A Fictional Story written by Vermyn Carrion!!!
Bin was every bargirl’s nightmare. A rapidly aging ruin of dissolute human flotsam, they shuddered whenever he heaved into view. He was short, old, fat, bi-spectacled, and bald, and he slobbered whenever he opened his mouth. He couldn’t even walk properly.
To tell the truth, he didn’t really walk at all; rather he lurched from one bar to another like a drunken sailor. The rumor among his colleagues was he had Alzheimer’s disease. The rumor among the boites and gin-mills of Fun City was less kind.
All the demimondaines and distaff interests said he had AIDS.
It wasn’t just the way he looked that put the bargirls off. Bin was addicted to a variety of el sicko sexual perversions which, in a properly civilized country, would have put him behind bars (the kind they have in jail, not the kind you drink at) for life.
Among his more printable perversions, he liked to lick girl’s armpits and chew their toes. It wasn’t till he was 68 years old that he discovered the missionary position, and when he did, he rejected it as requiring too much effort.
Slobbering, drooling, doddering, and grossly corpulent, every bargirl gagged and retched whenever Bin staggered into the bar. Most of them ran and hid under the counter, or barricaded themselves in the toilet, out of fear that he would try to buy them out.
If a girl was slow to flee, Bin would spot her, point at her, roar,
“That one! I want THAT one! Yeah! Her! The one with the BIG TITS! I like BIG TITS! I wanna chew and chomp and munch and slurp and gobble on ‘em, y’hear? Grab her! Bind her! And convey her to my waiting chariot!”
Thereupon the hysterically weeping victim would be seized, gagged, trussed up in chains, fettered like a common criminal, and carried to Bin’s waiting tuk-tuk by an army of touts and pimps, subsequently to be whisked to his lair to suffer the multiple penile atrocities that he would inflict upon her ravaged vagina, not to mention sundry other vulnerable portions of her abused anatomy.
In brief, Bin was not loved. But he didn’t care...
“Dirty old men need sex too,”
…he would often say. Indeed, despite his somewhat unattractive persona, Bin was a crusader for the carnal rights of dirty old men.
He had written numerous letters to his congressman in the States proposing an amendment to the Constitution that would give every man over the age of 60 a guaranteed right to daily 18-year-old pussy. He sincerely believed that the best thing that could happen to a virginal young girl was to have some bloated, stinking, disease-raddled, verminous, hiccupping old goat collapse on top of her in a drunken stupor after shooting his sperm-wad into her.
Then he met Jenela! Jenela was a hardened lil’ LBFM who had been working the bars since she was young. She was famous for having taken on 40 sailors from the Seventh Fleet one night, both individually and in groups, on one notable evening in Subic. Now 27, she was working at the Hooyah Bar in Barrio Barretto when Bin came lurching through the doors, gasping and farting, the front of his shirt covered with vomit and the crotch of his pants stained with fresh urine and old gonorrhea-droppings.
Repulsive, disgusting, and sodden with drink, the ravishing lovely Jenela watched with growing amusement and contempt as Bin made his play for one girl after another—and failed every time. His idea of how to win a young girl’s heart was to bellow,
“Hey you! Come over here, take off your bra and sit on my prick. I buy you drink drink.”
That failing, he would grab spastically for any girl who came within reach. Since he was nearsighted, he often grabbed male customers instead. This was one reason why he had no teeth.
Night after night, Bin tottered into the Hooyah Bar and struck out every time. None of the girls would go near him. Occasionally one of them would scream at him,
“Hey, you ugly old mother-fucker, why you no go home to bed? You too old, too fat, too ugly, too dirty for us! No girl want to be fucked by you even if you give her twenny thousand peso!”
But Bin failed to take the hint. He was too drunk, and his cells too ravaged by age and alcohol. When one girl shrieked at him to “Pitt opp,” he couldn’t even manage the translation into English.
Finally Jenela decided to make her move…
“I going to teash dat dirty old mother-fucker a letton,” she boasted to her colleagues. “Jenela fuck him to deat’. You wash.”
The next time Bin stumbled into the bar, Jenela was ready. She immediately sat down in the booth beside him (Bin was too fat for an ordinary barstool) and commenced stroking his inner thigh...
“Herro, wha you name, I rove you too mush, you buy me one drink drink, we go your hotel to fuck,”
…she whispered seductively, all in one breath.
Bin blinked. Voluptuous, busty, and earth-motherish, with a sensuous mouth that promised fellatial ecstasy, he was immediately aroused. Even in his usual comatose, alcohol-fogged stupor, he could tell that this reception was different from the one he usually received.
But Bin was not a man to waste time in unproductive introspection. Instantly, without a word, he grabbed her, pulled her to him, and shoved her breasts into his mouth. That is, he shoved both breasts into his mouth. No, I mean he shoved one breast into each mouth. Well, he shoved each breast into his mouth in turn. You get the idea. (Do I have to draw a picture?) This, as he often bragged to skeptical colleagues, was what he called the ‘direct’ approach.
“…Ohhhhh…,”
Jenela sighed, feigning mammarian pleasure as Bin slobbered all over her bosom, pausing only once to upchuck down her cleavage.
“Bin have no teet’. Like babe!”
Bin removed her middle breast from his mouth and spoke for the first time...
“We go fuck!”
…he announced briskly.
This was going to be tougher than she thought, Jenela realized as she gazed in revulsion at Bin’s flaccid, obese body, stinking with sweat and covered with gray hair, its pubic region dotted with venereal moles, its tiny, wrinkled male member dangling from beneath his protruding belly like an elongated wart hanging from the belly of a giant toad. He collapsed on the bed, vomited once, and commenced snoring like a hog as soon as they got home, his great white belly heaving with the effort of each breath like a pregnant sow in labor.
But Jenela was an accomplished young lady of considerable sexual skills. She managed to awaken him and arouse him through various oral techniques, a detailed description of which I shall omit for fear of offending the delicate sensibilities of the fastidious and gently bred reader. During the process, she made a discovery which other girls had only guessed at. In addition to his other virtues, Bin was impotent. Jenela tried every oral trick she knew, including singing to it, but it would just not get hard... A sort of floppy semi-erection was the best that Bin could manage.
But Jenela, as the discerning reader will already have deduced, was a woman of singular ingenuity. She managed to get Bin into a state of erection, more or less, by tying his organ to a Q-tip with dental floss.
Then she went to work. As Bin lay there, flat on his back, gasping and wheezing like a great beached whale, Jenela got on top of him, inserted his Q-tip-enhanced organ into her, and began to writhe.
Did I say writhe? Writhe is too weak a word to describe the sinuous contortions, the rhythmic grindings, the sensuous pelvic rotations and vaginal thrusts which she performed over Bin’s recumbent and bulbous corpse. He groaned with pleasure…
“More!!”
…he moaned.
Jenela stepped up the pace, shifting into second gear, as it were. She writhed and thrashed and bumped and ground and churned and rotated faster and faster. Bin was gasping and groaning now, and his flaccid little peter was almost able to stand erect on its own, without the aid of the Q-tip, which by now was quite soggy and beginning to bend.
Then, just as he was about to achieve orgasm… the chest pains came. They ripped through his gross body like shafts of lightning…
“Nooooo,”
…he gasped. His body twitched and jerked and fluttered.
Then the orgasm came, in great spasmodic surges, and he flooded Jenela’s thrashing womb with his ancient sperm.
“More!”
…he shrieked with his dying breath. His heart gave one final thump, his vesicle yielded up its last sperm-wad, he voided his bowels in one final convulsion, and Bin lay lifeless on the bed.
Jenela dismounted and gazed in mingled revulsion and satisfaction at the bloated carcass lying in a puddle of its own shit. It was already beginning to putrefy, she realized; but then, it had been putrid from the beginning.
She washed up in the bathroom, got dressed, emptied Bin’s wallet, and left the apartment without so much as a second glance at his decaying corpse.
“For that they should make me a lady of the realm!”
…she murmured as she got into the tuk-tuk.
Meanwhile, deep within the hidden inner recesses of her womb, sperm locked onto ovum and a ‘Little Bin’ slowly came into being!!!
