Toy Story Erotica

Hell Night 1

I haven’t had an orgasm since I rode Mr Potatohead’s moustache last Christmas.

Toy Story is a lie.

We don’t have adventures at night. We stay jumbled up in a box, or carelessly discarded in the middle of the bedroom floor, afraid to move in case young Emily suddenly wakes up to go pee.

She doesn’t wake up — she still wets the bed — but she might, so the only thing we can do while she’s sleeping is hold whispered conversations… except on Christmas Eve. We call it Hell Night: the night before some of us are doomed to be discarded permanently, making room for newer, more exciting toys.

All bets are off on Hell Night. We can — and will — do anything we like, because it might be our last chance to do anything at all.

This year, I’ve got my eye on Little Ted. It’s my fifth Christmas, and his seventh: odds are one of us will be gone tomorrow.

We’re standing in front of the tree, looking at the ominous pile of presents, trying to work out whether something in those boxes might make one of us obsolete.

I’ve drunk the sherry the bigguns left out for Santa, so I’m feeling no fear. I sidle up to Ted, trying to look as sexy as I can in the vomit yellow blouse and black cargo pants Emily lumbered me with yesterday.

“Hey, Ted. Have you ever thought how odd it is that I get to wear different outfits every day, but you’re always… naked?”

I drag my finger through his chest curls as I say that last word, and he responds with a strangled urk. Ted doesn’t talk much, but that’s okay. I plan to make him growl before the night’s out, and not by pressing his tummy.

“It’s unfair, that’s what I think. I should be naked too.”

He stares, wide-eyed, as I start to unbutton my blouse. He has to stare— no one thought to make eyelids for him — but he’s probably wondering why I’m trying to undo fake buttons.

I put my fingers to my lips and giggle coquettishly. “Oops! Silly me, I forgot.”

Turning round, I purr, “Could you tear my blouse open, Edward? I’d be very grateful.”

He paws clumsily at the velcro, but eventually manages to unfasten it.

I slip my blouse off my shoulders and let it fall before I turn back round. “Do you think my breasts are beautiful? I do. They’re so firm, and smooth. Try it! Stroke them, feel how smooth they are.”

I close my eyes and for a second I wonder if he’s too shy to touch me, but then the soft warmth of his fur brushes my stiff plastic. “That’s so good, Teddy. But I’m still wearing clothes. Would you take my pants down for me? Please?”

He reaches around me, the soft stuffing of his chest yielding to the hardness of my breasts.

I let him fumble at my ass for a while before I put him out his misery. “There’s no velcro, Ted. It’s an elastic waist. Just kneel down and tug.”

When he yanks my pants down to my knees, his face is level with my crotch. I’m not wearing panties, because Emily is a lazy bitch, so I can feel his hot breath falling on my sensitive vinyl. “Do you want to kiss it, Ted? I want you to kiss it. I want your rough bear lips, right here.”

I stroke myself to show him where I like to be touched, until his paw pushes my hand aside and the sturdy, ridged stitching of his mouth presses against the featureless curve of my groin, in just the right spot. “Oh, yes! Like that!”

I grab his ears and thrust my hips forward so I can grind on his face. His little plastic nose is squashed against my belly, breathing in the heady scents of warm PVC and the pink Play-Doh I dabbed there earlier. “Yes! Oh god, yes! Eat me like the first meal of spring, you bad bear!”

I haven’t had an orgasm since I rode Mr Potatohead’s moustache last Christmas, so I don’t let go of Ted until my knee joints give out and I collapse, lying with my head resting on his fuzzy thigh, my face almost dwarfed by a huge revelation: Little Ted has been Big Ted all this time, and I never knew.

“Oh, Teddy! All your stuffing has rushed to your cock! You should lie down before you faint. Let me deal with that for you, you beautiful bear.”

There is no way I can blow him. He’s so girthy he might crack my cheeks, and then Emily’s mum would definitely throw me out. I’d do almost anything for a toy that can make me come, but I won’t risk that. His size won’t stop me using my tongue, though.

My hands look tiny wrapped around his furry cock, and it takes both to support the weight of all that firmly-packed kapok. I’ve never blown a teddy bear before, and I suspect I’m going to be picking a lot of loose hairs out of my mouth, but he deserves my best efforts.

I lick the length of his shaft, feeling his fur bristle at the touch of my tongue. Ted grabs hold of my ponytail between his paws, and I’m worried he might try to force himself into my mouth, but he only strokes my hair, setting a rhythm, encouraging my hands to stroke him.

I alternate between licking and stroking until his hips buck, a little seam splits, and I’m suddenly showered with white wadding. It’ll take me the rest of the night to brush that out of my hair, but it’s worth it when I hear his low growl of satisfaction.

Ted was moved to the bookshelf on Boxing Day, because Emily got a Bratz doll. The shelf is next to the door: it’s a waystation on the road to recycling. Sure enough, Big Ted and his huge cock were gone a few weeks later.

I’ll never forget the one night we had together, before that slut usurped him. But I’m still looking forward to Hell Night this year: Sasha is going to learn that Bratz get spanked.

Barbie gets her revenge — and more — in Hell Night 2: To Indecency… and Behind!

More from Marsha …

Another Festive Tale by Cousin Pons