It's time to tell the truth about Smurfs.
You see, Smurfs are a lot like other folks; they have dreams and
ambitions, deep, thoughtful conversations with each other, and
good and bad times.
"But," people ask, "do Smurfs have..... you know,...... *sex*?"
The answer is an emphatic and resounding YES!
And why shouldn't they? They're people, too.
What *most* people don't know is why Smurfs are blue. Well, the
reason is because Smurfs only have sex once a year.
Face it: if you had sex only once a year, you'd be blue, too.
Once a year, in the Smurf village, flags and banners fly happily
in the breeze, proclaiming that the day of the annual Smuckfest
has arrived. Birds sing and the Sun comes out to watch, despite
the weather Smurf's direst predictions.
I guess good ol' Mr. Sun is a voyeur.
In the middle of town, Papa Smurf gives a brief speech explaining
the origin of the Smuckfest; how Dr. C. Everett Koop came to the
village and warned all the Smurfs about AIDS. Papa Smurf knew that no one
made condoms small enough for a Smurf (even though everyone knows
that all male Smurfs are uniformly well-hung, for their size), so he
decreed that all Smurfs would only smuck one day a year.
"Smucking one day a year will help us identify any diseases we may
transmit to one another, and keep them from spreading to the animals
in the forest," declaimed Papa Smurf. "Besides, it will give
Smurfette a chance to rest."
Yes! Smurfette must rest. For, as everyone knows, Smurfette is the
only female Smurf in the village, and after a full day of having
vigorous, rabid sex with two hundred cunt-crazed little blue men,
she needs a break.
So, on the appointed day, Papa Smurf bids everyone throw their
inhibitions to the wind and immerse themselves in debauchery.
And, as is his privilege, Papa Smurf throws out the first throe.
At his signal, Smurfette unties the skintight blue band she must
use to suppress her natural bustiness, and her astounding tits
spring forth into the daylight. The Sun gleams lecherously on
the smooth, blue flesh, nipples crinkling in the light of day from
her soon-to-be-unbridled lust.
Then Smurfette shimmies out of her skirt and stands before the
crowd, naked as the day she was born, save the spike-heeled white boots
she has donned just for the occasion. Her long, blonde hair cascades
down her back and lasciviously outlines her buttocks, clinging like
a dirty old man's gaze to each curve and dimple.
Her cunt winks lewdly from behind the golden shield of pubic glory,
already glistening in mad anticipation of each and every raging
rod it would receive that day. And receive them gladly it would,
for hers is the indefatigable furburger, and she hungered for the
sauce blended in the heat of passion.
Smurfette turns to Papa Smurf and lifts her stupendous breasts
with their turgid nipples to his lips. He takes each one, in
turn, into his mouth, where his tongue dances the Fabulous Fandango
around the areolae, as Smurfette moans like a cat in heat.
Then, when poor Smurfette can take no more, Papa Smurf drops to
his bony little knees and sprinkles his magic deSmurfilating
dust on Smurfette's engorged cunt lips. Presto! The lovely
blonde braiding material falls from her, leaving her shaved smooth
as a hard-boiled egg.
"Oh, Papa Smurf!" she cries. "Encore!! Encore!!", as she writhes
in anticipation of the Fabulous Furless Fandango danced 'round her
Papa Smurf does not disappoint the damsel in distress; he slides
his hands under her tight little blue ass and parts her moistness
with his thumbs. As the hot, funky juices begin to run down his
arms, he plunges tongue-first and tonsil-deep into her wiggling
womanhood. Smurfette gasps as the talented tongue begins to do
its magic, and her cunt clutches at it like a baby bird after a
Cradling his head to her crotch, Smurfette's hips begin to slowly
grind and twitch, for Papa Smurf's tongue has unerringly found her
S-spot, and Smurfette begins the slow, hot, agonizing rise to
ecstasy. "Oh, make me smurf, baby, make me smurf!", she pants,
each stroke of his tongue causing her to throb and clutch.
As Smurfette's moans and cries rise in pitch higher and higher,
the crowd gazes in amazement at the mighty mound of meat struggling
to escape from Papa Smurf's pants. This, then, is the legendary
Trouser Titan, bulging forth in a determined attempt to split
Just when Smurfette is certain that she will die from sheer
sensory overload, Papa Smurf flings off his Levis and frees
the Magnificent Heat-Seeking Moisture Missle from its cradle.
Maddened with blind lust, Smurfette hurls Papa Smurf to the
platform and leaps shrieking into the air, landing unerringly
on his Titanic Totem.
Suddenly filled, Smurfette's cunt explodes in a monster orgasm,
the force of which propels her screaming into the air again and
again, each time plummeting her onto the Potent Purple Pecker and
triggering another climax.
Before Smurfette can achieve orbit, Papa Smurf grab her legs and
pulls her to the ground. Swiftly, he stands, pulling her to her
knees. Gasping in awe, Smurfette gets a head-on view of his
hard-on, glistening in the light like a war staff.
The sight of this shining stud is too much for Smurfette, who
immediately grabs both of Papa smurf's bulging balls in her hands
and pulls him to her waiting mouth. With preternatural skill and
primeval hunger, Smurfette devours the monster cock, licking and
sucking like a starving child with an ice cream cone.
His ass knotting like a sailor's anchor rope, Papa Smurf pounds
into Smurfette's mouth with furious strokes. As he reaches his
blazing climax, he forces Smurfette to take all thirteen and 7/8ths
inches of blue tube steak and fires round after pulsing round
of blue goo down her ravenous throat.
"Hurray!!", shouts the crowd. "Now it's OUR turn!!"
Suddenly the town square erupts with scenes of azure carnality,
as 200 tiny blue asses appear in the sunlight. 200 raging
cocks swarm toward Smurfette's waiting and ever-willing cunt,
ready to make her scream for mercy as they scream for more. 400
bouncing balls follow each other toward the nearest available
orifice, making Smurfette wish there were more of her.
Those lucky enough to find access to Smurfette's fabulous form
begin their crazed humping, as others find their schlongs being
stroked as fast as she can grab. Those whose time will come later
are coming now, as their friends clutch lustily at their forbidden
fruits, flinging frothy fuck-foam far and wide.
Up the ass! Down the throat! Backhand, forehand, underhand, in
the armpit or behind the knee, the Smurfs erupt in a display of
orgasmic prowess to shame the most devoted student of the Kama
Sutra. Soon the street become hazardous to navigate (and navigate
one must), as the square gets deeper and deeper in the collective
Hour after hour, the orgy rampages on.
Gradually, as night falls, the screams of orgasmic ecstasy turn
to the moans and sighs of deep contentment, with the occasional
whimper from an over-enthusiastic sodomite. Soon all is quiet,
as Smurf helps Smurf back to Home and Preparation H. Tubes of
Chap-Stick are quickly distributed to soothe aching lips, and
aloe gel is applied (as are lips, if it is too stimulating) to
the citizen's members to ease the burning.
As the exhausted (and completely sated) Smurfs lie in sexual
stupor, gentle rains come (not them, too!) to wash away all traces
of the fleshfest that was.
And you wondered why Smurfs are always in such a good mood...