Thursday, September 5, 2019

Mommy's Special Sheet

By myself & Jennifer S. Chesler, from the forthcoming The Philosophy of Extremism IV. The previous three volumes in this delightful series are here on Amazon.


Daddy is so happy and I'm so happy too. Before she went away and died, Mommy bought me a special pee-pee sheet so the bed stays dry whatever Daddy and I do in here. So now Daddy can hit me as hard as he wants when he gives me the hard punishment with his big hard long willy then there's no pussy juice from my naughty pie, my little nickel hole, in the bed. Thank you, Mommy. Daddy says that, when he was with Tammy, the cockroaches loved to munch on the mattress when it got sticky. Sticky cockroaches taste the best though, so I don't know what he means. Now when he really hurts me, we just have to change the sheets.

Daddy put his big willy in my mouth then started sucking and licking on my pussy and my teeny willy. He says that I said "Ooh, Ooh, Aah, Ooooh!" but that was just because his willy tasted like poopy. It was in my bottom too. But I'm a good little girl. I don't like Daddy sucking my little willy. A good girl sucks her Daddy's willy, the other way round makes Baby Jesus cry and the angels kill all the kittens. Daddy told me so himself, the first time I sucked his willy. I love my Daddy so much; he's such a good Daddy. He even says my poopy hole tastes good. Today he got poopy on his finger and sucked it dry. It made him even bigger too. He says that a tight little pie needs an extra big willy. He's the best Daddy ever.

Yesterday, he stuck his thumb and all his fingers up my pussy hole, but he stopped at the knuckles. He says it was because his fist was so big it would take too long to get the pussy tight enough for the white stuff, but I know it's really because he loves me. He's such a big Daddy, and I'm such a little girl. That's all I have to say to make him give me my special shampoo quicker. Only the best Daddy ever does that.

I'm happy that Mommy is dead and stopped farting all the time, and peeing on me too. I'm worried though that all the flowers in the graveyard are dying. Pizza gas is poisonous, especially when it comes from Tammy's great wobbly fat weeble ass. Tammy was my mom, and she was Daddy's mommy too, also his wife, just like me except I'm his only daughter. These other girls who say that Daddy is their Daddy are stinking lying whores.

I'm happy that he killed Tammy, especially because I did it. He says I thought she was a little ginger slut called Sally, but I'm sure that Sally was a real girl. I groomed the shit out of Daddy real good. Anyway, he doesn't want me in jail, since he's worried I'll be a stinky lesbian, but I know that if he rapes men in jail, he doesn't love them. It's OK as long as he kills them once he's done with them. So if the police get their act together, he'll take the rap, whatever that is. It's a sort of music, but I don't think it keeps people out of prison, but you know.

I often wonder where we live. Daddy says that that's because I'm very special. He spoils it a bit when he clarifies by saying, "You're my special little angel, you retarded spastic whore." But if he didn't want his daughter to be special and have twisted little fingers to jerk him off with, then he shouldn't have fucked his own mommy, should he?


Tuesday, August 20, 2019

Fragments

Fragments, by Jennifer S. Chesler from Nickel Hole Press, edited by me,  is still on sale at Amazon at this link. We naturally prefer purchase from Lulu at this link, however. It's also at various other online sellers.

There are several stories from the book further back on Jennifer's blog. The more recent posts in her blog are related to a separate book, her memoirs, that will not be in fragmentary form, and these do not appear in Fragments. Some of the pieces in Fragments are linked here below, but most of the book is not available online.

Drug Machine Mothers

Careful, My Cadaver

Little Jack

Bourgeois Dreams

Down and Out in Muncie, Indiana

Birth of a Portrait.

I have written several reviews and pieces about this book, one of which I link here, How much world? This book is enormously significant. Buy it.






Friday, August 2, 2019

Dead Sally

Collaborative piece with Jennifer S. Chesler from The Philosophy of Extremism IV, coming soon. 

Dead Sally

Daddy noticed how his little girl grew smaller, but, at the same time, into a grown woman, all grown up, and her supple flesh the very essence of sexual sensibility as he slammed his bone into her like a hammer.
 

"Well, Jen-Jen", he said, "You did turn out a big girl. It took so little loving to let you do your growing; now you are such a good girl we can move down south, and get married, and live together as father and daughter."
 

“Daddy, do you think what I did in your shiny red Silverado helped me grow up at all?” I asked.
 

“Sweetie, bashing Sally’s head into the dashboard is probably what speeded things up the most,” Daddy said. “And down south, well, we’ll be away from her messy death, and the unnecessary funeral that followed.”
 

I said, “You dug her up again at least three times to stick your big willy in her stupid smelly body:  as soon as you got hard again after digging a little, and making me open my mouth for the white stuff.”
 

“Well, you shouldn’t have made her cry so much. She cried and screamed so much that anybody would have been hard thinking about that dirty little ginger whore screaming, and all the bruises on her frail, vulnerable little body when she was dead. She was so fuckable. I noticed that you were dripping wet yourself,” Daddy said.
 

“Oh, Daddy, I hated watching you have sex with dead Sally. I want it to be just us after we’re south of Indiana. Am I bad for what I did to her? I don't deserve to live in Kentucky, do I? And you have to do contraception on every baby I have, just split open the shitty little whores, up the pooper if they're boys, opened up wide by your huge willy on the same day they're born, so they go quiet and leave us in peace.”
 

“No, darling. You're not a bad girl; you still got a tight little pussy. Now, pack your bag with all your pretty dresses. Bring some training bras too. It’s time for them.”
 

“Can I bring your hammer, Daddy? Oh, please… I don’t want any more slutty Sallies in our shiny red Chevrolet.”
 

“Oh, alright then, but, when a Daddy marries his little girl, he forgets little pieces of trash like slutty Sally in the Silverado.”
 

I was so happy when Daddy said this that I hadn’t given myself the enema. I’d let him stick himself in me with poop later. I didn’t say I wanted to kill myself instead of getting married. When I licked dead Sally’s slutty germs off Daddy’s big cock, they tasted like dirt, rot, pie, and something else foul that I couldn’t identify, maybe the scent cadaver dogs sniff and use to identify corpses. I told my friend, Linda, about Sally, and how I killed her.
 

“Daddy, I have something to tell you,” I said.
 

“What, darling?” Daddy said.
 

“Linda, I told Linda,” I said, “about Sally.”
 

“Goddammit!” Daddy said. “I told you to keep your mouth shut. Now you have to kill another little slut, and tire yourself out, shouting and slamming her head into my dashboard, blood and hair all over the place, and I suppose I'll have to bury her, the little whore, dig her up, bury her again, over and over, sweating and shitting and jizzing all night. Dead girls are so sexy, especially when they do the death poop. Then we have to clean out the Silverado properly again, goddam it.”
 

“I’m sorry,” I said. I wanted to kill myself sooner now, before we even got south of Bloomington.
 

Daddy took my underwear off and stuffed the stained panties into my mouth. I gagged. Then I relaxed, and it wasn’t so bad.
 

“Those are the poopy ones,” Daddy said. “Are you ready for me up you?”
 

I shook my head yes.
 

Daddy twisted the shitty panties around in my mouth, pulled them out, and, wet with saliva and waste, dried them off on my naked body so that brown streaks marked my budding breasts. He hurt me so I got all wet, good and ready for a nice hard fuck, with plenty of farting. (Boy, Jen-Jen sure does love to fart.)
 

His pants were already off. He was hard. I saw the pre-cum on the head of his huge veiny willy, running around the pee-hole in a small pool.
 

“Mix it with the poopy streaks and lick it up, sweetie,” Daddy said.
 

I did as he said. He turned me around. I bent over as he liked me to do.
 

“Oh, Daddy, just stick it in.” I said.
 

“No, lube?” Daddy said.
 

“Mm-mm,” I said, shaking my head no. “Daddy?”
 

“Jen-Jen?”
 

“You’re the best daddy in the world.”
 

"You don't need to tell your little school friends about Sally. We could just fuck and kill the dirty little whores anyway, it's more exciting that way - they're more innocent then, and that makes my willy harder too."
 

At this time I didn't know Daddy had planned the best present ever. At first, I was sad and cried a lot when he got engaged to his cousin Jolene down south in the country. I got so angry, but when that fat bitch was waiting for him to court her a little with his courting finger in the drawing room, farting her Velveeta farts all the time, he came in to me where I was about to kill myself again. I decided to tell him I was sad.
 

I said, "I sure wish I was dead too, lying all smelly with Sally in her stinky grave in the IKEA coffin box." 
 

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Only stupid little whores kill themselves," he said. He threw the big old hammer down on the bed in front of me. It looked rusty, but it wasn't rust. "OK, Jen-Jen, you're a big girl now. You can take on a grown woman, even a four hundred pounder. You go kill dirty Cousin Jolene" he said.
 

Oh boy! I love my Daddy, the best Daddy in the whole world, like I said. Nothing like sucking Daddy's willy dry when it tastes like a suffering grown lady pussy. Daddy says each of her tits weighs as much as the whole of me, and I say she weighs five hundred twenty, but he says that retarded girls don't count well.
 

I sure do love my Daddy, and all the fun we have together. I can't wait for the Daddy-Daughter prom. I'm going to get a boyfriend one day so Daddy can do him some killing to get me good and wet. I bet I'll get as wet as he gets hard when i kill the little girls.
 

I don't want to kill myself now. Going to listen to some ICP, and think about all the fun we had already, and all the wet fun that's coming. There's more ways to die than you think. I've been grooming Daddy so long he'll do anything and anyone I want, and fuck and bury anything and anyone I kill.

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

New Sperm Repellent Discovered by David McLean and Jennifer Chesler: Grizzly Wide Cut

Written by me & Jennifer S. Chesler. Due in The Philosophy of Extremism Vol IV. The first three volumes are here on Amazon.

New Sperm Repellent Discovered by David McLean and Jennifer Chesler: Grizzly Wide Cut 

When I was pregnant with little Dorito, who really came out as a potato chip, David was horribly disappointed by the type of chip we’d unknowingly produced.
 

“Never again,” he said, walking towards the bassinet.
 

“No, David, no!” I screamed. I knew Dorito was such a little girl, and he is such a big, big man.
 

“Jennifer, you’re in the mental hospital,” he said. “Keep yourself together or you’ll be given a third antipsychotic. You know they make you look ugly, fat, and with no hair.”
 

“No!” I yelled.
 

“Shh. Go to sleep,” he said.
 

I promptly fell asleep, only to wake up with poor Dorito in shreds, and David saying vengefully, “That damn potato product. We don’t have potato in our sperm and eggs.”
 

I looked in the bassinet, but Dorito was gone.
 

“What did you do to her?” I asked David.
 

“I cracked her apart with my nine-incher, that’s what.”
 

“Oh, Oh, Dorito!” I was heartbroken.
 

“We will have no more babies, Jennifer,” David said. “We are too old. Our sperm and eggs morph into foods beyond our control.”
 

“We can’t afford birth control,” I said.
 

“I know,” he said. “I will have to kill them as they suckle or something. Let me eat your pussy now.”
 

He had Grizzly Wide Cut in his mouth. I just want to let all women whose partners use Grizzly Wide Cut know that it does not produce urinary tract infections, as has been the propaganda we hope to eradicate. Yes, I could feel the wad of tobacco on my left vaginal wall, but, as it had been in David’s mouth, I felt a newfound love for father of my dead babies. 

I never got pregnant again, as long as he has the Wide Cut in his mouth. I could feel his semen struggling to get past the wad of tobacco, but it didn’t get far. I ejected all of it back into David’s mouth, of course filled with Grizzly Wide Cut. So, if you don’t have a lot of money, spend four bucks on Grizzly Wide Cut so you don’t have to kill your unwanted babies.
 

Grizzly Wide Cut is good for everything, and, though Jennifer does not mention this, the snatch can easily absorb nicotine, just like the more conventional cocaine, and it lessens the number of occasions that we are obliged to go out into the utility room, mid-fuck, to smoke a cigarette. It also renders cunnilingus more enjoyable. Without dip in the jaw, oral sex performed on a woman, whether menstruating or otherwise, is vastly inferior. 

The delicious wintergreen taste matches vaginal secretions, and the aftertaste of all the better lubes. Indeed, the semen itself, as it rushes out of the snatch after sex has to be caught quickly, to save the sheets a dousing, and the invigorating taste of Grizzly lets me munch with gusto. Jennifer advocates a shared Honeycrisp apple afterwards to avoid Mosaic and/or biblical problems about original sin.
 

The above did not take place in the mental hospital, by the way. I do, however, use this scenario to avoid having to explain certain features of the practices that gratify me sexually. Enemas are often involved.

By the way, we do not advocate fucking babies to death, even chip babies. Not in a duplex anyway, the noise is dreadful.

Sunday, July 21, 2019

A "Firm but Cruel" response to Chesler's "A Streak of Love"

Firm but Cruel

From The Philosophy of Extremism IV
By David C. McLean. The other three volumes are on sale here.

Sometimes Jennifer does certain things. It is, I imagine, generally felt that a man's pillow is safe from poopy, it is his sleeping castle. I let the poop on the pillow pass, though. As Jennifer, indeed, had let the offending poop pass. Today, in her story, she invented a section whereby I ran in and deftly plucked poop from her on the toilet, slicing through it with one finger, or maybe clutching between thumb and index finger, before snapping it off, a pristine priapic sausage of shit, and forced her out.

In real life, when she takes over the bathroom, I tend to get upset, whine, and threaten to kill myself, or at least go shit in a Kroger bag in the utility room instead, asphyxiating myself, sexually, with said bag after I have done so. Jennifer feels that it is not possible to die in this way, but it would be gross, to say the least.

Kroger is a great store; we go there all the time and save about $1000 a year with coupons.  Boy, we sure do find some good products in the WooHoo section at Kroger. I got my "World's Best Daddy" coffee cup there, with a pair of boxers in it. Jennifer thinks these are for fathers with actual children, but I'm pretty sure that these were real daddy panties, since I get very hard when I wear them and spank Jennifer for being naughty.

Today, after I had pleasured her with spanking, paddling, and fingering, I pounded her into submission. As I prepared the porn star style closing section of the fuck to make her smaller (though she does participate by squeezing me tightly with the little nickel hole, the pie), she informed me that, though it hurt very much because I was huge, she was letting me hurt her because she loved me, though she was pissed off.

I started to change position, so she only got a stingy six inches, but then thought, "Nah, fuck it, a shitty pillow is a poopy pillow." So I bellowed in her face, dip flying everywhere, "You will respect my pillow and my authority."

South Park is a great show. We watch South Park all the time, when we're not at Kroger. God bless VOD with Xfinity.

I trust that Jennifer, who is airing her sore pussy, and looking absolutely fucking gorgeous in her HM T-shirt dress in black with silver studs, is sufficiently firmly disciplined. HM is a great store. She got it in a sale and with a coupon, plus loyalty points, for $9, with free shipping.

We buy clothes from HM all the time, but not their boxer shorts anymore. The new ones suck. We must, however, give a shout out to Perry Ellis, from Marshalls. Their lovely boxer briefs are not unlike women's skorts, and they display a huge cock to great advantage, both with and without trousers.

Saturday, July 20, 2019

A Streak of Love

A Streak of Love

Forthcoming in Philosophy of Extremism IV. The other three volumes are on sale here.

David and I woke up at our usual time. Feeling a tremor in my bowels, I went into the bathroom and began to release the contents of them. I heard David’s voice come through the sound of the plops of fecal matter.

“Jennifer, I’ve got to go!” he shouted.

“Wait!” I yelled back.

He opened the door while a long tube of shit was making its way out of my asshole, pulled me off of the toilet, and sliced off the shit already released from my asshole with his finger, quickly turning on the hot water and scrubbing his hand. I tried to push him out of the bathroom. He was too big for me to make much of an impact on. Ousted from the bathroom was I.

I heard David’s soft moans as his bowel movement was underway, a long dropping of feces into the toilet bowl. We were naked. I had positioned myself outside of the bathroom door. As soon as he flushed and washed his hands, I readied myself. I jumped on his sleeping pillow, streaking shit from my asshole across the flannel in a neat, slender line. He rushed in after me.

He said, “That’s shit on my pillow!”

I laughed so hard. “And you have to sleep on that pillow, that side, just as it is!”

I bet he wished that he’d let me wipe myself before he ripped me mid-shit off of the toilet.

I looked at him contemplating his pillow, naked, stiff as a rod.

Friday, July 19, 2019

On the Identity Politics of Lubricants


Collaboration with Jennifer S. Chesler, forthcoming in the fourth The Philosophy of Extremism. The other three volumes are on sale here.

There is a heatwave all over the U.S.A. Terrified of being sunburnt, even with ample sunscreen, SPF 110, we hid indoors, fucking away. The Isabel Fay lubricant ran out, and is arriving today from Amazon. In the meantime, David, being a cheapskate, bought KY Jelly Personal Lubricant, with a 25% CVS discount, just to be extra thrifty. (He does love CVS. We go there all the time.) Well, now we know why gay men use KY Jelly for anal sex. It only sticks to penises. My vagina was unlubricated and raw when I went to rinse it off. His enormous cock, however, was completely covered by the KY, taking at least five minutes to rinse off, as he cursed and repeated, "We should've done poopy." Indeed, I had begged him to sodomize me, but he refrained from doing so, probably because I was backed up from nuts, and the Simple Truth Organic Senna Leaf and Chamomile Tea had not yet worked. He will not admit it, but he had just bought (on the way to CVS, of course) a pair of $5 shorts from Family Dollar, insisted on just pulling his willy out, and didn't want any poopy on the shorts. The dip stains embarrass him anyway. (He uses Grizzly Wide Cut.) But back to the identity politics we mention in the title... It's true: KY adheres to willies; it does not like vaginas. It is, therefore, not suitable for use by gynecologists. Isabel Fay, however, is perfectly adapted to any type of genitalia. Even larger daddies with realistically sized little girls will find great advantage for both themselves and their daughters by using Isabel Fay. David has to constantly remind me to say his favorite line, "Oh, Daddy, you're such a big man, and I'm such a little girl," because it hardly hurts me at all. Congratulations Isabel and Bruno! Cheers for a perfect lube.

& here is the lubricant at Amazon.

Monday, July 8, 2019

Poems for Jennifer V at Google Books


Poems for Jennifer V is now available on Google Books at this link.

It is on sale here at Lulu.

Blurb below.

This is the fifth book of poems and prose poems by David C. McLean about his wife, Jennifer S. Chesler. They are heavily influenced by the writings of Gertrude Stein, and the thought of Bodhidharma, Lyotard, and Deleuze & Guattari. 

McLean here again asks his muse, "Come, Muse, let us sing the insolent nipple!" Published by Nickel Hole Press.  


Saturday, July 6, 2019

Further New Work from Jennifer S. Chesler


Reluctant as I am to start a new post when i can just go on editing the old one, there is even more new work appearing at the blog of my wife, Jennifer S. Chesler.

Firstly, the tremendous piece My Mother Made Me a Faux Dyke. This describes how the repetition compulsion led to the abusive reenactment of the archaic trauma, & that this issue is resolved by the introduction, via me, of the Über-traumatizer. Seriously, other shit pales.

EDIT: & here is the brilliant Hobbled, about grotesque negligence, inadvertent attempted murder, the doings of "hobbled gimp trash".

EDIT: here we have another splendid piece My Alleged Aunt Remarries, or, "He Still Looks Like Mick Jagger", where the stupendous trashiness of the colonial nouveau riche petite bourgeoisie flaunts itself. The devastating effects of trans-ethnic plastic surgery are depicted.

EDIT: & a further diatribe, this one called just that: A True Chesler Diatribe. "When she molested me in elementary school she didn’t have long hair, but I found some of her pubic hair left on my bed. I picked up each piece and put it in the jar with my fireflies. Even as a child, I let my pee trickle in through a hole in the jar. She’d watch, and I’d say, “Look, Mommy, I’m feeding the flies and hair.” It was a tender moment for us both."

EDIT: & a brilliant title here: Tucson, A Steaming Pile of Shit, or, My First Nervous Breakdown. We read of the bizarre menagerie in a Tucson trailer park, handy tips for suicide, the wise priorities of loveless mothers, why Koreans should leave sushi alone, and other handy pieces of information.

EDIT: Here is How My Brother Became a Man where we learn of how the golden child of a narcissist family, especially if the parents refuse to disclose the sister's (higher) IQ, grows up to be a sociopath without a trace of empathy. Snot is consumed & stored, tears are shed in a highly effeminate manner, school elections are lost, and ego ideals are found lying around in shitty 80s sitcoms. Not even the "surprising compassion of bikers" can salvage a narcissistic hobbit.

EDIT: Here Once-Mother's Enema, about medieval poopy-related Pain in Pennsylvania, the old guy driving that saline tube in and out with surprising velocity, leading later to the above golden child taking more than one vigorous thumb-blasting ... Dude ...

EDIT: Now added, Once-Mother Gives Preparatory Advice, which adumbrates for us how Jennifer was advised to get a wealthy diaper guy to marry, as do respectable whores who admire the Protestant Work Ethic, & a marriage based on love & intellectual necessity was not approved of.  Some tips about how to sound less guilty when confronted about shit one may have done can no doubt be discerned by the astute reader.

EDIT: White trash tend to go to state universities, as we see in the case of the garbage state & university of Florida, here Dear Has-Been Fathers, or, Your Time Is Up Anyway. We read of a failed gang rape by a worthless bunch of retarded cocksuckers, no help from the retarded skanks that alleged they were the protagonist's "friends", & even more egregiously failed parenting by The Whore Supreme & The Shitter.

EDIT: Still proud of my bizarre wife, who describes the whimsical world of dollar stores and narcissism in Once-Mother, Smarty Pants, where she, as is her wont, never uses a single colloquialism that was ever commonly used in her lifetime. "You never even farted near me. Your ass has not lost its shape over time either, so that your pantaloons still fit nicely."

EDIT: & filial piety achieves its supreme expression in The Birth of Frankentits here, a monster created in the cretinous wasteland of Arizona to terrify insincere lesbians everywhere, including a summary of narcissist rejection by the once-family.

EDIT: & in Slumming It, we see how low self-esteem from childhood abuse leads to friendships & relationships with mediocre scumbags & morons, from college onward. The bits about me are true.

EDIT: & here My Goddam Once-Mother’s Fucking Denial of Information Regarding Up-And-Coming Female Processes where we read how, not only the clitoris but, the propensity of the snatch to ooze blood periodically was not revealed to Jennifer. Instead a sleazy skank, with whom her once-mother remains at finger's length contact, was obliged to inform her at camp of the glorious institution of the Red Queen.

EDIT: & here As She Giggled in My Ear, of parental exhibitionism, vacuous cunts, & gay incestuous fart porn.

EDIT: & Dear Perpetual Scum of All Inclinations, Etc., being the probable conclusion of the posts relating to the memoir, which is now being put together, with the more outrageous & improbable parts duly included. The piece discusses the identity political aspects of CSA, as well as my critique of "reader's wives" style mastectomy porn.

EDIT: & here Rumpelstiltskin and Dead-Donna’s-Daughter shows how even poison dwarfs spring from the red rock, how dead daughters are weighed & found superfluous or lacking, & how ponderous money is what matters when assigning the dole of parental affection.

EDIT: & here Dear Mother-Who-Was-not-Mine - "I’m no longer laughing, you foul mutation of what-once-was-a-woman, you fingering flatulent kiddie-fisting fuckface from hell." Proud of my crazy wife. My little girl is as perverse as Daddy is.


Why Daddy Got Angry, and Tammy Went under Her Stupid Tree

Collaborative piece with Jennifer S. Chesler.
 

I said before how Tammy made tummy noises when she rotted under the tree. Daddy says that it's a cypress tree and fun for the dead folks. He says that it's good for making the gas disperse like farts in the wind. Anyway, Tammy was my "tummy mommy,” or so she said she was, though only god knows who my birth daddy was. I don't give him a big D, not the birth daddy. A real Daddy earns a big D with his big Willy.
 

Anyway, she, Tammy as she was, said I had to work at Taco Bell or Emergency Dementia Care Plus, where they pay close to minimum wage, and she would be happy every time I cried. And I had to have friends who were more ordinary, because other people have big snobby willies, and read books about how it's good to have big willies in Latin. Good Christians only read about normal willies, and they say size doesn't matter.
 

But you don't know Daddy loves you, unless it hurts really badly, so you get good and wet and slide down his pole when he slaps you, never forgetting to say "Thank you, Daddy", or he plunges into your poop-hole.
 

Anyway, Daddy was so angry at Tammy that he put her in the ground after beating her to death with The Phenomenological Constitution of the Common Cockwomble, just to make her die even more sadly. My alleged brother was out cottaging at the time, since he said every drop of willy juice was a compliment to his haircut, and barbers cost good money.
 

Anyway, Daddy says he loves his little Jen-Jen, and he doesn't mind if I get angry, hit him and yell. In fact, it can give him an extra inch and make the shaft powerful, thick and veiny; so it's all good, so Daddy says. Tammy didn't want me to be angry, not even at Daddy. Daddy says that my pretty mouth is best to make Daddy happy, especially if I yell at him first.
 

Anyway, he hit Tammy with the big book when she made me cry. That’s when she died for good. If it's true what he says, then Daddy he loves me a lot, and my pussy gets very sore sometimes because of this.
 

Today, Daddy came so hard that I burst a blood vessel in my right eye. I said he was trying to mar my beauty so that our neighbor didn’t give me that lusty look anymore, the one that makes Daddy want to kill him, or any other man, woman, or beast that should give me such a look. Daddy has the right to do that, because his Willy is a nine-incher, and he fills me up to my womb.
 

I try and resist Daddy, how good he makes me feel inside, when he spanks me and fucks me. He says that I have to stop doing this, or I will never have an orgasm. I’ve never had one before, except when Tammy rubbed my little button with her fat fingers. Daddy says he has made me orgasm already and that I just don’t want to remember, because then I’ll forget about Tammy, and she’s not even cold in the ground.
 

Daddy makes me watch Judge Adams’ infamous spanking porno video, the one he didn’t even get hard in. We both think the fact that Judge Adams doesn’t get hard when he spanks his spastic daughter shows how sick he really is. When I told Daddy I wanted to meet Judge Adams and his now ex-wife, who also spanks the spastic daughter, he said, “No, you little whore! Only I spank you. The spastic is a furry, and no one likes furries anyway.” I don’t know what to make of this.
 

Does it show that Daddy loves me, the spastic, Judge Adams’s wife, or all of us? He’s unpredictable sometimes. One time he left me at the gas station with no underwear on underneath my dress. I felt so exposed when he did this. When he shut the passenger side door, the window was open. I said, “Daddy, no! Don’t leave me here all alone.” He said that when a Daddy has a nine-inch willy that he can leave his daughter anywhere, because she will always love him. Then he added, “And I will always love you,” but he drove off so that I had to walk back to our house, the whole six miles it took to get there.
 

I sweat a lot on the walk home. When I put my key in the front door, the lock turned. Daddy locked the door again, but I was able to turn the key quickly enough to get in the foyer. He was naked, and his willy was hard as a rock. I took it in my little hand and said, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” breathing heavily enough so that he said, “Jen-Jen, I think you’re going to come. Relax for Daddy, now.” I wiped my brow, feeling his huge willy press against my little and bruised body.
 

“You want Daddy to leave you at another gas station, you little whore? I saw you looking at the attendant. He didn’t even have a cock, you stupid little slut. You’d better do exactly as Daddy says, or you’ll be walking a lot, young lady.” “No, Dad, no,” I said, repeating his favorite line from the Judge Adams spanking video. Really, it’s the only line he’s fed me that I can remember, so I use it a lot. I don’t remember things well. He’s a good Daddy.
 

He pulls me to the sofa by the hair and throws me over the back of the sofa. He spits in his hand and rubs his swollen cock with it, before thrusting the whole length in my tight little poop hole. It hurts so much I shudder with pleasure. I try to fart and he comes real hard. Later he posts a Cum Fart video online, it gets hundreds of likes and he’s so proud of me. He lets me ride him and even suck him clean afterwards. He’s the best Daddy in the whole world, as he constantly points out. I love Daddy so much. He says I better, or else.

Friday, July 5, 2019

Pissing on Daddy


A collaboration with Jennifer S. Chesler from our next book together, The Philosophy of Extremism IV

Pissing on Daddy

She has on her short short pajamas, with lace on the sides, in light gray cotton, and a light gray camisole, also with matching lace. I love cotton, and her well thought-out choice in a silver-gray eye shadow. I tell her to leave her clothes on and get over my lap. She deserves a spanking. She knows it too. She dawdles, so I get more firm.
 

"Get over here," I exclaim. "I'll take off your clothes."
 

She crawls over to me, lying across my lap. I pull down her light gray shorts, pulling up her camisole so her big tits are fully exposed.
 

I spank her ass hard.
 

"Let's see if you enjoyed it," I say. I slide my thumb up her cunt.
 

I'm so embarrassed, I'm a dirty naughty girl and Daddy is big and a good man because he gets so hard his willy doesn't even bend in my little pie. He yells out "Oh, you salacious little whore!" and spanks me so hard that i can smell my own stinky juice run out of me. Doesn't he know I'm in the wet shower? Doesn't he know I'm peeing right here in the bed?

"Why are you so wet, you little slut?" I ask her.

"I'm taking a shower," she says. Damn little cunt.
 

"A shower?" I say. "Right now?" She can't believe herself. She's can't be that dumb. I slam my cock into her "showering" pussy so the whole shaft goes into her. She's not usually able to take my whole length. She moans.
 

"Oh, It hurts a lot, Daddy," she says. I almost shoot my load since the little whore knows how excited this makes me. But I slow down, and hold her arms out in a crucified pose while I ram my full length into her in a slow but very forceful piledriver. She squeals in pain and grunts with pleasure at the same time, like the filthy little animal she is.
 

I know she has to pretend not to like what I do in order to get me more excited. I hate her for it though. It's a sick game. She drives me nuts when she resists me. I twist her nipples and pull them hard. She groans now, leaving her moans behind. I slap her face, and feel her pussy drip even more with cunt juice.

"Damn you, you fucking whore," I say. Fuck. Her pussy gets wetter. I can't hold my load in much longer.

"I'm going to come," I say.

"No, not the white stuff, Daddy!" she says, remembering the pre-ejaculate line I like the most.
 

He starts bellowing like a dying whale, his cock so swollen and long it's in my little baby womb, stretching out my tight little hole, my little pie, and I say "Where's my mommy, Daddy? I want my mommy, I'm scared." He twists his hips and ends up so deep in me I feel myself stretched to bursting as I squeeze my cunt muscles as hard as I can.  The jizz fills my little hole so it runs out onto the bed and the sweat drips from his face onto mine.
 

"You're a good girl, Jen-Jen", he says. "I'll paddle you later if you want." Daddy is such a tease, my swollen pussy will be throbbing all day now, I can't wait.

Sunday, June 30, 2019

Poems for Jennifer V


There is a fifth volume of Poems for Jennifer, here at Lulu. Blurb follows.

This is the fifth book of poems and prose poems by David C. McLean about his wife, Jennifer S. Chesler. They are heavily influenced by the writings of Gertrude Stein, and the thought of Bodhidharma, Lyotard, and Deleuze & Guattari. 

McLean here again asks his muse, "Come, Muse, let us sing the insolent nipple!" Published by Nickel Hole Press. 

The cover is below.