pulled his dick deeper with her Kegel muscles and by lifting her hips.

  That fucker couldn’t take anymore. It was like fucking quicksand. Her muscles held him so tight, he felt like his dick would rip off from the root. He stepped back and his cock popped out of her cunt. He stood over her and hosed down her face with his cum. She lapped up some of it, savoring the taste of his superior cum on her tongue as he collapsed onto the log on his back. Most of his cum dripped from her flushed cheeks, sexy chin, and full lips.

  “You know, I thought you owned me, but look at you,” Heather said and then flipped herself up onto her skates adroitly, leaned down and kissed him victoriously on the lips. Now she was looking down at him, her long hair cascading down onto his chest, with sunrays exploding geometrically like a kaleidoscopic halo around her head. She was gorgeous and she knew it. She kissed him, the cum transferred from her cum stained lips to his. She wiggled her head and smeared his cum all over his face triumphantly.