16 May 2021

Now, one of the things I've discovered about Pavlova Training is that you lose all sense of spacey-time. The last thing I remembered was running the tip of my tongue up the cum dripping meringue bite that Queeny Bitch was holding before my stingy-bee lips. So, I was a bit of a befuddled, teen-angel of compliant behaviourism when I awoke to find myself back in my own bed with the sun shining to announce a new day. 

Well, I'm a perky, pokie, wiggly, jiggly, sodden-cunted, teen-angel and I wasn't going to let a small tear in the space-time continuum or an unbelievable plot device ruin my day, so I bounced out of bed to fling open the wardrobe of predictability to see what adventures the day might hold and found... my yucky, olden, pre-pubescent school uniform of non-sexuality. 

But, actually, it wasn't my olden-times school uniform, it was somebody else's and it was an even yuckier and more disgustingly polyesterish nightmare of non-arousing institutional attire. Well, my tummy sunk and my shoulders slumped, my perky pokie breasticules of perfection sagged and my shower-head cunny turned as arid as Death Valley and if any todgers had come visiting, I just know they would have shrivelled up and died. It was hideous.

But the wardrobe of predictability knows bestest, so I pulled on the white/grey granny knickers, stuffed my breasticules into the white/grey full cup bra, pulled up the white/grey just below the knee socks, buttoned up the white/grey conceal everything blouse all the way to the top and pulled up the zipper on the grey/grey, A-line, below the knee, skirt of awfulness and stomped downstairs in my orthapedically sensible, sick-in-my-mouth, shoes and fixed myself a bowl of Golden Nuggets thinking they were likely to be the only golden nuggets in this story. 

One thing I was certain of was that there weren't going to be any fondle-ey and grope-ey compliments on the way to work today. This just goes to show what a silly, teen-angel of non-perverty expectations I am because when I stepped into the train carriage, it was chocks-the-blocks filled with South Korean businessmen. 

No sooner had I stepped inside than everyone got their camera phones out and started filming and before you could say 'kimchi bitch,' I was surrounded and well, I've never received so many compliments in all my days as a perky, pokie, sodden cunted, teen-angel, continuity adult. There were handsies complimenting my breasticules and my teaty nublets and my wiggly, wriggly buttocks, and my splash-hole of sexiness that was squirting its appreciativeness all over the venerating fingers. And my plug of princesses was being commended, and my stingy bee lips were being homaged, and my hair was being tributed and even my elbows and the backs of my knees were being acclaimed. 

But the bestest bit by far was that with all the veneration it wasn't long before the outfit of awfulness was a pile of shredded rags scattered here, there and everywhere. Which was when the inky-dinky, finger-pinkie, cocklets of Korean manhood all came out to play. Now in all my days as a contender adult, I'd never seen such snickery, sniggery, gigglesome, teeny-tiny, todgers. Well, the whole carriage was like a slippery bucket of baby elvers with me having catch and release every single last one of them. And the pixelating didn't help much either. 

We had to go round and round on the Circle Line quite a few times for me to empty every last one of them of its pixel-froth. So I was very late for my day as Queeny Bitch's working girly. Which was when I got yet another shower-head cunny squirting surprise for waiting to greet me alongside Queeny Bitch was the worldy famous, bitchin', kickin' crew of King Dong and the Dongettes fresh from their Black New World Order Tour. 

Well, I went as wibbly as blancmange and as wobbly as jelly and my sodden-cuntedness was as hot and bothersome as when the candles on a birthday cake for a really olden-days person are all lighted at once. Then Queeny Bitch explained that King Dong was looking for snowy bunnies for their forthcoming European Insemination Tour and that I was going to be audited. Which was when I fainted, onto my back, atop Queeny Bitch's desk, with my arms thrown over my head, and my thighs flung incredibly wide and then just a little bit wider still just for good measure; which was all unbelievably convenient. 

Then Kingy Dong flopped out his hugey-mongous dong of African heritage and my eyes went wider than a Beanie Boo Snowy Bunny mesmerised by the world's biggest, thickest, ebony, trouser snake of fleshy pleasuring. A trouser snake that he slapped down onto my ivory-soap skin; his avocado balls rubbing against my slut hole of expectation, his meatiness of manhood running the length of my squirmy hopefulness, and his cock head tickling the underside of my nose. 

As I lay there absorbing his smelliness and lapping at dome of domination, he explained how I was going to be a sacrificial bunny for the BNWO. That the Dongettes were going to inseminate me with all their swimmy tadpoles. And the tadpoles were going to wiggle and wriggle their bestest so they could get rid of all my white jeans because the BNWO was all about getting rid of white jeans. 

I thought this was a bit weird because I've never owned any white jeans, though Mumsy used to have some because everybody in the eighties wore white jeans. But then Mumsy is an olden-days eighty girly whilst I'm a supery-doopery naughty girly so maybe Kingy Dong thought I was Mumsy and maybe the BNWO didn't know that there weren't any more white jeans to get rid of because they all had grass stains and stuff all over them and it never really came out in the wash. 

But Kingy Dong was explaining that the white jeans were on the inside and that only an ebony poking stick filled with swimmy tadpoles could get rid of them but that because I was a tight, new, snowy bunny, conceiving adult I wouldn't be able to enjoy being the King's Queen of Spading Bitch and that it would be up to the Dongettes to fuck the white jeans out of me. Which once I understood that I was wearing white jeans on the inside made perfect sense, and I just hoped I'd paired it with a nice boob tube or halterneck top to show off my tummy and breasticules. 

So then the Dongettes took their ebony poking sticks and stuffed them in all my orifices of neediness, and every time one of the ebony poking sticks was pushed into my sodden-cuntedness, it spurted its swimmy tadpoles into my squelching wetness until very soon there were tadpoles swimming every, which way. And somehow there were tadpoles in my mouth and tadpoles up my botty hole and tadpoles all over my breasticules and in my hair and in my eyelashes of flutterings. And pretty soon I was a perky, pokie, sodden-cunted, teen angel awash with yummy, swimmy tadpole organisms. So many organisms that I didn't know whether I was cumming or going. 

At which point I should say... 

Ohhh. 

Well, just as I was about to say 'Nighty Night' there was a blindy flash and a rotund, olden-days, midget appeared. And the midget said she wasn't a midget but just a little bit over five foot, and that yes, she was definitely a bit cuddly what with all the cake baking and comfort eating over the last eighteen months, but she was going back to work on Monday and she was sure the weight would just drop off again, and besides she wasn't that old though the men-o-pause was fast approaching, and she wouldn't be surprised if the men just stopped altogether rather than paused. 

So, I nodded as she yakkety-yakked and wondered if she might be a Fairy Godmother and what special wishes and what supery-doopery adventures she might grant me and maybe I was tweaking my super-sensitive pokie nublets of electricity and maybe my fingers were playing catwalk models up and down the super smooth runway of enticement of my pubis, so it came as a bit of a shock when she said that I had to tell everyone that this was 'The End'. 

But what about the Omnicycle? Didn't I need to ride on it and have lots and lots of scrummy, yummy adventures what with me being a bouncy, jiggly, sodden-cunted, teen-angel of adventurousness and the bestest compartment adult in the whole wide world? Then she explained that the Omnicycle was nearly done and there was only Teen and College and Wife Lovers remaining. 

Well, I wiggled and wriggled and squidged my breasticules into a cleavage of possibility and flutterbyed my eyelashes and mwahed my stingy bee lips and told the fairy midget that I could definitely do Teen and College and would give loving wives a go if there were any wives that needed loving, which I was sure there were. But she just shook her head and said that 'Dear Cum' was going to do them all because they were stories for a vicious, miserable, conceited, self-absorbed bitch who didn't care for anyone else and that it was time for me to go back into the box of imaginings in the land of make-believe. 

Well, I was gobsmacked and goggleboxed. Could it be true? Would I really be allowed no more adventuring? So I sobbed and boo-hoo-hooed until my body trembled invitingly and my make-up was a smeary mess of hopefulness and looked up at her with beseeching, red-rimmed, doughy eyes of tearfulness, and begged to be allowed to stay and play with all the degraded, degenerates of desirability. And might I at least be allowed a small role as a Wife Lover? 

She hummed and hahahed a bit, though not in a tuneful or laughy way, and then said that she did think that she might have a few meringue crumbs trapped somewhere in her cuntedness because there was definitely an itch that needed attention. And that maybe if I was a good girly, I might be allowed to see if I could find them and that maybe him indoors would allow her a pet and that maybe I'd make a very nice pet now that I was a Snowy-Bunny, and that she definitely already had a cage that would be a perfect place to keep me until I was trained and house-broken. 

Besides she'd been thinking about doing a sensitive, socially aware, story about a teenage, benefit-dependent, single mum struggling to cope with bringing up a mixed-race child in a society where white privilege and institutional racism were endemic and that perhaps I might have a part in that. Though that all sounds really far fetched and I can't believe that such a place exists, but I best do as the frump-dump midget says, so:

Nighty Night. 

Bysey-Bye. 

The End 

*sobs*