My Most Fucked Up Post Ever

I'm naming this post in advance, so there is a high standard to live up to, but I am off to a nice start with the find of this pic.  Seriously.  Seriously.  But, no pressure.  I'm crazy tired here at work, but at least the intertubes came back to me like the whore she wishes she were and here we are back together again, me in my kinky duds, her in her birthday suit on a Sunday morning coming down.  What should we do, Johnny Cash?

Does this chick have a pacifier?  Oh hells, yes.  And, she's molesting Alice.  Most fucked up post ever.  How?  How?  Please, Jesus, how can I make this fucked up?  Shit, I wish I had my bible, and I don't mean my Real Analysis book.  A Martha Stewart Living, at least.  An O magazine (hints at having orgasms, but shhh) could work, if you get off on Dr, Phil.  Who doesn't?  WAIT A MINUTE!  Dr. Phil, Martha Stewart, and Oprah having a three-way is about as fucked up as it gets (if you throw in Mel Gipson), so... Dr. Phil, Martha Stewart, and Oprah having a three-way it is!

Dr. Phil, Martha Stewart, and Oprah Having a Three-Way

"My tuna roll is ready, guys,"  Martha quipped as she walked toward her dinner guests.  "Sergio, dinner will be served at 8:42.  We'll be out on the patio enjoying this luscious evening when you have the table ready."  As Martha gently took Oprah's hand to guide her to her pride and joy, her marvelously decorated screened-in patio overlooking her vineyard™, she could sense Oprah's tension.  "She carries her tension in her hands," Martha noticed again.  Not sure if it was her tuna roll again or Phil's presence, Martha decided to move forward with the plan, as usual.

Phil was in surprising form this night.  His head was shined, and his mustache trimmed, sure, but there was something else.  Something more ephemeral in his demeanor that made him more appealing than usual.  This pleased Martha, and pleasing Martha was feeding into Phil's positivity, creating one of those positive feedback loops he's always talking about.  All were impressed, and the only thing that could have made the evening more perfect would be for Wayne Dyer to see it (little did the three know Sergio had arranged this very thing via the video camera set up in Martha's three-way room).

With Phil on one side and Martha on the other, Oprah sipped her wine, white of course to go with Martha's famous tuna roll.  Though Oprah had made her quest for orgasm very public, diminishing the shame for all women in seeking pleasure in their vajayjays, it was not until she and Martha finally hooked up that her own desire had been fulfilled.  This didn't surprise Oprah.  Everyone knew Martha was not only a woman with power and prestige, but one with time on the inside (the literal inside) and that's what it takes these days to know what women want.  Mel Gipson had tried, and we all expected much of that episode.  After all, he is the epitome of What Women Want, according to his movie's trailer, but he just didn't know what Martha knew and Martha knew he knew he didn't know, and this made her glow on this lovely evening.

Don't get me wrong, Phil's presence was not extraneous.  His potency could be felt for miles around as he kissed Oprah's neck and gently squeezed her bootilicious buttocks.  Sergio, again with his exceptional timing, entered the scene to prolong the savory anticipation of the stars.  It is his gift.  With Martha's tuna roll consumed, the three took their respective leaves to change into their silky robes.  Oprah could feel a slight buzz coming on and a flush fill her loins.  She pushed thoughts of her show on alcoholism out of her mind as she poured herself a stout one.  If she were going to take on Phil's stout one again, she was going to need it, even with Martha's help.

Phil, oblivious to the pristine decor of Martha's three-way room, wrote a chapter of his next book in his mind as he waited for his fellow moguls to arrive.  Martha's three-way room was amazing.  He had seen it once before, when Martha was fulfilling her MWM fantasy with him and Mel.  He saw she had repaired the window Mel had shattered after their cocks had accidentally touched during double penetration.  Phil knew he was no fag, but he still flinched as he glanced at the shiny glass.  He closed the curtains and waited, wondering if it was more polite to already have a hard-on when the women arrived or to let Martha take responsibility for his swollen member.  "Why didn't I read her magazine?"  He figured such etiquette was probably in there.  He wasn't sure what women wrote about, but assumed they covered all the minute details like these men don't have time to explore. 

Martha and Oprah entered the room together, hand in hand with their usual get-to-work attitudes.  Phil, as usual, was both impressed and threatened by their expeditiousness.  Martha made it easy for him by putting a ball gag in his mouth.  No goofy gaffes to worry about relaxed the room considerably as Martha clapped on her sound sytem.  The Folsom Prison album.  Her favorite.  Incidentally, everytime she whacked Phils' ass that night, the volume of the music would oscillate; this only emphasized his lack of power, an aphrodesiac to the power pair, indeed. 

Martha sucked and suckled Oprah while Phil watched.  He became hard without anyone ever touching him, including himself.  He knew better than to anger Martha that way and her pleasure was obvious.  She was extra gentle with his ass as he fucked Oprah's sweet and sweaty vajayjay, getting her ready for Martha's sweet lovin'. 

I'm sure there's no need for me to recount the ensuing events.  Phils' crying jag and Mel's wistful glances through the bay window only intensified Oprah's pleasure that evening.

And, to top it all off Martha's creamy dessert souffle was to die for. Sergio made sure of that.

My most fucked up post ever? Probably not, but maybe.  We'll let Wayne Dyer be the judge of that.