"crude, tasteless" sexual depictions in published

#1
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/4091643.stm

There's a prize for it :lol:

Can anyone find anything better than:

Slither slither slither slither went the tongue, but the hand that was what she tried to concentrate on, the hand, since it has the entire terrain of her torso to explore and not just the otorhinolaryngological caverns.
Oh God, it was not just at the border where the flesh of the breast joins the pectoral sheath of the chest no, the hand was cupping her entire right - Now! She must say 'No, Hoyt' and talk to him like a dog...

woof woof :lol:
 
#2
How's This?::

" I love you," she said, caressing his elbow as if it were the very centre of his Being. A strong sea wind blew her long auburn hair into his face, and momentarily blinded, he pulled her to him and lifted her chin slightly so that her lips were poised to meet his. As they kissed, she was transported through Time Eternal to another plane of Being.
" I love you more than I have ever loved anything or anyone in my life, " he said as the breeze made her tresses slap him mercilessly about the head. Gently spitting her hair out of his mouth, he kissed her again and again. Soon, she became conscious of something hard and firm pressing against her tender loins.
" Your sword, " she whispered in his ear. " Your sword is making a dent in my Person. "
But, it was not his sword, as she would find out later. ..It was his pistol...
 
#4
From "The Annals of Gna'ash" by RTFQ:

Instinctively, from the dark caverns of primeval Id, he slipped in the ‘Double Spock.’

“No doctor – It’s not logical!” cried she, full and sated.

“Stop blo0dy shouting woman, you’ll wake the bairns” mused I, aware of the danger.

“Eat me like a happy meal! Be my Hamburgler you naughty Ronald!” Her face flushed the colour of cranberry juice as she begged him huskily.

“Forchrissakes! Let go of me ears”

“CRY HAVOC AND LET SLIP YOUR DOG OF WAR!”

“Ouch, Fcuk, lay of my plums – stop it!”

“I’m a bad Dobby! Claim my Goblet of Fire!” Her face a rictus of hate and desire.

“Stop making that face doris, you’re scaring me”

“---“

“Doris?”

“---“

“Breath you stupid cow”

“---“

“You’re turning purple, stop it”

“I AM CORNHOLIO!!!”

“ Sod this, I’m going back to the pub.” And off I sodded.

“Do You Have Teepeee?”
 
#6
Alternatively:

"He grabbed the lapels of her cnut and pulled it on like a well-worn sea boot..."
 
#7
Another titbit from "The Annals of Gna'ash" by RTFQ bublished by penguin books (£5.99 in BargainBooks). Don't let the ladies read this, they'll start leaking like a fcuked fridge.

Later, once the Colonel had cleaned himself off, Maria (the nervous French maid) slipped like a bespectacled ninja into Master Diggory’s boudoir.

“Monsieur Diggory?” She offered at the altar of darkness spread before her. “J’ai un aeroglisseur pour vous…”

Tentatively, ever more aware of a sentient evil poised supine somewhere in the lightless void around her, she tiptoed farther into the room. The burning glass of absynthe rattled on the tray she carried in a crazed timpani synchronised with her trembling breasts. As the bluegreen flames died of merciless asphyxiation it splattered a wet, momentary light across her face, highlighting the fear in her eyes.

“Monsieur? Ou est le gare? Je n’aime pas cette fromage….” Her advancing foot hovered unset on the parquet flooring, a bead of sweat slid down the contour of her bare calf, stopped at the fringe of her shoeless white ankle sock and dropped to the floor like a fainting virgin.

He lept, naked and greased from behind the bidday, issuing a chilling sexual warcry. “AIRBORNE!”

Master Diggory stoop rampant before her. “Behold, I am Belerophon, and this is my Pegasus!” Maria noted that his ‘pegasus’ was merely a disappointing three inches long, but by god was it angry.

The sight of his naked body glistening in chip fat, coupled with his myopic, yet lusty, glare, was too much for maria. She turned to run, but her socked feet slipped and she fell face down on the floor. As she lifted her dazed head something sticky clung to her soft cheek, it smelt of salty hotdogs. She spun herself around to see him standing over her. In honesty, he looked a bit bored and was picking his nose. This nonchalance undid her like a cheap B-wise bra; her defences were swamped by her joint armies of desire and hate. She burned for him.

“Monsieur, treat me like Vanessa Paradis! Je voudrais fumer le grande une! JE SUIS CORNHOLIO!”

The rest is carnal history….
 
#8
have you got a camera in my room?????
 
#9
Or, in Northern foreplay parlance; "Is tha' wet yet muther?"
 
#10
WTF are "otorhinolaryngological caverns"?? 8O
 
#13
HOLY F*CK !!!

just told the bird about your book , she says it was an urban myth at her school , the legend went thus.
"she whoevereth reads the annals, wilst faint to a sexual coma whilst fizzing at the bunghole"

where would this sacred text be available ?

is there some sort of warning that goes with it??
 
#14
It's dead expensive in posh shops like Waterstones and ottakers, so I'll do ARRSE a favour; every so often (probably coinciding with when I get bored in the office) I'll send a snippet in, I might even release some of my unpublished work.

The warning runs thus:

Don't read it - it's bollox :wink:
 

Cutaway

LE
Kit Reviewer
#15
Is it hell bollox RTFQ, it's sheer poetry !

If you don't send some more so I can get onto the vinegar strokes soon, I'll have to slam this thing in the car door.
 
#16
OK Cuts, for you mate. This one comes at the beginning of Chapter 9: Labias and Ladyboys

Jenny struggled with the two buckets of freshly harvested milk as she took goat steps down the steep alpine hill. The sun was looking down on her like a strict, disproving schoolmistress, and Jenny sweated under the glare. The white blouse had started to stick to the perfect curve of her nubile lower back and the dampness cloyed on her heavy bosom, nipples standing pert in the mountain breeze, like a couple of nine millies.

It had been a hard day’s milking. She deposited the two buckets in the cold store. Her aureolae screamed in youthful delight as the store’s dryfrozen air crashed against her chest like a Maryland storm-sea and the breeze blissfully penetrated her cotton pantaloons and elephant-head thong. Jenny quickly picked up the last two empty buckets, the handles unyielding steel almost throbbed with the refrigerated cold, it reminded her of another time, a club named Destiny and Desires, when the hard throbbing in either hand had been very different…

Charged, she set off up the hill toward the herd. After a dozon paces her will had submitted, prostrate beneath the musky humidity of the dying day. Drudge and drudge, step and step she moved on up, like M People, sweat penetrating unnamed and secret places. The throb was everywhere yet only centred in one place. Her front bottom was hungry.

She pulled her little milking stool to the side of Ermintrude, the biggest cow of the herd and bent to her task. Moderators, don’t worry, this doesn’t get too bestial. Her hands where manicured fluidity as she rhythmically pumped the cow’s glands. The little twist of the wrists ensured a good flow. Suddenly a wolf cried deep at the waning sun. It’s embittered plea a plaintiff mix of hate and desire. The sound shocked Jenny and her hands spasmed in a deep-set, genetic human fear – in doing so she twisted one of the teats suddenly and milk splashed on the base of her neck and seeped downward; Jenny was surprised by its gentle warmth. The cow was blo0dy surprised too and shifted nervously.

Before she knew it, Jenny was back at work milking the animal. Through her haze of dark naughtiness she was only half-aware that she had kicked the bucket over as she shifted her long legs in an impatiant effort to get comfortable. She was only semiconscious of the fact that she was directing the flow at herself, milk cascading, rivulets parting at fleshy peaks and tumbling over pert boulders, backwash saturating Jenny’s neck and chin.

Suddenly a shout. Carlos, the sherpherd lad from the village had arrived to protect Jenny from the wolf, yet had seen a travesty of the flesh that shocked and intrigued him. He had also experienced a look of ecstasy rarely seen on a fresian (thanks PK). He was aching. Jenny, now kneeling, feet tucked demurely beneath her looked scared and ashamed at the blossoming young man, unsure of the next move.

Carlos held his arms aloft, staff in one hand, like that wizard bloke off the Lord of the Rings, and whispered one revered word.

“Cornholio”

At this word his sheep moved as one toward the soaked girl, her blouse transparent and hair soaked. The flock gathered her up gently and carried her toward carlos like a big fluffy woolen royal litter. Carried her to her reward, the mucky bint….
 

Cutaway

LE
Kit Reviewer
#17
Yes............Yes............nearly there............just got to seal off the ressie cannister............
 
#19
oldandcold said:
Alternatively:

"He grabbed the lapels of her cnut and pulled it on like a well-worn sea boot..."
Laughed so hard i spilt my tea.

how about "as his hand slid down her tummy, he realised she had a clout like a monkeys autopsy"?

Rincewind
 
#20
RTFQ said:
Another titbit from "The Annals of Gna'ash" by RTFQ bublished by penguin books (£5.99 in BargainBooks). Don't let the ladies read this, they'll start leaking like a fcuked fridge.

Later, once the Colonel had cleaned himself off, Maria (the nervous French maid) slipped like a bespectacled ninja into Master Diggory’s boudoir.

“Monsieur Diggory?” She offered at the altar of darkness spread before her. “J’ai un aeroglisseur pour vous…”

Tentatively, ever more aware of a sentient evil poised supine somewhere in the lightless void around her, she tiptoed farther into the room. The burning glass of absynthe rattled on the tray she carried in a crazed timpani synchronised with her trembling breasts. As the bluegreen flames died of merciless asphyxiation it splattered a wet, momentary light across her face, highlighting the fear in her eyes.

“Monsieur? Ou est le gare? Je n’aime pas cette fromage….” Her advancing foot hovered unset on the parquet flooring, a bead of sweat slid down the contour of her bare calf, stopped at the fringe of her shoeless white ankle sock and dropped to the floor like a fainting virgin.

He lept, naked and greased from behind the bidday, issuing a chilling sexual warcry. “AIRBORNE!”

Master Diggory stoop rampant before her. “Behold, I am Belerophon, and this is my Pegasus!” Maria noted that his ‘pegasus’ was merely a disappointing three inches long, but by god was it angry.

The sight of his naked body glistening in chip fat, coupled with his myopic, yet lusty, glare, was too much for maria. She turned to run, but her socked feet slipped and she fell face down on the floor. As she lifted her dazed head something sticky clung to her soft cheek, it smelt of salty hotdogs. She spun herself around to see him standing over her. In honesty, he looked a bit bored and was picking his nose. This nonchalance undid her like a cheap B-wise bra; her defences were swamped by her joint armies of desire and hate. She burned for him.

“Monsieur, treat me like Vanessa Paradis! Je voudrais fumer le grande une! JE SUIS CORNHOLIO!”

The rest is carnal history….

<MORE MORE>

this is as funny as stumpy tales!!!!!

Rincewind
 

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