Emojibator Toys Play in the Garden of Lusty Delights

Published: MARCH 28, 2024 | Updated: APRIL 12, 2024
If you love erotic stories, we've got a bountiful bushel of Emojibator toys celebrates the coming of a joyous—and hot—new season.

What once were sharply daggered icicles were now shallow ponds; what used to be an endlessly overcast sky had become dark cotton ball clouds suspended beneath a painfully bright sapphire firmament, and what had previously been an invisibly dull sun hinted at a blushingly warm source of brilliant light.


"Spring?" Sweet and tart, firm and vibrant, Strawberry softly enquired, its plump curves and merrily-seeded dimples rising and falling in heated anticipation.

"Could be," Candy bright, taut, and luscious, Cherry popped up; its stem and firmly tight body eagerly erect.

"Perhaps… perhaps… perhaps," purple and engorged, firmly swollen Eggplant deeply moaned, its throbbing plumpness steadily ascending.


"Shows every sign," sour yet savory, sharp but not pointed, Pickle joined in, tone packed with arousingly popping pleasures.

"Hot enough for it," burning hot, searingly spicy Chili Pepper smoldered; its steamy words close to setting the garden ablaze.

"Nothing would be more 'appealing,'" enticingly curved, rigid yellow Banana chortled at its own, groaning giddy humor.


Swelling itself up, Strawberry felt its luscious juices beginning to surge and flow. Basking in the growing warmth of the budding morning, it pressed itself against Cherry's pertly firm, carmine-hued skin.

Responding in kind, Cherry's eagerly pliant stem returned the fevered caresses, its rock-hard stone seeming to rise ever upwards with each touch of skin to skin.

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Expanding outwards, purple sliding towards near-black with each engorgement, Eggplant relished the roughly muscular textures of its enthusiastic row-mate. Pickle, too, was growing in crisp firmness as it slid along Eggplant's silken flesh.


Smoldering with blistering passionate heat, Chili Pepper pressed up against Banana's sumptuously waxen skin, its ferocious desires leaving first gentle, near-invisible points of deliciously intense pleasure then—as the fruit responded with equally echoing passion—erotically thundering bruises.

When mirror bright pools of once cold, now barely cold water had diminished to dully polished coins; when the grey above had edged towards smears of puffy whiteness; and when daylight was not a suggestion but an undeniable fact.

"It must be spring!" Strawberry gushed with flavorful delight, its skin tingling with sugary excitement.


"I feel it … I feel it!" Cherry spurted with tart arousal, its stem whipping back and forth in feverish arousal.

"There's little doubt!" Eggplant groaned with sonorous pleasure, its dark flesh engorging with every touch.

"How can it not be?" Pickle puckered with shimmering, sour lust, its tartness rising with each titillating moment.


"Feel the heat!" Chili Pepper roasted with scorching excitement, its thrusting tip pushing deeper, deeper, and deeper still.

"It's certainly a 'bunch' of fun!" Banana laughed maniacally with sensual glee, its curled length penetrating upwards.

Strawberry swelled towards Cherry, their sweet skins meeting, pushing, sliding, and pushing along each other's, their juices percolating, pearling, seeping, dripping down their mutually determined lengths.

Cherry plumped against Strawberry; their shared melodious tones a chorus of wild, uncultured, festively rambunctious music; their seeds and stone jangled while they jammed themselves together.

Eggplant rolled with pickle; smooth and wrinkled, wrinkled and smooth, they lost where vegetable and fruit, fruit and vegetable … or were they fruit and fruit, vegetable and vegetable? Neither knew nor cared because all they did was what was happening—never, ever stop.

Pickle rollicked with eggplant, one's fermented desires perfectly complimenting the raw intensity of the power, their couplings, pairings, and copulations rising as they cooked each other silly.

Chili Pepper burst with Banana; their gastronomic perversities paired like nothing before or since; capsaicin and potassium, sweet and hot, long and short; a medley that dared not speak its name but for them a language of wildly burning love.

Banana erupted with Chili Pepper, one's purplish bruises complimenting the other's scarlet radiance, smoothness suiting deeply canyoned flesh; they shouldn't be good … and they weren't: they were great!

Where once were shallow puddles were now patches of dark, rich earth; where used to be rolling tuffs of thick, grey clouds had become an endlessly blue expanse of morning sky; where there'd previously been a hazy, far away sun was now a scalding hot point steadily roasting everyone and everything beneath it.

"It must be it must be it must be it must be spring!" Strawberry exclaimed, its feverish pertness a roaring crimson hue of liquid exhilaration.

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"It's here it's here it's here!" Cherry erupted; its tangy excitation a swollen pop of roaring flavor.

"No questioning it!" Eggplant whimpered, its randiness a chorus of soil-deep, loam-deep subterranean passions.

"Inarguably so!" Pickle spouted, its pulsing, acrid exaltation bringing tears to the garden patch's eyes, seeds, stems, vines, and roots.

"Feel the heat!" Chili Pepper inflamed, its roasting—and roasted—exhilaration rising as serpentine wisps from its bonfire-hot flesh.

"You can hear it say 'yellow'!" Banana guffawed, its maniacal ecstasy rising, thrusting further and further upward.

Strawberry entwined with Cherry as Eggplant wreathed itself around Pickle while Chili Pepper knotted itself over around and here and there actually ran through and through and through Banana's meaty peel.

Stalks tightly stiffened, leaves rigidly furled, roots firmly knotted, stems steadfastly stretched, petals beaded with bubbling pollen, as flowers spread themselves wide—offering their slick sweetness up to anyone and everyone to lick, savor, and taste.

Banana grew more and more persistently erect, its painful (but in a good way) bruises ever darkening as they spread along its strenuously determined shaft.

Chili Pepper blazed with roaringly fierce ardour, its sanguine skin rippling, its seeds churning in their bath of botanical magma.

Pickle tugged itself ever-inward, its sweetly sour juices sloshing along its increasingly crisp length, demanding to be relished.

Eggplant bulbously, quiveringly enlarged with each brutally firm stroke, each affectionately gentle caress, each frantically trembling embrace.

Cherry tied its stem into a knot, its harlot hues, its trollop shade, its slutty pigment begging, demanding it be tasted, savored, and unabashedly swallowed.

Strawberry plucked at its dimples as it shamelessly shimmered and shined, surged and swelled, lost in the fiery desert (dessert?) of its endlessly lascivious, forever erupting ecstasies.

Why the soil had gone from wet to merely moist; why the sun blazed huge and molten where it used to be hidden and distantly cool; the garden didn't know, hardly cared.

Because in one great, grand, glorious eruption of spurting seeds, dancing petals, bursting blossoms, squirting juices, twitching roots, flailing stems, and madly fluttering leaves — Strawberry, Cherry, Eggplant, Pickle, Chili Pepper, and Banana, like Spring, had well and truly come.

M. Christian

M.Christian is an author who has been published in science fiction, fantasy, horror, thrillers, and even nonfiction, but it is in erotica that M.Christian has become an acknowledged master, with stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and in fact too many anthologies, magazines, and sites to name. M.Christian's short fiction has been collected in many bestselling books in a wide variety...

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