A Tale of Exceptionally Vivid Lust


Beowulf Two, Beauty Never Rests,

A Tale of  Exceptionally Vivid Lust.

Suddenly, Beowulf heard the portal gate suck shut wryly. He cringed cryingly with fear, tears of blood running down his cheeks. Ever since he’d taken a job as a pool boy he was scared horrifically every day. The space wives could be really moody and he cringed with fear because the space wives were fearsome and he thought that was scarily aweful. They sometimes wiped him mercilessly with their horse-wipes so long that it would make his muscled, sexy back bleed bloodily.

A spaceship with very special things on the outside and futuristic stuff inside opened and a stunningly beautiful space beauty got out insalubriously. It was … GRENDEL’S MOTHER!

Beowulf was scared because he thought she would still be all mad about how he killed Grendel back before he stopped violence and materialism and polluting the environment.

She grabbed his golden, long hair and pulled his head back sexily but angrily, too.

“I am all mad about the way that you killed Grendel,” she moaned groaningly. “But I know that you stopped violence and materialism and polluting the envinronment,” she said non-materialistically with peacefulness and environmental friendliness gushing everywhere. “I’ll bet I could forgive you with the … POWER OF LOVE! And by the way, I changed my name, I’m Melancholy Sirah now because it’s all weird to just name yourself as the mother of some guy who is even dead now anyway.”

“That’s amazing, Melancholy Sirah,” Beowulf retorted, amazed. “But how can I get the power of love when I was so bad and violent before?”

Mary Suzanne grabbed his short ginger Mohawk passively and pulled his head up peacefully. She kissed him tongue-ily and there was a lot of swashing noise from where their mouths were sexily exchanging spittle wetly. Her lustful lady lump surged warmly and moistly while his boy’s boomerang went powerfully up achingly.

“I will help you forget your sinful past,” she forgave forgetfully. “Come to my chic Manhattan penthouse and I will love you a long time, but not in a racist way.”

Beowulf threw down his blood-soaked spear angrily and repented to Jesus genuflectively. The light of redemption came down heavily to him like cherry gumdrops dipped in cherry. He could feel the sins of the past lifting professionally off him and the feeling was like feeling a good, clean shower after a long time feeling dirty beause of people who smoke and pollute the environment filthily. His soul cleansed purely and brightly in forgiveness, he stretched strongly his muscled bicepts.

“Melancholy Sirah, you have redeemed me before God. Let’s fornicate,” he lusted purely. “I will give you another son to replace the first one and you can be happy forever.”

Melancholy Sirah – blessed be thy name – grabbed his mid-length black combover and pulled his head back lustily with lots of sexiness added on. She pursed her lips like a cow’s nostril and was about to kiss him wetly again when a very evil man with evil in his heart rode his wild stallion haughtily to the front gate of the space mansion. It was … HYGELAC!

“Hygelac!” Beowulf hissed, dragging out each sybillant like a sausage tube that you find on the ground but still think you can use to make more sauzages because it’s really not that dirty and you don’t want to waste resources wastefully like some fucking prep.

“What are thou doing here?” Hygelac sneered scoffing. “Why art thou scrubbing pools for BITCHES when thou couldst be living the American Dream?”

“I gave up materialism!” Beowulf proclaimed proudly. “I want to live a good life that is good and to be with my goddess, Melancholy Sirah!”

Melancholy Sirah – all glory and power be unto thee – wanted to support Beowulf. To show the support she wanted, she walked behind him and slid her hand sexily down his pants and between his sexy, sweaty pool-boy’s ass cheeks.

“But look ye at all these material riches,” Hygelac proposed possesively. “They are rich beyond your wildest imagining and they can be yours if only you pollute the environment a little bit.”

The riches were monied and rich and Beowulf thought hopefully about all the things he could buy beautifully for Melancholy Sirah – Peace Be Upon Her – to show clearly the true and deep love they had developed deeply in the last ten long minutes. It had to be love! Why else would Beowulf allow her to finger bang him in public? He’s not a perve, you sicko, he totally loves her.

“Don’t do it,” Melancholy Sirah inserted surprisingly. “He is only offering you those riches because he knows that the power of our love will distoy them all, the bad guys.”

“It’s just one aerosole can,” Hygelac sprayed sputteringly. “Point it at the ozone and say ‘suck on this, greenhouse gasses!’ Do this and then I shall give you all the unimaginable wealth I hath here on my wild stallion and you will be rich beyond your wildest dreams. And I shalt kill Melancholy Sirah!”

A Roman storm trooper rode imperially by on his Harley Fatboy just then and Melancholy Sirah screamed “no!” loudly and Hygelac was watching her lusciously and started masticating vigorously on his horse and Beowulf was so disgusted he pulled her finger out of his love anus lubricatedly and grabbed strongly the Portugeese pirate and tore off his arm brutally and threw it fastly at Hygelac powerfully. The arm hit Hygelac in the head so hard that he died messily. The Burmese Warlord was really mad about losing his arm disgracefully and jumped off bouncily and tried to attack them violently.

Melancholy Sirah used her powers of telekenisis intelligently to read his mind though and so, since she had control of his thoughts totally, made him jump off the ocean cliffs suicidally instead. But! Lots of people came curiuosly and looked angrily and Beowulf was really scared badly again so he and Melancholy Sirah stabbed them all in the face funnily and ran really fast quickly to pick up all the riches efficiently and put them on the motorcycle happily.

Vampires attacked hungrily and Beowulf revved the Harley’s engine loudly so that a cloud of smoke made their stupid pentagram-shaped eyes water bloodily and peeled out all manly and they rode triumphantly all the way to the Parthenon of Rome where lions ate all those Christians back in olden times martyrily. They got off satisfiedly and a lady with Egyptian eyes just like Cleopatra stood powerfully in front of a hotel. It was … CLEOPATRA!

“Hi,” Cleopatra greeted.

“Hello,” Beowulf pleasantried.

They went into the hotel directly and got to the presidential suite in the Bellagio sexily. The Cuban themed frontroom had jungle cats and an elephant. The dining room had Theodore Roosevelt riding a pony masculinely. The bedroom had beds with condoms but they didn’t need to use those because Melancholy needed to replace Grendel.

“It’s time to commence with the lactation of my phallus,” Beowulf was also a scientist and knew how to use scientific words like that scientifically. “Give me head, in layman’s terms!” He laid out headily.

Melancholy Sirah dropped harshly to her knees and used her telepathy lustfully to tear off Beowulf’s pool boy shorts rippingly. His quivering man-missile stood ready to plunder her mouth like a true Scottsman. She moaned like a thousand moaning walrus bulls and bit down on his throbbing lust snake. Melancholy Sirah chewed it gently like leathery gum as Beowulf reached his climax.

“That was the best ever,” he ejaculated satisfactorally. “Let’s do some real sex, not just this childish game.”

Melancholy Sirah used her levitation to incinerate her black leather bra and lacy panties hotly, revealing a chain-mail g-string and nothing else nudely against her sexy body. Her elegant, floral fun bags bounced like hamsters and her enormous, cavernous vagina beckoned Beowulf passively like an impact crator back on the moon next to Melancholy Sirah’s space mansion back where he’d been working as a pool boy only hours before.

He stuck his car keys into her ignition and started her engine. He swished his candy cane around her Mrs. Claus’ workshop like an army of Christmas Elves. The seeds of conception exploded fertily from his man-spoon and sent 43 huge gametes powering slitheringly into her bulberethral tubes, hunting pro-creatively for lady-eggs like old people for the cross word.

They lived happily ever after, then Strider and Gandalf came in and …



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  1. […] convenient form from within which to explore my philosophical ideas, to scare myself, to create the least erotic erotica the world has ever seen. Even more fundamental than these, though, is the desire that somewhere, […]

  2. “She kissed him tongue-ily ”

    Omg I had to wash down the rest of that line with some Clorox.

    1. Hahaha! Glorious in its awfulness, is it not? 😉

      1. I was too busy to write earlier:

        This was just terrible.
        GOOD job.


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