Lincoln darted around the bend of the hallway, giant throbbing ten-foot manschlong of throbbing passion jutting like a manly meat monolith into the air, precum raining down on whomstever lagged behind him. A flood of prejac, enormous and biblical in its proportions, could not ever stop him from what he was to do now.
There yonder, not ten feet before him, was an unsuspecting...uh...hold on a second, lemme check the wiki—
Leni...Luna...Luan...uh...Lori! Let's go with Lori. Thanks Lori.
—was an unsuspecting Lori, giant fucking boulders of assfat hanging off her lower back and capping off her curved and full thighs.
"BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MOM'S GONNA FREAK" hollered Lincoln, as he African-speared his maypole of thrusty-busty-musky-mutton hunk of vagina venison right into his sister's doodoo trench.
"LINCOLN WHAT THE FUCK"
But it was no use, dear reader, as in a matter of seconds her entire body disappeared. Vaporized. Dematerialized. In fact, his surroundings suddenly shattered into millions of strange, polygonal shards, revealing nothing but a long, black plane outstretching, painted with a green lattice that trailed into the distance.
"Y'know, it's kind of hard trying to rape your sister in a house of thirteen people. Sometimes, you have to improvise. And when impr—"
His words cut off as a tall, slender, sable mannequin overlapped with that strange green cyber-trellis transpired ahead of Lincoln. As if it were the will of some otherworldly force, the mannequin gained an apricot color, a blazer enveloped him, with khakis, combed brown hair, and a stern face bordering on the paternal.
"Kind of eager, aren't you?" he said, voice grandfatherly but totally commanding.
"Why don't you have a seat right there?"
A stool coalesced behind him, and an invisible hand pushed him into sitting.
"Big evening planned, huh?"
"Uh…" he paused. "No, uh, no sir."
"Really?" the man said. A table corporealized in front of him, which he promptly leaned over, a stapled stack of paper clutched within one of his hands.
"So you were just running down the hallway of this house, cock out and erect, trying to jump up on a lady who didn't know you were there?"
"Well—well, uh, no, I was just...uh...doing nothing, sir."
"Nothing? Hmmm…" his nonchalance disappeared, he stood tall, thumb and forefinger on his chin, sheet of papers tucked under the pit of his arm.
"Can you at least tell us what you were doing tonight, sir?"
"I...I…" he sighed. "I was going to have sex with Lori."
"And how old is this 'Lori' you speak of?"
"S...Seventeen."
"Seventeen? You do know the legal age of consent in Royal Woods, don't you?"
Lincoln exhaled, shuddering.
"That's grotesque." another voice said. A man had appeared, shorter than the other, in a strange yellow radiation suit, curly hair, oversized black goggled and the word "DEVO" in thick black lettering imprinted on his breast.
"That's right, Mark Mothersbaugh from the post-punk band DEVO." the suited man said.
"I agree, fellow homo sapien."
Both men returned their glares to Lincoln.
"So you knew that the girl you were contacting was seventeen, but, you said this in your chatlogs..." he flipped open to a page within the stack of papers he was carrying.
"Your bobs very big, I'm kiss your bobs...hai butiful show bobs and vegana...so...lets have sexi sex, cloth off. Is that any way to speak to an underage girl online?"
"No, sir…"
"So what do you think should happen to you, now that you've done this?"
Lincoln loud merely sunk his head into his hands, silent.
"Not saying anything?"
No sound.
"Well I think you've said enough. Just in case you have a parting message, say it now. If not…"
A party of men emerged, holding bulky cameras and mobile spotlights. Lincoln hid his face with his shirt and stool up from the stool.
"I'm Chris Hansen with Dateline NBC, we're doing stories on internet predators who solicit sex with minors. You're free to leave the house."
tuh bih kuntinued in layturh jabters...