Author Topic: Erotic Literature  (Read 520 times)

Gregory Torso

  • blood-spattered blossom
Erotic Literature
« on: August 11, 2019, 04:43:57 PM »
Hercule Poirot, Hercule Poirot as portrayed by David Suchet, stands in the dark pantry, electric with mad filth, huffing and sweating and smooth as a baby rat.
"Madame, would you like to see my anguille?"

Miss Marple, rather Joan Hickson as Miss Marple you illiterate idiot, gasps in pretend shock at such a flagrant bending of decorum. "But the body on the bed with the shovel in its head" she husks.

"Je will put my shovel in your head, madame. Yours is the only body I am interested een."

"Oh Mister Poirot, yes, release your tiny white eel into my secret pond, it is a rare species that needs to be reintroduced to my wrinkled old ecosystem" the nonagenarian crypt-tease croaks as the rotund police object stands naked before her.
"SACRED FUCKE" howls Poirot in French as Miss Marple gums his swollen hot Belgian leg. "This ees better than death" And his bowler hat spins round twice and flies off over a book shelf.

Miss Marple's urinary tract suddenly self-publishes a hot passage of piss onto the sixteenth century floor tiles. Poirot regards the unfurling tapestry of spreading wee with a critical eye. "This ees highly irregular, but when in Rome, get stuck into the piss"

"Madame, I am about to arrive, please let me open my sachet of hercule's salade creme all over your stern face"
"Not yet you rotten shit" gasps Miss Marple, her face like a tortoise finally managing to climb over a rock in a garden of fuckery.
 "I will wear you like a fancy glove, you insatiable iguanadon whore, or my name is not Hercules Poyrot"
"What happened to your French accent?"
"You can hardly expect me to keep that up as well as my penis."

"CONTAMINATE MY CRIME SCENE YOU MIDGET CRAB" roars Joan Hickson as a packet of pre-war mashed potato falls out of her arse. "shut the FUCK up about it, as well."
The tiny belgim germlin rams his rod into her driza-muff. Sandpaper buttered with guacamole.
"J'arrive! Fucking hell, j'arrive you old tart, you can not arrĂȘte moi."
"It tastes like crime" the eternal skull-faced shit-stirrer purrs in oblivion. "Everyone upstairs thinks we are looking for clues, the dickheads."

Presently, Miss Marple's hot pocket coughs out a cloud of dust. "That's me cumming, goodness gracious, that's cumming like a locomotive that is, look at it, you weird little stump, I feel so horrible"

Delicately, they dress themselves back in costume and go upstairs to laugh at a bereaved child. The stench of their musk hangs in the air like a bubonic veil draped over a plague pit, contaminating everything in the pantry, staining the sixteenth century tiles with the pestilence of its ungodly fabrics.

Agatha Christie frigs herself senseless at a typewriter in a chip shop in Scunthorpe.


Re: Erotic Literature
« Reply #1 on: August 11, 2019, 04:57:00 PM »
oh you sick bastard

ps: i am wanking as i write this

Gregory Torso

  • blood-spattered blossom
Re: Erotic Literature
« Reply #2 on: August 11, 2019, 05:14:28 PM »
I am deeply ashamed. But also feel as though a great weight were lifted, freeing me.


  • Taxes, they'll be lower...son
Re: Erotic Literature
« Reply #3 on: August 11, 2019, 06:23:07 PM »
Very beautiful prose


  • time takes its toll, but not on the eel dicks
Re: Erotic Literature
« Reply #4 on: August 11, 2019, 09:27:13 PM »
This utterly destroyed me you glorious bastard

Re: Erotic Literature
« Reply #5 on: August 12, 2019, 08:28:30 AM »


  • I suppose I'm glad I'm on this train
Re: Erotic Literature
« Reply #6 on: August 12, 2019, 06:38:51 PM »
Best thing about this is it's actually a pretty good parody of Jilly Cooper's style. Poirot is pure Rannaldini. Not that I've ever read any, mind.
« Last Edit: August 12, 2019, 06:57:54 PM by grassbath »


  • The islets of Langerhans are the very best islets
Re: Erotic Literature
« Reply #7 on: August 12, 2019, 10:25:25 PM »