Mike Penis

 

By Van Wilde

 

Mike Pence. Mike Pence. Mike pensive. Mike. Pensive. Mike is pensive about penises. Mike is thoughtful about throbbing cock. Mike’s cock thoughts are that he loves long penises. Mike longs for savory shafts, fabulous phalluses, and delicious dicks.

Mike Pence walked alone one night down a dark alley, a non-sequitur from his usual route home in Indianapolis. You might be thinking, Why was Mike walking home instead of driving? Does Indianapolis even have dark alleys? A better question is, Why was Mike Pence now taking his clothes off in a dark alley on his walk home from work in Indianapolis? Remember, in the mind of a person like Mike, the amount of clothes you wear, or don’t wear, directly correlates with how much you’re asking to get fucked.

Hours later, a semen-crusted, butt-sore Mike Pence would reflect that he got what he was asking for. Spoiler alert: this story contains gubernatorial bukkake. I’m talking loads of loads. Loads is a word which here means an amount of semen ranging in volume between a handful and a bucket, usually splashed on the face of regressive homophobes like Mike Pence, sometimes with lips wide open.

 

Mike Pence, now wearing only a gold, soon to be soaked white, Trump tie, threw his suit in a nearby garbage container. Where he was going, he wouldn’t need clothes. Mike Pence descended the dark alley, now an apparent doorway to a land of sin and semen that beckoned to him “cum hither.”

 

Mike’s Descent to dicks, accompanied only by the sound of his fascist testicles bouncing off his legs with each respective stride, was swift and lubricious.

 

The puckering gate to hell soon stood tall before Mike, the wind of a thousand moans singing a soft song of immortal pleasure as it passed through the brown door of Erebos, anointing Mike Pence in its sensual tones. Mike’s trembling member heard the call of duty and began to stand at attention, smiling wide and letting out a little of Satan’s saliva. He’s waited his whole life for this moment, edging closer to the precipice of destiny: all Mike had to do was submit.

 

Mike walked through the portal to butt-fuck Hell, which really wasn’t a portal at all. It was, and is still, just the alley door to Bucky Chuck’s Dive and Biker bar. Bucky Chuck’s Dive and Biker bar is famous for two things; the guinness world record motorcycle domino collapse, and it’s surprisingly omni-partisan patrons. On a typical night, one can walk into Bucky Chuck’s Dive and Biker bar and be surrounded by nauseatingly progressive liberals and equally nauseatingly regressive conservatives. Historians and sociologists are puzzled to this day why any of the bikers were liberals, or why any liberals had motorcycles, but that’s a red herring at this point.

 

What isn’t a red herring is cock-thoughtful, disciple of dick Mike Pence, who was now surrounded by the aforementioned politically diverse patronage of Bucky Chuck’s Dive and Biker bar, all of whom had the urge to raw dog the now Vice President. The lefties wanted to penetrate Pence for the sweet irony, while the righties wanted to manhandle Mike for the privilege, the honor of being inside such a visionary leader of our time.

 

Yes, it was working. Pants and chaps were dropping, cocks were coming out; some pierced, some choked, and some red and ragged - all words that could soon describe Mike Pence. Mike couldn’t contain himself, he was already as erect as could be. His once sad softness had sprung to a new height of hardness, a personal record of two whole inches. Sadly, much like his sanity, Mike’s erection was short lived as he unloaded all over his own balls from too much excitement, an occurrence that was not foreign to Mike, nor his wife.

 

The men all ran at once, converging on the dripping Mike Pence. With orifices wide open, Mike came and took it. First was the mouthful of smegma, a delicious gift from one of the dirtier, righty bikers, a man who believes women are too emotional to use the internet. Second was the penetration, which was swift, but not lubricious. Third, the pounding - oh the pounding! Quakes of fuck-love and fuck-hate reverberating through Mike Pence’s body were strong. Strong enough for new cars to be measured in cockpower instead of horsepower.

 

One after another the men docked, fucked and filled, slapped and sallied, wrecked and ruined, devastated and demolished, eviscerated and excavated the ass, mouth, and piss-hole of Mike Pence. Two at a time, three at a time, four at a time the men came at, on, and in him, never letting up in their determination, never letting up in their semen manifest destiny. While Mike would whitewash the rainbow community of the United States, he himself was being whitewashed.

 

Weary, filled and busted, Mike Pence collapsed, splashing in the sticky pool of Satan’s saliva that drenched his entire being. Unlike the United States, and at least for now, somewhere there was a Happy Ending.

 

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