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 pulsating pussy.
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 worm. 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 the barrier. 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 Missile 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 grabs 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 two hundred tiny blue asses appear in the sunlight. Two hundred raging cocks swarm toward Smurfette’s waiting and ever-willing cunt, ready to make her scream for mercy as they scream for more. Four hundred 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 becomes hazardous to navigate (and navigate one must), as the square gets deeper and deeper in the collective come. 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…