This post destroyed a world of warcract fanfic. Gone forever. Lmao

Since these are usually shorter and with less of an audience than my regular works, and threads on this board last long periods of time, from now on rather than posting them in individual threads, I'll post all my Phil Phantom Tributes in this thread, sort of like Nicholas Fellheimer's thread.

For my past tributes, or for my other work in general, you can always check out http://www.asstr.org/~AnonyMPC/

PP tributes are my attempt to honor the style of a bygone and extremely prolific author of smut fiction, and also play with plots and themes that I don't think can support and in-depth character examination. They're usually quick, vulgar, unrealistic, and, I hope, fun for some of you.

Next post I'll start with the most recent one.

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Hey guys, I know no one ever reads the opening up here, but this is the first time I've submitted anything to /elit/, so constructive criticism is welcome. I'll post the first two chapters tonight, and try to write them each day or two and have them posted for you guys. Thanks!


A Man No More
[TF, MF, MMF+, FF, slave, etc.]




Chapter 1: Man Up


“Come on, Sam, it’ll be fun, and you need to relax anyway!” My girlfriend was quite stubborn. More so than myself, which means I would end up losing this argument.
“Hun, it’s a salon,” I argued back. “It’s my eighteenth birthday, I don’t think spending it in some fruity salon is what I’ve been waiting years for.” That’s right, Clarissa, my girlfriend, was trying to drag me to some salon and spa for men. She had gone to a salon for her eighteenth birthday two weeks ago, and had it in her head that I would love it too. Obviously, I’m not quite as interested.
“Please, baby? I just want us both to feel perfect.”
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- 1 -

It's hard to measure the cost of a dream, but without question Jack was done dreaming at the moment. The sharp sound of breaking glass outside the loft window had stirred him a few seconds ago and the heat and stench of the trashed alleyway outside made it impossible to get comfortable again. As he sat up his head pounded with the force of a nasty hangover and along with the ache memories of last night slowly surfaced in his mind. Jack had arrived in Phnom Penh the night before after a layover in Taiwan. The total trip had taken more than 30 hours and other than some turbulence somewhere over the pacific ocean the flight was dreadfully uneventful. Jack had tried numerous times to read the spy novel and TIME magazine he had purchased back at the airport in Texas but his thoughts kept creeping off the pages as he fantasized about his destination. Cambodia had been on his mind for months now. He marked down the days to his vacation every morning and spent the evenings researching and planning everything from budgets to weather forecasts. Now, in late spring, the day was finally here and no amount of snoring, arm rest hogging passengers, free in-flight energy drinks, and amazon best sellers could keep his mind off of how close he was to realizing his dream, his most secret fantasy.
Jack's plane had landed at the surprisingly modern Phnom Penh International Airport around 11 PM on a Friday night. He had intended to check into the loft apartment he rented for the two week stay as soon as he arrived but he had instead gotten a taxi to the closest club district. Despite the terrible jet lag and mostly sleepless flight, Jack knew he'd need a few drinks before he was out. "Besides" he thought as he eyed a group of call girls outside a local beer bar, "I've waited almost a year to see the sights".
After several drinks, which barely put a dent in the $10 dollar bill he had exchanged at the door for 40,000 Cambodian riel, he was beyond buzzed. The bar felt like a strip club, but with pool tables and an outside patio it was noteably more relaxed. Also the girls weren't as much dancing as advertising themselves to the outdated western pop music. A few of them were especially attractive and Jack felt his pants tighten around his crotch as a pair of young, dark haired, hostesses came by his table to flirt and implore him to buy another round. They weren't as polished as thai hookers but they seemed more genuine and friendly. More importantly, they were noticeably more grateful for the attention and tips the patrons tossed to them like scraps. Nothing turned Jack on more than a girl swathed in a palpable air of desperation from poverty. These girls were wearing it heavy, in fact the whole city was. His head was floating with a sense of preeminence and cheap drinks and soon he was drunk enough to consider paying to take a particular girl, the one now resting in his lap sport Message too long. Click here to view the full text.

Hello all.
I've written some short stories so I'll keep this short. It's a story about loving a dickgirl and the heartache and buttache that comes with it. It's my first longstory, it's slow. It's not done yet: I want the readers to pick a cool ending. I have about 6 chapters ready to go with a few more in the draft stages. If this thread dies I will make it clear. Hopefully that doesn't happen. If you find any typos, inconsistencies or fuckups please let me know.
Hope you enjoy.

global tags: herm on male, mf, femdom, futadom, reluctance, group, kinda romancey

---

Prologue:


I gulped. It was only a natural response, when something is clogging up your windpipe you have two choices - cough or swallow or suffocate. I can’t be blamed for picking the latter can I?
“Good boooy” she goaded, one hand on my throat, feeling my hyoid bone slide gooey contents down the tube. Her other hand brushed sweaty hair out of my eyes and tears from the side of my face. They weren’t tears of pain or sadness. Okay, maybe a little bit of pain. I gasped for my first full lung of air since we started, now my throat was completely empty, if it weren’t for the sticky sides - the way it clung to the walls like fried eggs. Stop thinking about eggs I focused on her face, flushed and pleased. My eyes, only slightly defiant, stared up into hers through the dark. I could still see them glitter with satisfaction as they wandered past mine, over me to the other side of the room. Hidden under the blankets I couldn’t see what was happening there, even if I could hear it; gentle moans and heady grunts, two different voices. Bronte’s hand went from my throat to my chin and a single finger beckoned me up her body, my tongue dragging up her sweat lined skin. She giggled in response.
“You’re getting good” she claimed, pulling my body against hers once we were face to face, naked skin touching naked skin. She had a little smirk on her face that looked like ’I know you enjoy it’
She planted a kiss on my forehead and her hands roamed over my skin. “Roll over” gestured, pushing my hips slightly. I silently agreed and turned to my other side - little spoon. From here I could see where the noise was coming from -

“That’ll be you tomorrow” Bronte claimed, both her promise and my body.

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Surely among the best erotic stories I've read are those of RomanticPornSites reviewed by https://romanticpornsites.com/

This is a first-time story that is also my first time posting. I hope you enjoy it.

straight, teen, consensual, romantic, explicit sex

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I was not a good gymnast, but I enjoyed being on the team because it was fun and it made me marginally "cooler". And of course, as a 16 year old boy, I enjoyed being around the female gymnasts who practiced every morning at the same time as the boys. Their petite bodies were lean and muscular, and the revealing outfits left little to the imagination. To me they were the pinnacle of sexiness, and I masturbated thinking about them frequently.

Even though I was short compared to most boys my age, I was in pretty good physical shape. And people sometimes complimented my hair. I like to think I was decent looking, but my appeal was diminished by low self esteem. I was a virgin. In fact I'd never really had a girlfriend. All of these girls I pined for were way out of my league, and I had never approached any girl who was "in my league" for fear of missing out on something better. How ignorant I was.

So I had become friendly with the girl's gymnastics team "trainer", Tara, who was a senior, one grade above me. She had been a good gymnast at one time, but a knee injury had taken her out of the sport. She helped the girls with equipment, spotting, and physical therapy. A side benefit to being friends with Tara was it put me in proximity to the other gymnast girls, and I had hoped maybe she'd even put in a good word for me.

Tara had never dressed provocatively like the most popular girls did. She always wore modest attire that was never tight or revealing. The exact details of her figure were a mystery, but she was in good shape, though no longer "athletic", and she had at least C-cup breasts.

Her skin was pale and she had straight dirty-blonde hair, full lips and round face. She wore glasses that covered blue eyes that looked like she must have had a Scandinavian heritage. Overall, she was average-to-pretty, at least 8 out of 10, and she exuded wholesome innocence.
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Was considering posting this elsewhere, but decided on here.

Male/Herm/Incest

When I was five, my younger sister Nicole was born. There isn’t a lot I recall about that time, other than the excitement of meeting my younger sibling, my dad taking me to the toy store the night of the birth to pick out a stuffed animal for both myself, and my soon to be sibling.

Then, things got tense. It was a bit of a blur, but my mother became very protective of my newly born sister. I recall my father saying he just wanted her to have a normal life. Something my mother apparently didn’t take kindly to.

And, so here I was, helpless, five years old, listening to my parent’s argue almost constantly, and being very confused..

My mother was extremely protective of my sister. There were none of the usual things one would expect of siblings. Bathing together, naked frolicking, etc.

I didn’t really think anything of it. I just found her annoying, as anyone would a younger sibling who followed you around and tried to constantly get your attention. “Will, Will, Will.” she’d repeat annoyingly.

And then the divorce. And my father moved out. And I, as a stupid ten year old will do, stole and crashed my mother’s car because I’d decided I wanted to live with my dad despite the courts saying otherwise. I don’t think I made it a quarter mile. It was almost comical.
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Hey guys. Soli again. At least a couple people seemed interested in the rough draft for the first chapter of Fucking Appendix I posted yesterday. So as promised, here is the edited first chapter, along with the second. If you like it, let me know. If its a piece of shit, let me know that too. Either way, be sure to check back often, as I will likely be updating frequently with new chapters. Once again, I give you Fucking Appendix. Hope you enjoy.
I read the words on the screen again, sure I must be misreading them. They couldn't say what I thought they did, and yet there they were.

"Do as I say, or Eve dies."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I guess it really started the day my little sister, Eve, came down with appendicitis. Even though she was three years younger, fourteen to my seventeen, we were always close, possibly owing to the fact we were both enrolled in an online form of homeschooling. That meant that for most of our lives, we were each other's only constant contact, and I always thought of her as a friend as well as a sister.

She took after our mom in that she was a petite, freckly ginger, tiny all over except for the ass and b cup breasts she had recently developed, and was maybe a bit overly proud of. It was often a topic around the house when she insisted on walking around in just her bra and panties, and I often had to politely suggest she get dressed, to which she would usually just roll her eyes, and maybe put on an overly small pair of shorts.

Though she was never exactly bubbly, she was always generally cheerful, and rarely complained about anything. That's why, when I came into the living room one summer afternoon and found her curled up on the couch looking less than happy, I decided to try and cheer her up. "What's wrong sis, got the red tide blues?" I teased as I plopped down beside her and gave her a playful nudge in the side.

I expected a playful smack, or maybe for her to help a throw pillow to live up to its name. What I got instead, was a yelp of pain from Eve, as she squeezed into a tighter ball and tears began to stream down her cheeks.

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Another Saturday, and my 'guest' was still playing her strange game. Wherever I went, she followed, gaze unwavering. It was a predator's stare, so out of place on that little wisp of a girl, but I was used to it by now, and I barely noticed anymore. It's amazing what you can get used to, given enough time. It had been more than a month since she'd levered herself into my home and life, and she had yet to speak a single word. Having seen what I had, I was inclined to let her keep her silence. Living without conversation was no great burden for me, so I'd eventually managed to regain some sense of normalcy. I gave each task my full attention, pouring my focus into every action. I made a ritual of yet another mundane task as I made us both eggs and french toast, as we ate in silence, as I cleaned up after. I didn't notice at all how my shirt's too-big collar slipped, careless, down one slender, pale shoulder. I didn't watch as she licked daintily at a spot of syrup on her delicate finger, her eyes never leaving me as she slid it between her lips. I pointedly avoided noticing the way a lock of her hair, dark and straight and silky smooth, only slightly mussed despite the night's sleep, fell across her cheek in a way the begged my fingers to brush it back behind her ear. I was so busy not noticing that I damn near missed my mouth with my next bite, and the laughter danced behind those deep dark eyes, so deep you could drown in them, so dark they might as well be black.

I finished quickly, then stood, taking my plate. I could do just as good a job not noticing at the sink as anywhere. I didn't take her plate for the same reason one does not take an antelope from a feeding lion. She'd leave it when she chose, syrup and powdered sugar scattered like blood and offal, but I'd deal with that when the time came.

I spent the morning in the studio, along with my exra shadow. I'd packed up everything but the old Bride of Frankenstein to ship out on Monday. To tell the truth, I didn't really have anything left to do, but it was a grand old poster, and I enjoyed looking at it. Ray had sent it to me faded, folded, and dog-eared, but it had still been a beautiful poster for all that. God knows where he'd found it, but that was his business. I just made her pretty again. She'd fetch $200,000 at the very least, if I didn't miss my guess. The way the market had picked up lately, and with Ray running the auction I wouldn't be surprised at all if she went for double that. I spent an hour or two making a few final touches, but I was mostly running on force of habit. It had been done for a few days now, I just liked looking at it.

On the way out, I passed an empty canvas. That was for my own work. I hadn't done a project of my own in months now. I kept meaning to, but it never seemed like the right time. None of my originals ha Message too long. Click here to view the full text.