Head of Prostate

Damsel

Three months later, Dick goes on a hike to clear his mind. The scent of LBJ still lingers on his nostrils and his flavour stains his tongue. The thought of the man makes Dick's jowls shudder.

Dick's mind begins to wander. He's flooded with questions. Who chained him to the toilet? What was his crime? Who conducts a meeting whilst on a toilet? By cruel coincidence, a figure emerges from the trees. Lyndon B. fucking Johnson. His arms are adorned with broken chains and he's covered in dirt.

"Long time, no see, R-dog," the ogre belches out. Dick sighs and accepts LBJ's company. He's been wanting a hiking partner and he isn't all too picky. They spend fifteen minutes walking down the trail in silence. LBJ repeatedly looks behind him as if he's being pursued. Dick makes no mention of this and instead focuses his attention on LBJ's new assless chaps. They are a light brown colour. Like the powder on a woman's face. He remarks,

"Nice trousers, old chum!"

"Specially tailored to leave space for my nuts and bunghole, Tricky Dicky." They keep walking at a youthful stride until their pleasantly awkward silence is interrupted by a hearty whine.

"Won't a couple of dashing young knights come to my rescue?" The two brave hikers sprint into the dense woods. In the distance, a rolling field with a stone tower appears.

"Quick Lyndy B, the princess is in danger!" Dick yells. LBJ renders the wooden door a pile of splinters by crashing through it with all of his brutish strength. The two heroes dash up the spiral staircase and reach the room of the princess.

The princess was a sight to behold. It was William Howard Taft, former president of the United States of America. The hunk of a man was stuck in his bathtub. His vermillion dress was torn in an attempt to escape.

"Fine warriors of the land, I require lubrication to flee the clutches of my most foul tub," Taft mutters.

"Fear not, beast. Sir Richard and I shall provide you assistance posthaste!" LBJ bellows proudly. The two knights undress and brandish their swords. They begin to polish them fervently, which in turn quickly provided bursts of viscous sap upon the fair maiden's folds.

"Verily, you must lubricate me further, courageous adventurers." The two knights are drenched in their own sweat. They manage to expel two more loads of nectar before falling to the ground in exhaustion.

"I suppose you are not the knights meant to save me from peril. Perhaps I should send a carrier pigeon to Sir Ronald Wilson Reagan, former king of the United Kingdoms of America," Taft whimpers.

"Silence, hideous dragon. I have more than one way to dislodge you," LBJ retorts. He stretches his legs over Taft and Dick takes position in front of him. Dick takes one ass cheek in each hand and spreads them to reveal Sir Johnson's royal bunghole. A catastrophic propulsion of fecal matter moistens every square inch of Taft's body.

"That should suffice, handsome knights," Taft grunts. He shifts his weight around until he begins to move. Unfortunately he does not escape the tub but rather spins until he is face first in dirty bathwater, shit, and cum. Horrid muffled shrieks escape his lips as he drowns in the mixture. After a while of struggling, he stops moving.

"Well, you can't win 'em all, Slick Rick," LBJ says while smacking his own ass. The two retreat from the scene and walk into the night.