The Boys of Bitter Schooling

I may not use this scrap, but it’s something of a beginning.

__

She doesn’t understand quite how the machine works. Bought it from the berk-burkers. She fits it tighter into the corpse’s vagina.

The flesh, coiled and a bitter dark, lightens to the color of a ripe strawberry and fades to a cooler bubble gum before deciding on pink, a simple pink inviting to any boy or man, and she claps her hands.

She is the Whoremaster of the Mad Hatter Bordello.

Julius, a lavender gentleman too often accused of being a skank, strides into the room and his feet, his feet enjoy the red velvet and he says:

There’s a johnny here.

Take care of him.

I ain’t into him.

Go put on your face.

Dearest lover of the better sex, my very sweetest of peaches, I ain’t into that road dwelling fuck.

Send Sipsy.

I will, though I pity her. I’ll have to watch the johnny. Not trustworthy looking.

I’m busy.

Breathing the breath of life to those cunts?

Yes. It works.

Good, otherwise you’d have wasted five thousand on a machine. Oh, do pardon, you already wasted ten when you bought that stupid bitch.

I’m busy, Julius, fuck off and fuck something.

Whoremaster regards the swollen paleness of the gentleskank’s feet and advises him to wear shoes.

I don’t like those moccasins.

Wear them, you fucking faggot. No telling what kinds of shit crawls around this dump.

Don’t invite the gutter to eat on your toilet, then.

Julius swiftly exits the room as he whispers: Retarded old hag.

Whoremaster removes the metal contraption from the freshly living cunt and a trail of slime—-a slug of steel—-and replaces it in a briefcase. Freshly deceased, Brandie, as the gravestone had called her, is as attractive as any dead body can be: pale skin, hard skin, dead skin, but the skin of her shaven cunt looks as though the monthly visitor has just made an appearance.

It will do nicely for business.

___

[notes:

Or:

Brotheling

The Schooling Brothel

–vagina dentata and the picture–due July odd

use dead bodies as hookers?

characters:

Sipsy

Whoremaster

Amoretto

Julius

Mad Hatter Bordello

Burke and Hare (murders of scotland)

related to the body peddlers, the meat of the cunt being sold straight from the untiring factory

resurrection-man, pussy burkers

“berk burkers”

pussy mortsafe

“somebody’s rubbed too much cunt perfume around your nostrils and now you think it’s something worth having, a cunt on a mortgage”

name of a cunt:
desideratum

lavender scare

pederasty

curved toilet; reverse mammary

smegma and sebum

“orgasmed filth into her/it”

jergen’s lotion machine

“sex with lemons makes you burn away the burn”

Chin, the mayan god of homosexuality

“While you’re busy fathering another ten pounds of flesh, I’m going to fuck this lady silly”

“Too mad to work, too fat to whore.”
–Maya Angelou

“While the cuttie beckons me fuck it”

Infuse me, enthuse me,
Use me like a mop,
Just don’t forget my cunt ain’t slop

“Pussy tastes as bad as it smells, unless it smells like daiquiri”

“Renting out the cunts of dead women. You’re the new definition of shit.”

“nimble as a nutsac”

“little catamite mistress”

“cockeyed anus”

/notes]

draft notes:

Pussy reviver

John comes in, discovers he’s fucked a dead body

–Julius runs to whoremaster saying the fuck’s gone psychotic

The pussy crawls from the cradle of the dead woman’s thigh, drinks moonshine

Sipsy finds the pussy, feeds it pills

Names it Desideratum

Amoretto, a john, talks to the whoremaster about her business?

The pussy turns sipsy into a ten year old, and a john sees her and pays for her services

Jergen’s joke?

Julius services a man and tells him about the pussy reviver

Pussy comes along and eats the Julius and the john whilst copulating

The psychotic guy kills the whoremaster and begins to eat her by skewing her insides and dipping them in moonshine

The psychotic finds a pussy mortsafe and shoves his hand into the dead woman’s crotch, locking the pussy in place.

Dizzy cunt

Cottaging the carsey and sucking the sap from the basket

Naffy fag mincing

Shush from the cockeyed anus

Trade the fungus beast

“Your cunt’s bingeing.”

“That dossy loopy cunt.”

__

The pussy swells.

It is an infant sexual Frankenstein, a warm puddle into which dips the head of an ostrich in the baddest of badlands, and the blonde woman who entered youth the picture of elegance and left it the portrait of filth, she fits tighter the metal brace. Shape of a lip and kisses the cold metal lips the fresh pink ones, and deeper go the shades until ten percent of the corpse is as good as fresh living trim. And the whoremaster is pleased.

Her contraption works, and clapping her hands she kisses the air and she fits her hand into the cunt. Warm as far as the fingertips. Some perfume to chase away the chemical trace and the blush over the whitened cheeks and the corpse could pass for a woman passed out or careless. Turned out without a clue and the whoremaster claps her hand because she’s done so well her job of the peddle.

She says: Feather pie for the kids.

Walks in Julius wearing a red gentleman’s velvet robe, the twin of Heffner with less class and bare feet and barefoot he strides towards the whoremaster and hand on her shoulder he asks how goes it.

It works.

Fantastic. Now you can work even less.

And the whoremaster would scoff but she’s gone into purest madness by criticising what influences mannerisms. Too sadly the only she’ll allow herself is a clap. And clap she does and she hugs Julius and calls him a good faggot.

Speaking, I have a customer marinating in the back.

Time is money.

Yes, and evidently so is that facade you call a cunt, broken blood vessels and all, and really, just look at it, it’s both frightening and magnificent.

Stick your hand in it, feel it out.

I’m afraid I wouldn’t know the which way to turn.

Rougher than ever can a john fuck his fill and fill his fuck and the whoremaster directs Julius to his company and she sits a while longer with the Frankenstein trim, the beating heart.

You’re going to make me tons.

And the whoremaster pulls from a box a selection of powders and begins to lace all around the woman’s cold hard face-—that money face-—the colors of a living being, if indeed one can call a whore a living being.

No harm in it if there’s no harm in it.

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~ by Jeremy on June 30, 2008.

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