Board Thread:What Would You Do?/@comment-35898511-20190124062422/@comment-36855838-20190124134723

"No prompt left behind?"

"Yeah!"

---

--- A swirling vortex of lust, an itch which cannot be scratched, an ache which cannot be soothed, stirring in harold's loins.

Old handless harold, with his lone arm and scarred body, no human woman would have him, and a monster would likely grind his pelvis into dust.

But they were always damn sexy, their bodies clearly built for sex, and his roving eyes were hungry for it.

It happened so fast Harold had no time to think, there had been a parade in town, and the happy dairy company float had just passed by, their cartwheeling holstaurs jiggling merrily, rousing the beast deep within his belly.

He had an inescapable craving, his member practically spoke to him.

Tits.

He tried to ignore it, to think of something else.

A human woman passed by the alley Harold was sulking in, she wore a blue dress, and her breasts were massive!

Gimme tits!

His groin stirred, and before he could really think, he snatched the woman off the sidewalk, shoving his pocket handkerchief in her mouth.

He fished around his coat for something, and pulled out a large, red, gem-like orb, dropping his wallet in the process.

He mashed the bulb in his hand, pouring the juice down her throat and holding her nose, forcing her to drink.

She swallowed, and immediately began struggling to remove her clothes, revealing a large posterior.

He positioned himself, and began thrusting, her breasts sandwiched him in softness, and the fruit's itch would not be satisfied until he had coated her in his release.

---

Harold sat at home, the misdeeds of the alleyway forgotten, along with the haze of lust he had felt, which had permeated his mind for months now.

He flipped idly through channels, finding nothing of note, and so decided to watch the news.

"-and in other news, the parade today drew many a spectator, including twenty-two year old Anita Herrera, who was viciosly assaulted in an alleyway last night during the procession."

A photograph was shown on screen, and Harold's loins stirred weakly, thoroughly spent the night prior.

Titsssss.

"Oh, fuck."

The memories came crashing back.

Harold felt shame.

And, now, as the newscast continued, Harold felt fear, as well.

"It has been discovered that many monsters have been told of a single man wanting 'loving' by Anita herself, the man in question is a Mr. 'Harold Thescrop,' according to Anita herself: 'That bastard drugged me and f^@%#% my t^@^, but he forgot his damn wallet, I'm sending him the t&$#^@& squad.'"

Plip!

Harold shut off the Television, and there was a knock at the door.

He. Walked up to the peephole, on the other side was the woman he attacked.

Harold couldn't move.

He couldn't breathe.

He was-

He was-

Suffocating.

The air stifled, it was unbearably stuffy, and Harold toppled to the floor like a disrupted jenga tower.

"Harold, you bastard, open up! I've got your wallet! Come out here and take it!"

Harold twitched on the floor, too weak to stand.

"Ugh, damn. I can't just leave it here, one of those girls might take it."

She pounded on the door harder.

"Harold! Open this damn door!"

Harold flinched, and curled up on himself.

---

Will finish later!