Free The Devil's Sperm Is Cold by Marco Vassi

tale about a good girl gone bad, “destroyed,” as the author put it, “by the insatiable fires of lust.”
    “Insatiable fires,” Joan thought. “What can one do with a phrase like that?”
    She forced her eyes to the page. “Laura was in trouble,” it read. Joan wrinkled her nose. “Considering that she’s tied naked to a cot with seventeen motorcycle Nazis closing in on her,” she thought, “I’d say that’s a reasonable description of her situation.” She read on. “Laura tried to scream, but realized there was no one within miles of the deserted shack she had been brought to.” Joan applied the tip of her pencil, and in a moment “brought” was changed to “taken.” She let out a low growl. “I’ll never finish if I keep going at this pace.” She lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, stretched and read on.
    “The men feasted their eyes on the succulent flesh in front of them. Laura was totally defenseless. Her arms were tied at the wrists and fastened to the wall behind her. She tried to twist her lower body to hide from the relentless eyes that bored into her, but no matter how she moved she exposed another area of succulent flesh to their view.” Joan sighed. “That’s two ‘succulent fleshes’ in the same paragraph,” she said to herself. “Rick is getting sloppy.” Rick Fantusi was one of Centaur’s regular contributors, and he could always be counted on to turn in minimally acceptable works. Usually his novels were, if not literary exercises, at least well-crafted. But he had been turning them out at the rate of one a month for the past six months and he was getting slop-happy.
    “Well, fuck it,” Joan thought. “Who’s going to notice the excess of ‘succulent flesh’ usage besides me?” She continued to read. “Tears sprang to Laura’s eyes,” the story continued. “She could hide nothing. Her sweet lush breasts, her round belly, the delicate thighs, all these were now being brutally ravished by the hot eyes of the heavy grizzled men who were beginning to take their clothes off, peeling off the grease-stained shirts and leather chaps, revealing huge muscular arms and immense hairy thighs…and cocks that hung huge and menacing even in their relaxed state. Laura let out a sob at the thought that their rough hands and sinister mouths would soon be probing and sucking at her soft white skin. She pressed her legs together in an insane attempt at modesty, but the men only laughed.
    “‘Roll her over,’ said one. ‘I want to see her ass.’”
    “She was seized and turned onto her belly, her legs were pulled apart, and she cringed in shame as she realized that they were peering at the center of her intimacy…”
    Joan jumped up and slammed the manuscript down. “Center of her intimacy!” she yelled. “By God, that’s going too far.” She enjoyed, when she was alone, mimicking the stories she read and acting them out. She was able to understand a bit of the excitement in pornography that gets lost from too much sophistication and exposure. She was able to rediscover the humor in sex, the fact that it is possible to be aroused and laugh at the same time.
    Joan sat down again and read on. “Anonymous hands pulled her ass cheeks apart, other hands lifted her hips, still more hands ran up and down the lips of her cunt. Hands went to her breasts, hands stroked the backs of her legs. Despite her resistance to anything but terror, she felt herself melt, as she had only been able to do with Ron, the man she had been saving herself for. A finger slid into her cunt and stopped at the still intact maidenhead.
    “‘Hey,’ a voice said, ‘she’s still a virgin.’
    “Laura began to cry, and as her mouth fell open, she felt her lips being nudged, and she opened her eyes to see a large, thick, unwashed cock burying itself in her face. She tried to protest, but the immense engine only forced itself farther back in her throat. She thrashed about, attempting to escape, but each