House of Holes

Henriette Goes for a Walk

Henriette decided to take her new extra-big ass on a walk to the noisy quay where the Masturboats docked. She wanted to feed the gulls and see what was up. First she got in the shower to wash herself so that she could be clean all day and the world wouldn’t know what a totally freaky, filthy-minded, cocksucking whore of a princess she actually was. She washed her hair and her face and her body, and last of all she washed her pussy and her huge deep asscrack. Her pussy she washed by holding it spread open with her right hand and splashing water up at it a bunch of times, and her asscrack she washed by jamming the cold soap between her pleasantly joggling cheeks and working it around a few times. Washing the asscrack wasn’t really that difficult; rinsing was trickier. Soap could burn later if you didn’t rinse every bit of it away, Henriette knew from experience — burn like a bastard — and you couldn’t just rely on the water that was coursing down your back to do the job.

So Henriette employed what she thought of as the Aswan Dam method. She cupped her left hand in the shape of a C, and then she pressed this C below her anus, but before her pussyhole, in the no-man’s-land known as the perineum, which is a word that comes from the Greek word for “pine barrens.” She cupped her left hand there and made a seal against her asscheeks so that the water as it coursed down her back would be caught in this temporary well or spillway that she had created. She had in effect dammed her ass temporarily. When her hand was full she began agitating it, still keeping the seal intact — steadily slooshing the water in waves against her anus for ten seconds or so. Then she opened her fingers to let that rinse effluent fall away. Again she made the C-cup with her left hand and let it fill, and again sloshed it vigorously. At last she knew that she had a truly clean, well-rinsed asscrack, ready to greet the day.

She dressed in her new form-fitting ass jeans and went strutting outside. She walked down the Avenue of the Men Who Need to Suck on Twat Every Day and took a left on Upskirt Street. There she heard a voice calling, “Wait, stop, hello, wait!” Ruzty hurried up in his torn jeans, out of breath. His T-shirt was old and red, and it said “Phillies.” “I request to squeeze your ass,” he said, in his foreign voice. “You will notice that I have the ass-squeezer’s license.”

“Do you now?” asked Henriette. “Good for you. What else do you have?”

“Basically, that’s it,” said Ruzty. “Everybody is trying to keep going, but then they turn out to be broke. The size of what they owe is how rich they are. If they can borrow a billion dollars, that makes them rich. Really they have nothing. But never mind, because I have”—he pulled out a folded sheet of paper and patted it—“an ass-squeezer’s license, signed. This means I can walk up to a girl like you with a big, beautiful ass and tell her I want to squeeze it, and she has to let me.”

“Let’s see the license,” said Henriette.

Ruzty waved it at her.

“Very well. Where?”

“My hotel.”

They went up to his suite at the Portalino Extended Stay Suites.

“How do you want to squeeze it?” Henriette asked.

“I want you up on the bed, as soon as possible.”

Henriette took off her roomy denim ass pants and arranged herself bending forward on the bed like a person skiing down a slalom course.

She felt his hands on her, squeezing their way along her backthighs and finding her lower backcheeks and massaging her deeply, with an interest in all her cores and centers. Then she felt his cock pushing strangely at the seams of her underwear. “No, now, Ruzty,” she said. “You have an ass-squeezer’s license, not a pussy-fucker’s license.”

“Wait a second, yes, I do, I do, I just forgot to show it,” Ruzty said, rummaging in his pockets. He had a slightly desperate sound. He waved another folded piece of paper. “I’ve been saving it for this moment.”

Henriette looked the paper over. “You just typed this yourself and printed it out, didn’t you?”

Ruzty looked chagrined. “Yes.”

“Is the ass-squeezer’s license forged as well?”

“Yes,” he said. “Daggett said he couldn’t give me a real one because there are too many. I was wrong, I know it now. I went outside the proper channels.”

Henriette said, “Ruzty, you very bad boy.”

Ruzty said, “I’m sorry.”

She looked at his eyes, which traveled to her ass. Then she caught sight of his remarkably solid but curved piece of equipment. She made a tiny hissing sound and said, “Oh, might as well go ahead anyway. Fuck me, horny sailor.”

Ruzty’s dick bounced with gladness. Henriette gnawed the sheet and waited. She felt his cock helmet finding the sloppy gates. Then impulsively she turned onto her back. “Take me where I can see you,” she said.

He sank over her, and she led him inside, forcing his cock to unbend. She gave him the Cook’s tour of her innerness. His backbone worked lithely; his bottom, swiveling, rose and fell.

Henriette straightened her knees, so that her feet were up in the air, running. She laughed because it felt so good, and she said, “Ruzty, you are a swervy-dicked master of the fuck! Don’t stop! Fill my bitchgroove!”

He squeezed her very hard to him and breathed in her hair and shuddered out everything he had into her. “I give you everything,” he said.

Later in the shower, Henriette remembered this and got on her knees and said, “Oh, Ruzty, oh, Ruzty,” and came.