I Love Geese

So, I was strolling through this park recently. The Sun was shining brightly in the sky, which was very much a Simpson’s sky – a light blue with some almost cartoony fluffy white clouds breaking it.

I saw a fisherman, fishing on the edge of this lake. He was asleep.

I carried on walking, and inadvertantly walked past a nesting goose. It stood up, outstretched its wings, and started running at me, hissing. Thinking fast, I kicked it, straight in the head. It fell down, stunned.

I pinned it down, my hands over its wings, pushing them against the floor. It resisted slightly as I lowered my head and kissed it on its belly, before going lower and lower and finally reaching her vagina. I kissed her a few more times, and began to eat her out. Rather than tasting at all fishy, it was a more unpleasant, pondwater taste. She struggled slightly, squawking and wriggling, but I was infinitely more powerful and dominating than a fucking goose. She began to orgasm, as I felt her vaginal muscles contracting and relaxing erratically against my tongue. She let out a particularly loud, shrill, squawk, and fell quiet.

I put a knee over the goose, to hold it down, and began to unbuckle my belt. The goose looked completely unaware of what I was about to do – it didn’t look violated or anything, it looked very much like a goose that had just came. I unzipped my pants, pulled them down, pulled down my underpants, and took out my semi-hard penis. I masturbated a little bit until it was satisfactorily erect, and then shoved it in the goose.

Oops. First mistake of beastiality – never, ever penetrate a goose. She made an unbearably loud noise and closed her eyes. Fuck it, I thought – a goose can’t handle a penis, and I’ve fucking killed it.

Never mind. I began to shag the dead goose, picking it up and shoving my throbbing erection into her. It was already moist after eating it out, and so well lubricated. Feathers began to fall off. The goose began to go into rigor mortis, going hard and stiff. I began to shag it faster.

The fisherman woke up. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, stretching. He turned around to look at me, with me at this point being stood upright, pants and underpants around my ankles, a dead goose in both hands positioned over my genitals and a red-faced look of sexual excitement. I saw him glaring at me, a look of worried agitation and general concern on top of billowing anger. “Hey, you,” he shouted. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Shagging a dead goose,” I replied. “I’m a sick bastard – go back to sleep.”

He stood up and marched towards me. I carried on thrusting into the feathery, sticky, still lukewarm goose. I saw him rasing his fist and swinging towards my head. I ducked, almost dropping the goose, stood up, and headbutted him. He fell on the floor.

I waddled over towards him as he started to get up, and brought my knee to his face. He fell backwards, and, still with a goose in both hands, I stood on his wrists. I looked at him squirming to get up, spitting, horrified at the grossness and crudeness of someone fucking a goose. I began to climax. The man winced as my semen dribbled out of the animal and on to his face.

I laughed, tossing the goose aside. I pulled up my pants as the man furiously tried to move his arm to wipe his face, and, with a deliberate slowness, zipped them and buckled the belt. I lifted one foot off his wrist and brought it, with a devestating crunch, stamping on his face. I looked at his bloodiness, his breath frantic, his nose across his face and his mouth spitting out teeth.I left him moaning on the floor to pick up my goose. I returned to his barely concious body with the cum-splattered bird and left it lay forlonly on his head.

With a whistle, I set off home.