Press jokes
Why can't 12 boys go down the elevator? Because they have nothing to press the buttons.
Have you heard about my new can crushing job?
It's soda-pressing.
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)
I don't really trust the press. Sometimes they wear badges that say "press," but if you press those badges, they just fall over, all surprised.
I'm doing something Stephen Hawking can't do... pressing "I'm not a robot."
Did you hear of my new job as a can crusher? It's soda pressing.
Why did he die?
Because God made a mistake and pressed Ctrl+Z.
How much context, pecker? You Press context categoria, go Discord.
Drink tea with friend game night.
I hate my job—all I do is crush cans all day. It’s soda pressing.
Why is drinking soda so sad?
It's soda-pressing.
If you make jokes about SH, you're not funny, and if you do, I'm gonna assume you're some 12-year-old who wants to be an edge lord. I don't really care if people get pressed.
Have you heard about the corduroy pillow cases? They've been making headlines.
Whenever I see a dog video, I just take a second to press paws.
Q: What do you call a sad soda?
A: Soda-pressing.
President: Them damn flat faced n**g*rs!!
Man: We have the power of the sun itself!
President: Drop it on them!
Man: You push the button.
President: *sigh* Fine give it to me.
Man: Hands over button
President: Pushes it
Both: YAAA!
President: Bumps into the button pressing it again
Both: Oh, sh*t!
Meanwhile in Japan after the first bomb went off
Japanese man: Ah sh*t here we go again
Did you know that Stephen Hawking's death was an accident because he pressed "shut down" instead of "sleep mode?"
How do you blow up an Indian? Press the red dot in the middle of their forehead!
🤣😂😆😁
Why do orphans play GTA?
To be wanted.
Why do orphanages give out free phones?
So you can press the home button.
What songs do people with no arms listen to?
None, 'cause they can’t press play.
I will tell you a story. There was a fruit named Pear who was named Dyck. He one day met his friend Carrot, who was later killed after being stuck into some girl's vagina.
Pear then became very sadistic and no one loved him, and he became mentally fruit-pressed. One day he met a Banana named Harvey Weinstein, and they got married and had children who were all named Minion. Eventually, the rest of his family died, and Pear was left slowly rotting away. His last words were, "I have finally 'peared' the consequences of all my actions."