Grip 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)
Witches do not wear undies. Why? To get a better grip on their broomsticks.
Chuck: That's my sister, mister, and I'm gonna save her!
Red: snooore, snoooore
Silver: *straining to get outta buff eagle's grip*
Chuck: *goes super sonic speed and breaks outfit*
Chuck VS RED
Both LOSE!
Why does Michael Jackson wear a white glove?
So he won't bite his fingers when he eats a tootsie roll.
Why don’t witches wear underwear?
To get a better grip on their broom.
What does a perverted frog say? Rub it.
Why don't witches wear underwear? To get a better grip on their broom.
What do girls and rocks have in common? The flat ones get skipped.
What is red and goes 200 mph? A baby in a blender.
Why don't witches wear underwear?
So they can get a better grip on their broom.
There was an American wrestler from Texas named John, who throughout his high school career had never lost a match. As he went on into college he continued undefeated. He became a national icon and symbol of American strength.
News began to circulate of a Russian wrestler who was fierce and unstoppable. As each wrestler's legends grew, a match was set up between the two, America versus Russia. The match would be held in Texas.
John began training immediately. Every day his coach would tell him, “This Russian has a move called the Mongolian Death Grip. No one has ever escaped the Mongolian Death Grip. DO NOT let him get you in the Mongolian Death Grip.”
The day of the match finally came. Just before each wrestler stepped onto the mat in front of the capacity crowd, the coach once again said, “Whatever you do, do not let him get you in the Mongolian death grip. No one has ever escaped the Mongolian death grip.”
Four seconds into the match, the Russian had the American in the Mongolian death grip. The coach buried his face into his hands and cursed John for not listening to his advice. All of the sudden he heard the crowd irrupt in a chant of USA USA USA. He looked up and saw the Russian pinned by John. The coach ran out to meet John and embarrassingly told him, “I didn’t see... Once he had you in the Mongolian Death Grip I looked away. How in the world did you get out of the Mongolian death grip?”
With heavy breath, John told him, “Well coach, that Russian grabbed me and twisted my body in ways I never imagined possible. I was wincing in pain when I open my eyes and right in front of me were two testicles. So I bit them.”
“What???” Said the coach... “John I don’t think that is legal. You could be disqualified.”
“I don’t know about that coach. But I can tell you one thing. You ain’t got no idea how strong you are until you bite your own balls.”
Hi guys, so today I am going to do another blog. It's just for fun, and yeah. Enjoy!
So, this morning, when I woke up, I heard that I was getting new grips. I was so excited. (In case you guys don't know what grips are, they are sort of like gloves that go on your hands and they are for gymnastics bars.) I was excited because my old grips don't fit me anymore and my coach was like, "Oh I can get you some new ones since we have a meet in a week." And so I was like, "Oh, that's fine. My parents ordered me some. Thank you though." And she was like, "Okay, that's fine. Just make sure you have them by next week." So long story short, I have new grips now.
Why doesn't the witch wear panties?
To get a better grip on her broom stick!