The Bad Sex Awards

It was uncomfortably hot in Mary's flat, but Skinner took a seat opposite the fat old woman. - Can you help me? He said earnestly.

- What's your problem?

He told her that he believed that he had put a spell on somebody. He wanted to know if this was possible, how he could have done this, and how it could be reversed.

- Oh aye, it's possible. Mary regarded him cannily. - I can help you, but I need payin first, son. Money's nae use tae me at ma age. Her eyes wrinkled. - You're a fine-lookin laddie, she said harshly. - A good cock, son, that's the payment I need!

Skinner looked at her, and shook his head ...

- Take oaf yir clathes then, let me see the goods, Mary rasped in lecherous cheer.

As Skinner undressed, the old woman removed her coat and began to struggle out of a series of cardigans, pinafores and vests. Lying on the bed, she looked smaller but still monstrous, wrinkled rolls of flab spilling over the mattress. Foul aromas rose from the putrefying pools of sweat and dead skin trapped within the folds of her flesh. - Thoat ye'd be bigger, Mary pouted as Skinner removed his Calvin Klein briefs.

Fuckin cheeky auld clart ...

- Next time ah'll bring a strap on, he said bitterly.

Ignoring him, Mary lay back on the bed and pulled away at the sagging corrugations of her body until she was able to locate her sex. - Ah've nae cream tae lubricate this. Ye'll huv tae use spit. Howk it up, she commanded. ...

Work it in, Mary urged, as Skinner took his thick green slime and spread it like a chef might glaze some pastry, at the same time slowly breaching and exploring. A ludicrously distended clitoris popped out from nowhere like a jack-in-the-box, the size of a small boy's penis, and disconcertingly strangulated groans coming from the bed told Skinner that he was hitting the spot. After a while she gasped, - Pit it in now ... pit it in ...

Bad Sex Awards