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My Day at Dance MTV
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Disclaimer: 1. This story didn't really happen.
2. This story is probably offensive to both male and female.
3. This story is not written by a good author and it shows.
4. The author of this story has no actual knowledge of how Dance
MTV books its guests or runs its show.
All comments and criticisms welcome.
==== MY DAY AT DANCE MTV ====
I love to go to different T.V. dance shows. Mostly I go by myself though.
Surprisingly, there are a lot of single people that go. If you don't come with
a date, the people who run the show, just pair you up with a partner. It's a
great way for a guy to grope all over a woman he's only known for 15 minutes.
It's also a good story to tell colleagues at work. Just conveniently forget
to mention you were paired up with a person and say it was an actual date.
This particular day found me in line waiting to get into the Dance MTV
studio. As I did before every show, I scoped out all the women and fantasized
about what I dould do with/for/to them if only given the opportunity.
Finally, my eyes rested upon a woman at the very head of the line. I quickly
evaluated her: brown, wavy hair, full, red blow-job lips, heavers in a white
tank top, easily accessible panties, nicely curved legs, possible
nymphomaniac. In other words, my ideal dance partner.
"Hey you, hey buddy. Come on pal, are ya stoned or somethin'." I snapped
out of my daydream. It was the stage manager assigning dance partners. "Why
don't you...," he looked around. "Why don't you pair up with that nympho
lookin' babe at the head of the line. Come on, hurry up will ya."
I readily agreed and trotted up to introduce myself as I mentally
congratulated myself on this stunningly good turn of events.
She had her back turned to me as I approached, so I tapped her on the
shoulder to gain her attention. As she turned, I prepared to shake her hand,
but before I could, our eyes locked. I raised my right eyebrow. She gave me
a 'I want you baaaaad' look and bit her lip. I gave her a big shit-eating
grin and she promptly ran her tongue over her lips. It kind of reminded me of
that Coors ad with Leslie Neilson. Holy cow, she really *is* a nymphomaniac
and I mentally pumped my fist in the air.
I had to have that tongue she had showed me so I grabbed her hair and
pulled her face to mine. Quickly I forced open her jaws with my tongue, then
jammed it down her throat. I savored the taste of her saliva. Tomato juice
with just a dash of pepper. My favorite beverage. This was going to be a
fairy tale night I thought.
Moments later, we were herded into a hall. As we walked along, I brushed
my hand across her ass and bolts of sexual energy flowed through my fingertips.
Whoops, actually it was only static electrictricity generated by scuffing my
shoes on the carpet.
Finally it was ready for the dance to start. The colored lights came on,
annoying Top 40 music blared from the speakers and Down Town, I Sleep Around
Julie Brown mysteriously appeared out of thin air. The producer cued us and we
started jiving to Debbie Gibson. This babe was instantly all over me like I
had some kind of heavy gravitational field she couldn't pull away from. Not
that I minded. I was busy running my hands up and down her sides and rubbing
her nipples with my thumbs. Soon they were so hard, I thought they were going
to tear through her tank top. Pretty soon we were sweating like horses and I
decided we needed a little privacy.
"Hey baby, why don't we go up to that elevated platform over there for a
little more privacy."
She agreed and we grooved up the stairs and over to the edge so we were
looking out over the crowd.
"I just thought you'd like to know," she breathed in my ear, "I really like
it up the ass."
"Heh, heh. Well, if you insist," I replied.
I flexed my Love Muscle and it came ripping out of my pants, tearing the
buttons off my Levi's button-fly jeans and reducing my BVD's to rags. She
gasped when she saw this incredible feat of pure strength.
"Boy, it must get expensive buying new skivvies every time you get a
woody."
"Actually, I sew my own. But that's beside the point."
Then I casually hung my hat on my wanger before bending over to search the
floor for my lost buttons.
She turned around and grabbed the hand rail for support as I flipped up
the back of her skirt and revealed her tanned ass. No panties. How
convienent. I ran my schlong up and down the crack of her ass just to tease
her a bit, then burrowed my way on in. I was so preoccupied with pumping away
on her, I almost didn't spot the roving camera man in time. These idiots were
always walking around filming up womens' dresses and this time he almost
caught me on film with my Heat Seeking Moisture Missile plugging a chic's
butt. Thinking quickly, I pulled my partner off the rail and turned her so I
was standing behind. Good thing we were both Emmy winning actors. We
pretended we were dancing for the camera. After the roving camera man was done
shooting, he gave us the thumbs-up sign to show we put on a good show. I
wonder what his reaction would have been had he known my dick was buried in
her ass.
A few minutes later, we were going warp speed and moaning and groaning.
Suddenly, she let out a loud scream accompanying her orgasm. I decided to
have one too, so I dumped my load into her. Fortunately, a Mariah Carey song
was playing and at the exact moment my partner screamed, Mariah hit one of her
ear piercing high notes, shattering the reflecting glass ball over the dance
floor and thusly creating a good diversion.
I deemed it a good time to tuck my Gleaming Sword of Love back into my
pants and sew the buttons back on. Since several dancers had suffered severe
head injuries from falling glass, MTV decided to scrap this particular episode
altogether and just told us to go home.
So I did.
==== THE END ====
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