Logan's Raunchy Love: A Fanfic About Fanfics
folder
X-men Comics › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
5,781
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
X-men Comics › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
5,781
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own X-Men comics, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.
Logan's Raunchy Love
Written by: Siva (AKA EROTICA CHOCOLATA -- MY AUTHOR NAME)
Date: November 4, 2005
Disclaimer: The hog depicted in this story does not belong to me, and I do not want her anyway. Wolverine belongs to Marvel, and has suffered many mental breakdowns because of shit like this before. Please do not sue me for being a jackass.
----
I woke up in his arms to the cold feeling of crystalline rain drops falling upon my rosey cheeks, unaware of my surroundings until my vision cleared and my eyes settled on the beautiful beast that carried me through out the black forest. Wolverine, or so they call him that. He was built like a tank with muscular abs and pecs that made me yearn for his manhood deep within my fantasizing mind.
It must have all been but a dream that my demoness mother tore from the dark pits of despair within my sorrowful soul as she barged into my room and caught me in such a shocking position -- my hand down my ratty jeans that reaked of rotten womanjuice, otherwise bare and topless in front of my computer with my other hand set on the keyboard before me. I was logged into "adult-fanfiction.org", the only place I could ever belong on this wretched earth. Tears polluted with heavy mascara streamed down my fatty cheeks as I begged her not to tell daddy, but it was too late. Before I could run from the entrapping confines of my fangirl postered room, he came in with a belt that was big enough to mark even the most obese of pert behinds such as my own.
Bent over his knee, I cried out in agony each time I felt the warm leather slap against my hairy buttocks, thus causing a ripple effect that created monstrous waves of skin to flap in jelly roll motions about my body. Perhaps it is my guilty pleasure, my secret within secrets, to have enjoyed such a treatment. I couldn't help but to let out a tiny moan at the thought of the great Wolverine committing such a sick and vile act of pure sexuality and bondage against my partially unwilling body. My God, it gave me that amazing tingle within the rotting canyon betwixt my rank thighs.
His chest, covered in sweaty man-fur, pressed up against my equally as carpeted back as the belt whipped against my bruised behind. My large breasts, somewhat resembling sloping potatoes, flopped repeatedly and occasionally hit me in the chin, muffling my cries of masochistic pleasure. My putrid treasurebox of sex was wet, glistening with glee as my imagination ran wild and dirty. Though it was more like throwing a toothpick down a hallway, I still felt him press his masculine fist against my stretched cunny entrance. The smell that emitted from my firey crotch had an underlying scent of ammonia, poisoning my nostrils with my very own arousal.
"W-wolverine..." I cried, reaching for his yellow spandex clad wolfcock.
"What in the fuck?" He replied, suddenly breaking my vision of hot, fictional hardcore action, for it wasn't he at all.
When it became more apparent that my father had been disgusted with the fact that I attempted to finger myself during his discipline session, he kicked me in my ridiculously made-up face and began to gag in horror. It had offended him so much that he violently gripped my short, brightly dyed ratty hair and shoved me into the wall with such force that it broke my large and crooked beacon of a nose.
"Oh, how could you, Wolverine!" I screamed in a shrill voice, demanding to know why he must abuse me so horribly.
"I'm no wolverine, you stupid, fat fuck, and you ain't no daughter of mine. Fingerin' yaself in front of me like that... why I ought to just commit ya, maybe then you'll shower and quit fuckin' around on that there computer like it's gonna fuck ya back." The old ma said in a cold, sickening voice as he held back bile.
***4 Days Later***
I awaken to the sound of manic screaming down the hallway that echoed in my ears like a thousand Banshee's cries. It doesn't take long to realize that I'm in my padded cell, locked away in a hospital for troubled teens.
The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. No, I shake my head, trying to push away the obsessive thoughts of Wolverine. This isn't the Xavier Institute, it's much different than that. I glance down the endless valleys and hills of thick fat partially concealed within my hospital gown, wishing for just this once that I could hold my beloved idol of affections. I know he loves me so, as it is completely conceivable that the 5'3" comic character would love a pretty gal like me just like in my greatly talented works of fanfiction.
My first psychiatriac visit went well, but it was the second one that crushed me like a sentinel's foot on Jubilee's annoying face. The doctor tapped his pen and gave me a once-over, probably checking out my womanly figure that no Hugh Jackman could resist, and sighed. He spoke to me in a concerned tone of voice.
"You do realize that this "Wolverine" is... not real, yes? He doesn't love you, how could he? He's a fictional character. I've reviewed the stories you wrote on the internet, and I must say that they're rather... interesting, but you see, you have failed to place a disclaimer on them and now Marvel is suing you for defecation of character and copyright infringement. Erm, defemation, I mean." He choked, desperately trying to open a window behind his desk for fresh air. It must have been my lovescent.
"W-what... Wolverine is... suing me? How... how could he? You're lying!" My heart broke into a thousand pieces of clogged arteries and animal fat, leaving me on the floor in a fleshy heap of puke. My vision goes black, I can't hear anything. My right shoulder and chest are stiff, and I feel like my heart my burst out of my throat any second now.
"S...save me, Logan." But it's too late. Before long I become stiff corpse buried in a piano box six feet down. No one cares about me, no one comes to visit, not even my beloved who broke my heart many moons ago. How could this happen? I was such an appraised author to many other worthless fangirl fuck ups! How could my life be so... meaningless?
I then realize that I'm a stupid fucking corpse and quit trying to be poetic about my shitty life and log off of adult-fanfiction.org, pleased about the last story I wrote about Wolverine meeting a girl that looks, thinks, and acts exactly me, only to elope in the Canadian wilderness.
True love.
-- The End. --
Date: November 4, 2005
Disclaimer: The hog depicted in this story does not belong to me, and I do not want her anyway. Wolverine belongs to Marvel, and has suffered many mental breakdowns because of shit like this before. Please do not sue me for being a jackass.
----
I woke up in his arms to the cold feeling of crystalline rain drops falling upon my rosey cheeks, unaware of my surroundings until my vision cleared and my eyes settled on the beautiful beast that carried me through out the black forest. Wolverine, or so they call him that. He was built like a tank with muscular abs and pecs that made me yearn for his manhood deep within my fantasizing mind.
It must have all been but a dream that my demoness mother tore from the dark pits of despair within my sorrowful soul as she barged into my room and caught me in such a shocking position -- my hand down my ratty jeans that reaked of rotten womanjuice, otherwise bare and topless in front of my computer with my other hand set on the keyboard before me. I was logged into "adult-fanfiction.org", the only place I could ever belong on this wretched earth. Tears polluted with heavy mascara streamed down my fatty cheeks as I begged her not to tell daddy, but it was too late. Before I could run from the entrapping confines of my fangirl postered room, he came in with a belt that was big enough to mark even the most obese of pert behinds such as my own.
Bent over his knee, I cried out in agony each time I felt the warm leather slap against my hairy buttocks, thus causing a ripple effect that created monstrous waves of skin to flap in jelly roll motions about my body. Perhaps it is my guilty pleasure, my secret within secrets, to have enjoyed such a treatment. I couldn't help but to let out a tiny moan at the thought of the great Wolverine committing such a sick and vile act of pure sexuality and bondage against my partially unwilling body. My God, it gave me that amazing tingle within the rotting canyon betwixt my rank thighs.
His chest, covered in sweaty man-fur, pressed up against my equally as carpeted back as the belt whipped against my bruised behind. My large breasts, somewhat resembling sloping potatoes, flopped repeatedly and occasionally hit me in the chin, muffling my cries of masochistic pleasure. My putrid treasurebox of sex was wet, glistening with glee as my imagination ran wild and dirty. Though it was more like throwing a toothpick down a hallway, I still felt him press his masculine fist against my stretched cunny entrance. The smell that emitted from my firey crotch had an underlying scent of ammonia, poisoning my nostrils with my very own arousal.
"W-wolverine..." I cried, reaching for his yellow spandex clad wolfcock.
"What in the fuck?" He replied, suddenly breaking my vision of hot, fictional hardcore action, for it wasn't he at all.
When it became more apparent that my father had been disgusted with the fact that I attempted to finger myself during his discipline session, he kicked me in my ridiculously made-up face and began to gag in horror. It had offended him so much that he violently gripped my short, brightly dyed ratty hair and shoved me into the wall with such force that it broke my large and crooked beacon of a nose.
"Oh, how could you, Wolverine!" I screamed in a shrill voice, demanding to know why he must abuse me so horribly.
"I'm no wolverine, you stupid, fat fuck, and you ain't no daughter of mine. Fingerin' yaself in front of me like that... why I ought to just commit ya, maybe then you'll shower and quit fuckin' around on that there computer like it's gonna fuck ya back." The old ma said in a cold, sickening voice as he held back bile.
***4 Days Later***
I awaken to the sound of manic screaming down the hallway that echoed in my ears like a thousand Banshee's cries. It doesn't take long to realize that I'm in my padded cell, locked away in a hospital for troubled teens.
The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. No, I shake my head, trying to push away the obsessive thoughts of Wolverine. This isn't the Xavier Institute, it's much different than that. I glance down the endless valleys and hills of thick fat partially concealed within my hospital gown, wishing for just this once that I could hold my beloved idol of affections. I know he loves me so, as it is completely conceivable that the 5'3" comic character would love a pretty gal like me just like in my greatly talented works of fanfiction.
My first psychiatriac visit went well, but it was the second one that crushed me like a sentinel's foot on Jubilee's annoying face. The doctor tapped his pen and gave me a once-over, probably checking out my womanly figure that no Hugh Jackman could resist, and sighed. He spoke to me in a concerned tone of voice.
"You do realize that this "Wolverine" is... not real, yes? He doesn't love you, how could he? He's a fictional character. I've reviewed the stories you wrote on the internet, and I must say that they're rather... interesting, but you see, you have failed to place a disclaimer on them and now Marvel is suing you for defecation of character and copyright infringement. Erm, defemation, I mean." He choked, desperately trying to open a window behind his desk for fresh air. It must have been my lovescent.
"W-what... Wolverine is... suing me? How... how could he? You're lying!" My heart broke into a thousand pieces of clogged arteries and animal fat, leaving me on the floor in a fleshy heap of puke. My vision goes black, I can't hear anything. My right shoulder and chest are stiff, and I feel like my heart my burst out of my throat any second now.
"S...save me, Logan." But it's too late. Before long I become stiff corpse buried in a piano box six feet down. No one cares about me, no one comes to visit, not even my beloved who broke my heart many moons ago. How could this happen? I was such an appraised author to many other worthless fangirl fuck ups! How could my life be so... meaningless?
I then realize that I'm a stupid fucking corpse and quit trying to be poetic about my shitty life and log off of adult-fanfiction.org, pleased about the last story I wrote about Wolverine meeting a girl that looks, thinks, and acts exactly me, only to elope in the Canadian wilderness.
True love.
-- The End. --