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Author Topic: Writing Contest 1  (Read 3568 times)

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Doom

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Writing Contest 1
« on: July 26, 2009, 08:37:04 PM »



Writing Contest The First!

Begins the 5th!

Ends the 12th!


Write self-insertion fan-fiction of yourself boffing a forum regular!

By default you must target a male!

By Royal Decree of the Grand Duke, you may target a female if you are able to win.. her permission!

A bonus point is given to the team possessing the stud most raped by word!
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Roger

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #1 on: August 05, 2009, 02:40:03 PM »

I support this product and or service.
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Guild

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #2 on: August 05, 2009, 02:46:36 PM »

Guild doffs his boffing hat and steps into the cloning device. He checks his pocket and pulls out a single condom. "This will get messy." He flips on the switch and a second Guild appears. "Hey." "Hey," Guild replies, licking his lips. "You sure look good in that hat." "I know, I know. It's a blessing and a curse." "So, which of us is going to be the bitch?" "I ain't no man's bitch," Guild mutters, reaching into his pocket for his disintegration ray. He's too slow, and Guild zaps him with his own disintegration ray. "You only made one mistake. I know every thought you can possibly have," he says to the pile of sexy ashes left behind. "Now for my just desserts." He pulls out the condom and draws the brass zipper of his black Dickies down three inches. From the gaping maw of his trousers flops the most enormous *CENSORED* in the northern hemisphere. With a hand on his hat to keep it steady, condom forgotten in his lust, he lowers himself to his knees and inserts his *CENSORED* slowly into the pile, pushing it down to the hilt. "Ooh, yeah. You're still warm." Guild begins to thrust, building momentum, his juices flowing into the ashes to form a greyish puddle of human remains. "God, I'm leaking like a faucet here." Pimples on his *CENSORED* begin to burst with the effort, further muddying the mass until at last he concludes, blasting chunks of wet molecules into his own chin. He stands, streaks of grey semen leaking down his neck. "Did I win?"

Doom shakes his head. "You're gross, dude."
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Beat Bandit

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #3 on: August 07, 2009, 03:40:57 PM »

A month of trials and tribulation, but the Worstlympics had finally come to an end. The tiled walls of the showers were still damp and a steam lingered in the air from those that bathed before. A smirk grew across Rygaron's face, both happy and discouraged that the great event had finally come to an end. He tossed his towel over the low wall at his side and started to turn the hot water on. "You did good out there, kid." Rygaron turned to the voice and saw Brentai standing naked before him, a towel draped nonchalantly over his shoulder. "I did..." Rygaron trailed off for a moment and turned his head away to catch his composure. "...I did okay." Brentai walked in closer and rest his arm onto the shoulder of the man that had been a fierce rival up to just a few short hours ago, "you did your nation proud, I just wish we could have met each other out there as friends, and not as enemies." Brentai's cheeks pushed in as a grin worked up the sides of his lips, his hand trailing down off the shoulder and making a point to simply brush his fingers down onto Rygaron's back. Ryg shuddered and had to catch his own breath before he could answer, trying to ignore the hand, or at least look to Brentai as if he was ignoring it. "It would have been nice. To have you on my team, that is," his eyes shoot down to the ground, a small stream from the water slowly trickling from the shower head catching his gaze before it refocuses onto Brentai's own. "We could have had a chance to play together." The hand pushes off the small of Ryg's back and onto his hip, just as he has the misfortunate to look down and see Brentai's prominent erection. "Only if I can be player one." He reaches around and grabs at Rygaron's manhood. The moment he touches the other male Brentai climaxes violently against the wall, "BOOOOOOOOO-YAH" he shouts as he does. Rygaron gasps and winces as he watches, and before a word can be said Brentai is already leaving the shower, muttering to himself, "next up is Newbie..."
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Beat Bandit

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #4 on: August 07, 2009, 03:43:06 PM »

I think I'm going to actually cry after writing that.
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Shinra

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #5 on: August 07, 2009, 08:55:14 PM »

I wasn't always like this. There was a time, long ago when I was a better man. A less broken man. A man not weighed down by guilt. I had a job once, a life. Prospects. But the economy went south and work dried up. I was left drifting from town to town, living with friends or week stay hotels, doing odd jobs and manual labor alongside the mexicans and drug addicts outside of hardware stores. I'd stay in a town until work dried up and drive to the next job - or hitchhike, or take the bus. Sometimes, if I was hard up enough I'd camp out in the woods and live like a mountain man.

I found my way across the country to the northeastern US. Maryland. I got a job in construction, paving asphalt and digging ditches. It wasn't glamorous work, but it gave me a paycheck and paid my bills. A friend offered me a couch - we'll call him... "Doom". Doom was a bit of a weird guy, a bold personality but kind of reclusive. We had been friends for a long time, but after the week was out, he'd never want to hear my name again, and I don't think I'd have felt right speaking to him in person or otherwise. One fateful night changed my life - I've been living with the regret ever since.

It had been a particularly hard day on the job - 14 hours, a hundred degree heat. Shoveling dirt and pouring asphalt. Tar and dirt clung to every inch of sweat soaked body, which I am sad to say is not rippling with muscle structure or particularly built. Coarse black chest hair, soaked wet with my sweat stuck to my skin in clumps. My shaggy, patchwork beard and samson-esque curly hair was in a similair state. My whole body stank and I felt like death. When some of the men from the crew invited me out for some beers, despite not being much of a drinker, I couldn't refuse. Big mistake.

We pulled up to a titty bar off the interstate, one of those places meant for truckers and hitchhikers. The kind of place where you pay enough dough you can get a blowjob from a toothless dancer with meth face. Thing was, once you were drunk enough, you really didn't care what they looked like. Still, I was broke, payday was three days off and I barely had enough to keep gas in the dying pickup truck I'd bought for a few hundred bucks in a junkyard in Ohio. So I settled for a beer and a show, and before I knew it one beer had become six and I was moving on to shots. I ran out of petty cash and stumbled for the exit. The boys saw how drunk I was, laughed at me for being a lightweight and gave me a ride back to Doom's place.

It was around 2:30 when I stumbled in, my work boots and jeans black with asphalt. I stripped down to my boxers and the white tank top I'd worn out that day, the undershirt stained thoroughly from my sweat. I smelled lousy from the liquor and the labor of the day, and stumbled to my couch - only to find the TV on, and doom fast asleep in front of it. He looked so peaceful, sleeping there. The dancers from the bar were still fresh on my mind - Doom's plump figure and mannish features were a far cry from their soft curves and voluptuous breasts, but I hardly cared. I reached a filthy hand into my pants and stroked my engorged member, rough and calloused hands caressing my seven inch tool while I stared down like a lecher at the sleeping doom.

He stirred awake, and looked at me in shock. Something in me snapped. Before he could get up, I shoved him back down, held him in place. He struggled, in vain. Despite the booze and the rigors of the day, I was a man posessed - I had to have release. Despite his struggles, I managed to roll him over on the couch, pinning him hard against it. As one hand held his head down against the couch, the other pulled down his shorts.

"No... Don't..." Doom whimpered, tears in his eyes. But I couldn't hear him. The fires of lust burned in my belly. I slid my rock-hard tool into Doom's virgin ass. Without lube it was a tight fit, but I managed, between the sweat and the precum and my rigid single-mindnedness, I began to thrust, pistoning my thick member in and out of doom's tight ass. Doom began to scream, but I quickly covered his mouth. "Shut up! I know you've been wanting this, you fucking whore!"

I took off my tank top and threw it away, my flabby chest pressing against doom's tight ass, making a slapping sound with each completed thrust, coarse chest and pubic hair scratching against the sensitive area with each full motion. The smell of the act combined with the smell coming from my day of hard work was overpowering, and my stomach churned from the sex. I felt the bile rise up in my throat, and in an overpowering wave I vomited on his back. Doom was sobbing, loudly, but I barely heard him. I continued to fuck the hole even through getting sick, thrusting deep and hard into his orifice with purpose. Nothing would stop me from getting my release after the day I had. Nothing!

Through a drunken haze, all the distractions, I could feel my climax coming. I had a sudden notion - I pulled out with a swift stroke, and grabbed doom by the hair. "You're going to swallow what I've got, you little bitch. Do you understand me?"

Doom shook his head. "No... Please... What the hell is wrong with you, just st-" I cut doom off with a sharp slap to his face. I grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to my cock. He moved his head away, and I forced my cock against his lips.

"Take it, or I'll knock your teeth out!" I shouted, and slapped him again. Doom went to scream, and I took the opportunity to ram my cock into his mouth. He gagged, but I didn't stop, thrusting deep into his mouth and throat, my cock filthy from his ass. Doom puked as I fucked his face, the reflex of his throat driving me over the brink. I shot what felt like a gallon of cum down his throat and pushed him over onto the floor. He lay in a fetal position, crying, as I collapsed on the couch.

The next day, I woke up and realized what I had done. Doom was gone. He didn't even leave a note. I got dressed and crept out as soon as I could. The consequences of my actions was not something I was willing to face, but I was naive. I've lived with the guilt ever since.

Doom - If you're out there tonight, reading this. I'm sorry.


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Shinra

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #6 on: August 07, 2009, 08:56:52 PM »

PS you huge faggots need to take being faggots more seriously.
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Doom

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #7 on: August 07, 2009, 08:57:43 PM »

You were my first.
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Frocto

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #8 on: August 08, 2009, 12:40:24 AM »

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ui1ClppRpOk

Thread Stickied

By Froctopus


LET'S IGNITE

Getting fired up! H-E-A-T
My Romosome! HOT HOT
Getting all sweaty! H-E-A-T
All through homozone! HOT HOT HOT
You're bad! H-E-A-T
It's sucking hard! HOT HOT
I'm hot,'cause you can't beat Heat Man!

Boy, feel the quality, when we are missin' jumps!
As of this night, your voice speaks out
Your breath starts to overflow more
Babe, let's play just like Rocky, let's beat 'em up
Your name, nobody's named Romo? ECCHI ECCHI HEAT MAN!!!

Baby, this long play is a hot night!
Together we're playing like we just might
Somehow make it through this sad fight
BE A MAN TONIGHT (Me ga man!)

Death under his feet, running from the heat!
YOU'RE SO SWEET TO DEFEAT!
DO NOT STOP CUTTIN' FOOTAGE OUT
ECCHI ECCHI HEAT MAN!!!

Boy, feel the quality, when we are missin' jumps!
Look, isn't it my responsibility to have such a long slouch?
Babe, let's play just like Rocky, let's beat 'em up
Gushing out magma! ECCHI ECCHI HEAT MAN!!!

Body and chasm (HEAT)
Finger and pad (HEAT)
Tongue and mic (HEAT)
This feeling! (HOT! HOT!)
You won't recover! (HEAT)
This vanishing! (HEAT)
Come back block! (HEAT)
ECCHI ECCHI HEAT MAN!!!

Boy, feel the quality, when we are missin' jumps!
I want ITEM-2, I desire you, BABY
I clearly want to say, would you just use item 2?
Babe, let's play just like Rocky, let's beat 'em up
My patience is overheating! ECCHI ECCHI HEAT MAN!!!

FUCK THIS STUPID SHIT

FUCK YOU

MEGAGAY

SHIT

DO YOU HATE LIFE

STUPID

IGNITION

3 2 1

Getting fired up! H-E-A-T
My Romosome! HOT HOT
Getting all sweaty! H-E-A-T
All through homozone! HOT HOT HOT
You're bad! H-E-A-T
It's sucking hard! HOT HOT
I'm hot,'cause you can't beat Heat Man!

Boy, feel the quality, when we are missin' jumps!
Your pulse quickens! Together, LET'S TRY THIS AGAIN!
I clearly want to say, would you finish this game?
Babe, let's play just like Rocky, let's beat 'em up
I'M CALLING THIS A DAY!
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Guild

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #9 on: August 08, 2009, 08:45:26 AM »

Rygaron's Player 1 reference: A+
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Bear Machine

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #10 on: August 10, 2009, 06:55:01 AM »

It entered into the darkness. It didn't belong there. The reason which is there to it does not turn that. Terrible thing happened that night. There was struggling. Struggling struggle. The no one was word. The movement was not made because everyone helps. There was the present many struggling. As for all struggling it was. There was a darkness due to the technology which is obtained less. You speak to struggling there is no technology which concerning. And he spoke! "There, as for method of a dozen this." It is possible not to go well; As for him, "You said; And which of those true." So it is not; The electric light blinked! The room was illuminated. The sofa was illuminated. The bookcase of marble was illuminated. The carpet of the fluff weave was illuminated. The head of the plaster rhinoceros of the wall was illuminated. The light was attached. Electricity became as before. The chair differs when there is a tail in us, you see. It is young, it is old, it dies. Then my balls touched against Kitan's.

Your lucky numbers are 8-22-15-27-29
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Brentai

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #11 on: August 10, 2009, 01:09:04 PM »

I just realized that at some point I'm going to have to seriously read each and every one of these.

Maybe I'll narrate them.
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Guild

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #12 on: August 11, 2009, 04:41:11 PM »

Do mine in a goofy cartoon voice.
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Doom

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #13 on: August 12, 2009, 05:09:25 AM »

As per the exciting new deadline rule, you guys have about 24 hours from now.
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Beat Bandit

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #14 on: August 12, 2009, 07:32:40 AM »

Gay.
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Doom

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #15 on: August 12, 2009, 10:47:09 PM »

I will tell you of some of the things I have done.

It was a dark, foreboding night. But it was still uncomfortably humid. This was a sensation I would never appreciate south of the Equator. It made my skin crawl, and not in the pleasant tingling manner I associated with watching my prey.

Every day he would diligently rise, make his way to work, enjoy some quaint aspect of common, everyday life and then he would return home, in the late evening. There, he would don a pair of headphones and take shots of tequila until he became the idol I sought, the tussled blonde mane whipping back and forth wildly as he unleashed a formidable assault of swears, curses and soothingly witty condemnations upon the supporters of his rise to fame: LPing.

I had contacted Frocto many moons ago and formed something of a bond with him, as simple as such things can be over the internet. We were friendly, he would accept suggestions to LP interesting games. I believe I started a trend here when I offered to him the esoteric Clock Tower, for the SNES. He beat the entire thing, his caramel-toned voice softly assailing the sensibilities of the mixed Japanese-English offices that released such a ridiculous concept in the states, his masculine yet darling prepubescent voice turning shrill as he could only howl in confusion at the sight of the giant demon baby.

They were good LPs, but I never intended what would follow.. a trend of awful games, each more terrible than the last. He was.. my friend.. my special friend was subject to this emotional torment. As I listened, each day his voice seemed to grow a bit more strained. The tequila a bit weaker. I could feel it the same as I might the dislodged, still-beating heart of a baby bird between my thumb and index fingers, the pressure against them gradually weakening, the helpless thing having forever lost it's battle against gravity and cruel Earth.

I had to step in. It would be easy. And symbolic. A gentleman must be punctual, he must pay attention to details.

He, the internet darling Fried Octopus, hunched over a computer howling in fury at some piece of slant-eyed make trash.

Me, his greatest fan.. his only true friend.. kicking his front door until the flimsy Australian lock gave way, moving swiftly towards him. I had stalked the house out for weeks now. Even wearing a steel mask and carrying a pair of dully, malformed garden shears, I was able to move with precision.

Frocto was in a daze, but tequila gives bravado to even the lowest of men, and I was to face one of the highest. He shattered the bottle, cursing whatever family bore me out for causing him to waste good liquor. My vision blurred, my neck tightened. I flinched and twitched my head to the side, my vision glazing over, conveniently allowing me to see all of the little squiggles that populated the surface of my iris. The only thing that righted me was the sudden flood of adrenaline.

I lunged forward and cold-cocked him in the side of the head. The moment was soon gone, Frocto falling to the side with a dull thud. My thoughts returned. I had planned this and I was thankful my instinct could work together with my subconscious. I would not bid good night to this sweet prince as he could see it coming. The beautiful little lamb had suffered enough already.

My eyes traced over his body as I tried to remember the next part of the plan. Of the bittersweet pact. But I soon came to realize that more than my mind had been righted by the primal surge through my body: I was wickedly aroused. Who would not be? His delicate features, his curly hair.. his plump, dick-sucking lips.

I had my way with that boy, oh how I did. I throttled his mouth at least six times, I plundered his flabby little buttocks once or twice and I wore myself ragged in a dry humping frenzy. Maybe he came to at some point in the affair, but I didn't care. All that I could provide for was my innate lust, the burning flames in my loins that were never happy, even as they gave sweet, sticky release into his golden locks and his tired eyes.

So what if he wasn't that unconscious?! When I cut his head clean off, that stopped any sounds I heard, and even with the viscera draining and the process of death setting in, those delicious lips were so plump. Such plump, fat, dick-sucking limps. I gave them another climatic fucking and then I gouged out the eyes and went for a bit of the ol' skull fuckeroo. Then I noticed that his throat cavities were particularly ripe and my dick wasn't THAT sore, so why not go for a new personal record?

I sit here now, chuckling as I recount the whole affair, the body safely buried and the house torched soundly. I doubt one of those idiot officers and their giant boots or combat kangaroos can sniff onto my trail before I pull the trigger and end it all.

And while I'm here, I believe my good internet friend Stush is also a native of the great Down Under...
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Frocto

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #16 on: August 13, 2009, 04:18:31 AM »

I thought I'd wait a few hours and see if this made any more sense now.

It does not.

what the fuck doom

what the fuck
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Doom

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #17 on: August 13, 2009, 07:06:22 AM »

Contest is over 2 hours ago. Judges may Judge.
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Guild

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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #18 on: August 13, 2009, 12:19:36 PM »

i hope i never meet any of you in real life again
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Re: Fiction Contest 1
« Reply #19 on: August 13, 2009, 01:41:11 PM »

I have been asked to judge this.

I will be rating them on how many times I had to stop and vomit/try to not vomit before getting to the end.
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