Face jokes
Jack opened his drying eyes, awoken by a piercing ray of sunlight shining through crooked blinds. A gentle smell wafted in from the corner of what his temporarily blinded eyes knew to be a dilapidated kitchen. It was the one good thing about his life, that smell. He closed his eyes once more and awaited his call.
“Jacky, breakfast time!” beckoned that oh-so-familiar girlish voice. “Oh, silly me, the handcuffs!”
The same footsteps he always heard, the only ones, tapped along the tile floor as each one of Jack’s limbs were freed from the cold metal that imprisoned them. He’d learned not to resist it, and the acceptance was blissful.
Jack slowly dragged himself to the kitchen table, still adjusting his eyes to the light. Moments later, a bowl was slid over to him by a hand he’d become all too familiar with. Oatmeal with little bits of dried apple mixed in. Even after four years, he still liked it.
“Thank you, Randy,” Jack muttered.
“Jill,” said the girl’s voice across from him. The girl’s voice vanished.
“You call me Randy when I’m having my way with you, boy. Understood?” said the balding, sweat-stained man from whom Jill’s voice came.
“Yes, sir.”
“Now hurry up and eat your food. I want to have some more fun before you expire.”
Jack ate obediently, but deep down he grew concerned. Expired? What could Randy mean by...expired?
He thought back to the day everything went wrong. The day he was deceived. His 14th birthday.
Four years...already? Was Jack really about to be an adult? Then expired means...
Jack stood up quickly, hitting his knees on the table with a thud.
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Which one?”
“The one you don’t like to watch,” Jack replied. Randy waved him away dismissively.
Jack paced around the small shack searching for the bathroom door. He passed the heavily locked front door, each lock a memento of his past escape attempts. Finally, he entered the bathroom. No lock, he had to be fast.
Jack searched desperately around the room for anything he could use. If this was his last round before Randy was through with him, it might be his only chance to escape. He opened drawers, scrounged through cupboards, scoured every inch of the floor, but found a small mirror.
“Almost done, Jacky?” called the voice of Jill. “Don’t keep daddy waiting.” grumbled Randy.
Startled, Jack lost his grip on the mirror. Jack froze the second it fell to the floor and shattered.
“Shit...shit!” he whispered sharply, trying to brush the mess away. In doing so, he found a shard large enough to be held. “This’ll have to do...”
Jack slid the shard in his pocket and returned to the living room he had woken up in. The same old deflated mattress was still there, iron bars and all. Randy lay sprawled across it, a pink lace bra covering his hairy chest, matching panties withholding his dense, greasy bush. His waist had grown so fat they hardly fit, until...
SNAP!
The panties seemed to vanish as the waistband broke, springing his embarrassing, already erect penis from side to side.
“Oopsies,” he cooed.
Jack took off his clothes, as was the ritual, and laid them at the foot of the mattress. His sore knees pressed into the stained fabric while he inched closer to Randy’s pulsating cock. Licking his lips, Jack bent down and took the member into his mouth. Randy groaned with pleasure as Jack’s tongue swirled around his tip, diving into the lining of his foreskin to gather what curds of smegma were present. Jack’s nausea at this had vanished long ago, he was merely going through the motions before enacting his plan.
As he throated Randy’s dick over and over again, the man who had trapped Jack for so long began to thrust upward into his mouth, lightly scratching his face with the overgrown pubes that lined the base of his cock. Jack wiggled his tongue in Randy’s urethra, just how he liked it. Anything to get this over with quicker.
“Ungh, fuck...don’t stop Jack, you dirty little whore...I’m so close,” Randy moaned.
Jack sucked harder and harder, faster and faster, all while his hand slowly inched toward the makeshift blade in his pants behind him. With the weapon in hand, Jack gave it everything he had.
“MMMPH FUCK YES, CMON BABY GIVE IT TO ME! OH JACK, OH, OH FUCK, I’M G-GONNA CUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!” screamed Randy, closing his eyes tightly.
He threw his head back and Jack took his chance. With one fell swoop of the glass shard, he sliced Randy’s dick clean off, spitting the half of it still in his mouth out. Jack lunged at the injured Randy, glass still in hand.
“AAARRGGHHHHHH, FUCK! HAAH...FUCK!” Randy cried, semen oozing out of his bloody stump of a penis. He opened his eyes just as Jack thrust the blade straight into his right one, then his left. Left weak from the orgasm, Randy could hardly fight back.
(To be continued in comments)
What's the difference between my father and acne?
Acne waited for me to be a teenager before coming on my face.
President Chumples memorialised Charlie Kirk by saying, "He had a real shot at being president."
That's not a joke. The fat fuck actually said that after pan face got shot.
A black dude hits up a trap house for some crack and Hennessy, flashing his grill and boasting 'bout his gangsta life. The dealer snarls, "Pay up, fool. Or face the pipe!" He shrugs, "I'm broke, n***a." Suddenly, the dealer's ripped enforcer yanks him down, cuffs his hands with zip ties, shoves a vibrating dildo gag down his throat, slaps his ass red with a spiked paddle, then rams his throbbing monster cock into that tight hole, pounding savagely while choking him with a chain collar, flooding his guts with hot cum as he moans, "That's your high, bitch. Addicted yet?"
Halloween. The day we celebrate your face.
My face when “Free Palestine” wasn’t a sales deal.
Bro sat down too close for comfort. I told him to move or he would get hurt.
Come on, how hard could it possibly be To move a few inches? You’re touching my D.
A guy really needs his personal space. Disobey and I’ll shove it in your face.
What the difference between a priest and acne
Acne waits till your 13 to cum on your face
A boy is working on his English homework and asks his father for some help. "Dad, what's the difference between 'potential' and 'reality'?"
His dad replies, "I'll tell you what. Go ask your mother if she'd sleep with Robert Redford for a million bucks. Then go ask your sister if she'd sleep with Brad Pitt for a million bucks. Once you have their answers, you'll know the difference."
So the boy goes to his mother and poses the question: "Would she sleep with Robert Redford for a million bucks?"
She answers, "Don't tell your Dad, but yes, I certainly would!"
The boy then goes to his sister and asks her his next question: "Would she sleep with Brad Pitt for a million bucks?"
"Oh definitely!" she answers, without a moment's thought.
The boy goes back to his father, an expression of understanding on his face.
"You're right, Dad, I know the difference now. Potentially, we're sitting on two million bucks. In reality, we're living with a couple of sluts."
One day I was walking next to a homeless man, and he was eating grass. I asked him if he was hungry. He said yes. I said, "Follow me." You should have seen his face when I showed him my backyard!
Unfortunately, I had bad luck and faced infidelity.
Picture this: the bedroom door opens and I see my girlfriend in bed with two men...
I didn’t expect her to come back so early.
Q: How do you stop babies from being conceived through incest?
A: Cum on your cousin's face.
Hey, do you know who Dragon248 is? No, who is he? He's dragging these balls off your face.
Why does Batman’s mask only cover half of his face?
So the police can see that he’s white.
Roses are red, Epstein's face turned blue.
Trump's on that list, And there's nothing he can do.
The only thing funnier than the shooting of that healthcare CEO is imagining the look on his wife's face when she got the hospital bill.
Lemme tell you a little story.
It’s night. You’re in your room, trying to sleep. But you keep hearing it—scratching. Soft at first. Like fingernails on wood. You tell yourself it’s rats, or the house settling. But it keeps going. Slow... then faster.
So finally, you get outta bed. You get on your hands and knees, put your ear to the floor. And you hear it. A voice. Whispers. Crying.
Your heart’s pounding. You grab a crowbar. You pry up the floorboards. One by one. Your sweat’s dripping into the dust. The noise gets louder.
And finally... you peel back the last plank.
And you see these eyes. Wide and terrified. And a pale little face staring up at you.
BOOOOOOO!!!!
It’s Anne Frank.
Roses are red, violets are blue.
My heart is dead because of you.
Actually, not because of you... because of your face.
I rule my women with an IRON FIST!!
Yeah, literally an iron that my fist is clenching against her face.
I like it when your mom keeps on top of things.
(Male fantasy)
Yeah, on top of me on the living room carpet, snogging my face off.