Welcome to Boxer & Rice

It wasn’t exactly that Bri was obsessive when it came to the prolonged torture and creative demise of her fictional characters – she just liked to have fun. And interestingly enough, her characters were always under her control; lending and submitting themselves to whatever morbid ministrations Bri had in store for them.

Bored, Bri repeatedly tapped the space bar, willing inspiration to dawn upon her once more. Fiona Apple was playing in the background, demanding something about a paper bag. Bri sighed. She stared at her monitor at a scantily clad Angelina Jolie looking sultry and shimmering in all the right body parts. All the components of an appropriate writing environment were present: music, visual stimulation, a keyboard, and the desire for readers’ feedback. And yet she couldn’t take her mind off the one thing that’s been bothering her lately : anal sex.

Well, yes, Bri was as gay as the pink fire hydrant across the street from her house, but something about ass fucking intrigued her. It made her want a dick. But a dick Bri didn’t have. It was just one of those things that came without the XX chromosome. Bri bit herself in frustration. This wasn’t working. There has to be a way to at least vicariously experience this phenomenon known as anal sex.

That’s when she pulled up her word-processing software.

Bri blinked at the cursor and it blinked right back. Mocking her, she thought. All she needed were two victims. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head disgustingly as she searched her mind for willing victims. “Ah, yes,” she said, a predatory smirk on her face. “Trunks and Gohan.” It was perfect. Obscene homosexuality, muscled body parts, and topics bordering on kiddie porn. “Oh, fine,” Bri said. “What the hell…throw in a little physical abuse.”

Bri’s keyboard clicked and clacked. Words began to fill up her once blank .doc file, and another wonderful PWP was in the works.

Bri paused somewhere in the sixth paragraph, unsure where to put Trunks’ hard cock. She reached for the glass of cran-vodka and downed half of it. She thought about lighting a cigarette but experience taught her that keyboards and ashes don’t mesh well.

“Definitely in Gohan’s navel. Definitely.” With a few sure strokes, Bri had Trunks’ cock rubbing against Gohan’s belly, and Gohan thrusting against Trunks.

But Bri wasn’t fooling herself. She knew that she was merely postponing the inevitable. Someone had to get fucked soon…she knew this. That’s how hot sweaty sex went. There has to be fucking. And yet, Trunks and Gohan aren’t. Fucking, that is – in the technical sense of the word. Bri paused for a moment to think. She didn’t have a penis. She doesn’t know what it would feel like to have a velvety flesh wrapped around every man’s favourite appendage. She was going to have to wing it.

There was a hentai anime she saw once – LA Blue Girl. One of the scenes was of two girls using some sort of sexual martial arts technique to lengthen their clits to dick-like proportions. Bri has that particular body part. She could work with that.

And once again, the keystrokes resumed. She began sweating in her enthusiastic fervour. This story was going to get written, damn it! “And there’s going to be anal sex.” Damn right, there is.

Somewhere between Trunks’ calloused hands and Gohan’s smooth back, Bri thanked the fit saiyan bodies. They were warriors who started to train when they were merely children. They have to be flexible enough. Trunks should be able to pound Gohan as hard as he wanted without trouble. Gohan could take it. Hell, if he could take several punches in the same spot, why not a friend’s hard cock ramming inside him?

Bri pressed ctrl+s with a satisfying click of the keys. As the file saved, she drank the rest of her cran-vodka that had gotten a little too watery.

“Well, fuck, that’s hot,” she said. “I think my computer needs a cigarette.”