Outside number 38B Tottenham Cunt Road, any parishioner arriving for the advertised Requiem mass that Sunday morning might have noticed a young couple standing guard on the opposite side of the road. Actually, only one of them was standing; the other was kneeling on the pavement in front of him, sucking his cock.

Bradley gazed down at Claire, her head bobbing slowly back and forth, tongue twisting and slobbering, lips alternately squeezing and releasing, her saliva forming a continuous dangling dribble which swung backwards and forwards from his shaft. He smiled. And then he said something which he had never said before to anyone in his life: “You pleasure me, Claire… You pleasure me.”

Claire paused and looked up, a large spit bubble poised, stretched between her lips and Bradley’s glans. She opened her lips in a wide grin – and the bubble popped. “You pleasure me too, Brad,” she replied – and blushed, before doing something utterly unheard of: she willingly interrupted a blowjob. Claire slowly stood up, a long dribble briefly connecting her mouth with Bradley’s cock, before it stretched too far and snapped. And then she kissed him. But this was not a fuckers’ kiss, full of filthy lust and thrashing tongues; this was tender, sensitive. This was a lovers’ kiss.

Bradley felt it too, as their lips gently caressed each other’s ears, cheeks, necks. And when their lips met, something passed silently between them. Bradley did not dare say it: that would have been too much for a well-brought-up, conscientious, Enlightenment lad like him. And Claire, though already more of a rebel, did not voice it, out of tender concern for him. But they both knew something had changed. And as they wrapped their arms around each other and hugged, almost as if holding on for dear life, it was clear to both of them – without having said it – that after today, around them nothing would be quite the same.

~

Inside 38B Tottenham Cunt Road, Father Ambrose was chanting the introit:

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord,

and let perpetual light shine upon them.

The priest censed and asperged the casket, as the chapel gradually filled with mourners, old and young, mainly Asian or black – the normal collection of old-style believer Undesirables. They bowed to the coffin and knelt dutifully at their pews. Sister Rina genuflected, kneeling reverently in the front row, surrounded by the other sisters of her order. She turned to Alison with a wry half-grin. Alison sat in a back pew, shaking alternately with sorrow and with mirth. “This is crazy,” she muttered to herself, “absolutely fucking bonkers!”

Dark am I, yet lovely, daughters of Jerusalem,

dark like the tents of Kedar, like the tent curtains of Solomon.

Do not stare at me because I am dark…

Father Ambrose was reading from his Bible – but it wasn’t the usual funeral texts. Judging by the cheeky half-smile on his face, he seemed to be enjoying his subterfuge.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth –

for your love is more delightful than wine…

No wonder the young women love you!

The occupants of the coffin seemed to be taking the priest’s scripture readings literally. From beneath the casket lid could be heard the soft sound of smooching and slurping.

“Oh fuck,” whispered Alison to herself. “Here we go again.” But Father Ambrose, a gentle smile fixed on his face, continued unperturbed:

You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride, with one glance of your eyes.

How much more pleasing is the fragrance of your perfume than any spice!

“Yeah, I fucking bet it is,” giggled Alison under her breath. The muffled amatory soundtrack from within the coffin was getting more insistent: moans and sighs, punctuated with the occasional whispered “oh yeah” or “oh fuck…” Sister Rina and the rest of the congregation maintained their poker faces with studied concentration. Father Ambrose continued to smile inscrutably as he read:

Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride; milk and honey are under your tongue.

You are a garden fountain, a well of flowing water streaming down from Lebanon.

“I know what else is under your tongue,” thought Alison, guffawing internally whilst trying in vain to keep a straight face, as Ambrose read on:

Your breasts are like clusters of fruit.

I will take hold of the fruit.

May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, and your mouth like the best wine.

“Shit, are you fucking joking?!” muttered Alison. From within the casket could be heard the muffled sound of sucking and squealing, punctuated by mumbled phrases such as: “oh yeah, suck my tits…” or “lick those fucking nipples, baby.” The casket was beginning to rock and jiggle – and yet the congregation kept straight faces.

I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride; I have gathered my myrrh with my spice.

I have eaten my honeycomb and my honey; I have drunk my wine and my milk.

“Oh yeah, fuck me, baby,” came Eva’s muffled squealing voice from within. “Yeah, fill me up with that big dick…” The thumps and bumps from the coffin were getting louder and louder, as the casket rocked more violently on its dais.

You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you.

Come with me from Lebanon, my bride, come with me!

Eva and Chad seemed to be doing just that. The sounds of orgasmic ecstasy were unmistakable now: “Oh motherfucking Jesus, you’re gonna make me come, Chad, oh FUUUUU–” came Eva’s voice from beneath the oak panelling, cut off – presumably – by Chad’s hand gently placed over her mouth to silence her. The congregation remained kneeling in prayer.

If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea,

even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.

“Pssst!” Alison heard a whisper in her ear and felt a hand gently touch her shoulder. She turned, to see Rob signalling to her to follow him. Briefly, Alison felt like resisting. But his eyes twinkled, and his grin was broad; Alison melted, and followed.

Rob led Alison up one stairway, along a corridor, and then up a metal spiral staircase which opened onto a small open-air roof-garden at the top of the building, facing the rear balcony of one of the surrounding office blocks. “Hey, fucking!” exclaimed Alison. “This is nice!” They stood side by side leaning against the low cast stone balustrade.

“I remember sneaking out of mass as a kid to come up here and chuck pebbles at the block opposite,” grinned Rob. “And after my parents were expelled and Eva and I were living here, we would amuse ourselves by jumping across onto the opposite balcony while holding hands. It terrifies me now to think about it. If either of us had fallen…” He pointed towards the ground. Looking down, Alison could see a set of cast-iron railings which formed the boundary between number 38B and the building opposite; a long row of lethal black metal spikes stuck upwards towards them. “And then,” continued Rob, “as I got older, the balcony opposite was a great place to sneak off for a quick fuck when Ambrose wasn’t looking…”

“He’s pretty fucking, for an old-style priest,” said Alison approvingly. “Love the funeral!”

Rob laughed. “I’ve seen him conduct those mock-funerals before. It’s his favourite way of smuggling Undesirables out of the country. That way, when I drive the hearse onto the ferry this evening, I’ll have all the correct paperwork, and we won’t get stopped.”

Alison felt a sudden pang of regret. “Must you leave today?” she asked. It was all happening too fast for her liking. The shock of realising that Eva was leaving had made her forget that her time with Rob might be so short.

“‘Fraid so. Too dangerous for Chad to wait around any longer. And my mum can’t wait to see Eva again, for the first time in – oh God – so long…”

Alison paused, hoping Rob would say more. Partly because she didn’t know what to say in response, and partly because she was just enjoying hearing him talk.

“Shall we sit down?” said Rob, indicating a bench. Alison nodded.

They sat in silence, side by side. The weak winter sun was higher in the sky now, and was just peeping over the rooftops. From inside the building, the distant mumble of Father Ambrose’s liturgy continued.

Alison spoke first, cautiously. “I… I need to say…” She paused.

Rob waited.

“I mean, I should have said a long time ago, Rob: thank you. Thank you for being so kind to me. I didn’t know at the time, much less care, how… how loving you were being to me, when you took the hit for what happened between me and Eva.”

“Well, you’d done nothing wrong,” replied Rob.

“Okay, maybe – but you didn’t deserve exile, of all things.”

Rob sighed. “There are many things we don’t deserve in life, Alison. Especially for people my colour in a country like this. We’re used to taking all sorts of blows for each other. That’s love.”

“Love…” Alison tried to think – but instead, spoke, “Yes, but to take a blow for your sister is one thing – but for me…?” Alison wanted to continue, to ask why – but she already knew the answer to that question – and Rob knew that she knew.

Alison paused. Rob waited.

“I’m sorry, Rob, that I was so awful to you – you know, that night –”

“In your room at Fuckers’ Hall?”

Alison nodded, pursing her lips and looking downward towards her feet. “You didn’t deserve how I spoke to you.”

“But you spoke the truth,” said Rob. “I behaved very unwisely.”

“But truthfully…” ventured Alison.

“Oh yes.”

Rob waited. He wanted to say more, but did not dare.

“Alison?” he said eventually.

“Yes,” said Alison. It sounded very final, the way she said it, even though she didn’t mean it to.

“What do you mean, ‘yes’?” replied Rob, a mixture of hope and alarm passing swiftly through him.

“I meant – just, ‘yes?’ What did you want to say?”

“Oh…” Rob paused. Alison waited.

“That night, Alison, I asked you a question. And you gave me your answer, I…”

Alison waited, trembling.

“I hardly dare say – but I feel the same way about you now as I did then. If you also still feel the same way you did in September, well… I’ll understand.”

Alison’s mind was full – too full to make any sense of it. Of course, she didn’t feel the same way now as then! He knew that, and she knew that – she had just said it. But she knew that Rob, though in so few words, was saying more to her now than ever before. And she had not the words to respond.

She reached out and touched his hand. It was a modest gesture – possibly the most modest, understated physical gesture she had ever made in her life. And yet, it meant more than any other way she had ever touched a man before.

“If I stay here, will I ever see you again, Rob?”

“No, Alison. I am leaving the Union forever. I have to.”

Alison listened. That word, “forever”, echoed in her brain more painfully than she could ever have expected it to.

“In which case, Rob, I…”

“Yes, Alison?” said Rob, his face displaying the strange mixture of hope and pain which was coursing through his heart.

Rob waited. Alison paused.

“Rob, I…”

But Alison never got to finish her sentence, for at that moment there was the sound of a fast car screeching to a halt outside the front of the building, followed by a loud pounding on the front door of number 38B, which echoed through the building and up to the roof-garden. Rob leapt up.

“OPEN UP!!!” A woman’s voice, stentorian and arrogant, echoed through the building from the cat-flap. “YOU ARE HARBOURING A FUGITIVE! I INSIST YOU OPEN THIS DOOR TO ME NOW!!”

“Oh my God!” Alison gasped. “It’s her: she’s found us! Quick, downstairs!” The two of them leapt up, and clattered down the spiral staircase towards the chapel.

~

Claire and Bradley, still embracing on the pavement outside, had heard Hildegard Fotzenficker’s Maserati screech around the corner of Tottenham Cunt Road, and had watched in horror as she slammed her brakes on in front of number 38B and leapt out, her face incandescent with rage.

“Oh fuck,” Claire trembled. “What do we do now?” Bradley’s small but stiff cock was still poking out of his fly as they broke their amorous clinch to stare, aghast, as Hildegard began pounding on the green door across the road with a large truncheon and screaming through the cat-flap.

“Wait,” said Bradley with calm determination, as he took out his phone and began to swiftly dial a number, his cock still dangling out of his trousers. “Hi, Angie – it’s Brad. Yeah, the worst has happened: she’s found us. Time for emergency measures.”

Claire and Bradley watched as the green door was opened from within by a studiedly calm and smiling Sister Rina. Hildegard pushed her roughly aside with her truncheon and barged in.

~

“WHERE IS HE?” bellowed Hildegard, as she strode into the chapel just ahead of Alison and Rob, brandishing her night-stick. “WHERE’S THAT FILTHY TREACHEROUS FUCKER?”

Alison gripped Rob’s hand, and watched as Father Ambrose, an expression of gentle benevolence fixed on his face, looked slowly up from his Bible, adjusted his glasses, turned to face Hildegard, held his finger up to his lips, and said firmly: “Sh…!” He continued to read from his Bible:

Love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.

It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.

Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away.

“BULL-FUCKING-SHIT!!!” screamed Hildegard at the priest. How dare you recite that filth at me, you dirty black freak?!”

There was a gasp from the congregation, and some of them stood up, turning their dark angry faces towards the interloper. But Hildegard stood her ground, arrogant, overbearing, full of the zeal of her own superiority, and repeated: “WHERE IS HE?”

Father Ambrose paused, clearly weighing up in his mind whether or not to lie, but was saved from that decision by a soft muffled sound coming from beneath the lid of the coffin. A squelch. Just a quiet squelch. If Hildegard had not been a fucker of such formidable talent and experience, she might not have noticed – but she had heard many such squelches before, and she recognised the sound of a large semi-flaccid cock being slowly withdrawn from a juicy cummy cunt. Suddenly she knew.

“HE’S HERE!” she screamed. “HE’S IN THE FUCKING COFFIN! OPEN IT UP AT ONCE! NOW!!!”

Father Ambrose knew he had lost. Despondently but calmly, he unclasped the lid of the casket. Hildegard reached forward and, with her considerable strength, flung the lid off the coffin and across the room, smashing a statue of the Madonna and Child which stood on the Lady Altar in the corner, and scattering devotional candles over the floor. Out of the coffin climbed a naked, flushed, dishevelled pair of lovers. What cum was not dribbling down Eva’s thigh was dripping off the end of Chad’s large but softening cock. Chad had his arms wrapped tightly around his dark-skinned beloved as if determined to protect her from the monster who had interrupted their communion. But whilst Chad looked scared, Eva stared at Hildegard furiously, her dark face glowering with hatred.

But it was not Eva that Hildegard was after. Gesturing peremptorily to Chad, she said, “With me, boy. We’re going back to hospice – where you belong.”

Chad held on to Eva even tighter. “No,” he replied. “I’ve finished with your dirty business, Hildegard. Eva and I are leaving the Union together.”

“‘NO’? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN, ‘NO’?!” Hildegard roared. “I OWN YOU, BOY – BECAUSE YOU ARE A WORTHLESS DICK-BRAINED IDIOT, TOO STUPID EVEN TO MAKE IT AS A FUCKER IN CUNTSLICKER’S ROYAL FUCKING ACADEMY. WHO ARE YOU TRYING TO FOOL WITH THAT ACT? YOU ARE A PATHETIC LOSER! GET BACK TO HOSPICE, WHERE YOU BELONG – THEN I’LL SEE WHETHER YOU’RE EVEN WORTH KEEPING ALIVE!”

“Did someone mention my name?” came a commanding voice from the chapel door. Hildegard turned and gasped. Eva put her hand over her mouth in shock. Chad muttered “Oh my God!” as he saw who it was. For standing at the door – Claire, Bradley, Alison and Rob hovering behind her, was none other than Professor Emma Jane Cuntslicker.

Professor Cuntslicker did not look pleased. Whilst she had a short crop-top on which just about covered her tits, her lower half was naked, and her auto-dildo was still in, flaccid but huge, and dripping what looked like a combination of cunt-juice and auto-cum. She had clearly been interrupted mid-fuck, and had come out in a hurry.

“Emma Jane…” said Hildegard, rapidly concealing her shock with a faux-saccharine voice and an exaggerated smile which didn’t quite reach up to her eyes. “It’s been such a long time.” It was hard to tell whether there was genuinely some residual affection between the two women, or whether Hildegard was just hedging her bets – until Cunts spoke, with such controlled rage that everyone in the chapel trembled.

“Hildy,” said Cunts coldly. “What are you doing with my students?”

“Your students, Emma Jane? I fear I must correct you. This young man works for me. I was led to believe that you had expelled him from your august institution.”

“We have been considering it, Hildy. But he has not yet been rusticated. As such, he remains mine, and I insist you leave him alone.”

“Emma Jane!” Hildegard was trying to maintain her pretence at cordiality. “You and I go back a long way: do you remember when we helped to co-write the Fuckers Party manifesto? We, together, drafted what has become our nation’s policy on Undesirables, on inter-marriage, on sterilisation, and on end-of-life! I have spent my life pursuing those ideals – and I will not stand by while they are flouted by Undesirables and traitors! Do you realise what these two ‘students’ of yours are in the process of doing: escaping the Union illegally in secret, so as to contract a racially-mixed marriage on the spurious excuse of ‘love’?! Will you stand by and allow such delusional outrage to take place under your very nose?”

Cunts looked from Eva and Chad, to Hildegard, and back again. “Is this true?” she asked Chad and Eva gravely.

They nodded. Chad looked shameful, but Eva’s jaw jutted in defiance. Cunts stared, stony-faced, from the naked couple, to Hildegard, to Father Ambrose, to Rob and Alison, and then back again. For a long time, she said nothing, her face hard and inscrutable. But then she nodded gravely.

“Hildy,” said Professor Cuntslicker. “I am on your side, as you know. The future of this country lies with the Enlightenment: it lies in Pleasure, not in ‘love’.” Hildegard nodded in satisfaction – but Cunts had not finished: “But, Hildy – if the Enlightenment is not embraced freely, then it is bound to fail: it cannot be forced, or by definition, it ceases to be about pleasure. And that is where you and I differ. If Chad and Eva, in their youthful foolishness, choose to squander their potential as fuckers to follow this illusion of so-called ‘love’ – well, then, deluded though they may be, we cannot stand in their way. Hildy, we must let them go.”

Hildegard looked in horror at Cunts. “You traitor!” she hissed. “You don’t get it, do you? These youngsters have they have been led astray by these… people” – she gestured contemptuously to the assembled congregation – “these filthy religious freaks, these coloured Undesirables. They should all have been culled years ago – or at least expelled! And yet we continue to let them into the Union to practise their dark arts. They will never embrace the Enlightenment freely, because they are subhuman scum – of whom our land needs to be purified! You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs, Emma Jane!”

Professor Cuntslicker said nothing, but walked calmly across the chapel, her auto-cock still waggling and dripping in front of her, and stood in front of Chad and Eva, arms folded defiantly across her huge tits. “No,” she said calmly.

Hildegard’s eyes blazed with fury. “You leave me no choice,” she snarled. She retrieved her phone from her pocket, dialled a number, and spoke into it: “Boys, number 38B Tottenham Cunt Road, now. Bring weapons: Number Six.”

At the mention of “Number Six”, a wave of terror ran through the watching congregation. Eva gave a strangulated gasp and whispered to Chad, “Follow me, quick!” She grabbed his hand and ducked out of the chapel door.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!” screamed Hildegard, as she set off in pursuit. Her way was blocked briefly by Father Ambrose and Bradley, and then Rob. Hildegard bludgeoned each of them out of the way with her nightstick, leaving them sprawled on the floor in pain – but the delay gave Eva and Chad a few seconds to run, not towards the front door, but along the corridor and up the stairs, their attacker in hot pursuit

Rob, clutching his bleeding face, pulled himself off the floor and tore after them, shouting, “THE BALCONY, EVIE! RUN!!!”

Alison followed, catching sight of Rob’s heels as she scrambled up the spiral staircase behind him and Hildegard, onto the balcony. As she emerged into the daylight, Alison saw Eva and Chad leap, hands linked, their naked bodies silhouetted against the weak winter sun – across the gap and onto the office balcony opposite.

“NO YOU FUCKING DON’T!” screamed Hildegard. She took a running jump and leapt after them – but misjudged. Her right toe caught the edge of the balustrade and she tipped over into the gap between the buildings. Screaming, her arms flailing wildly, she managed to catch a precarious hold with her left hand on the edge of the balustrade, her body swinging some forty feet above the sharp metal fence below, her right arm still doggedly gripping her truncheon. Rob ran forward and reached out, grabbing her left arm to rescue her.

“You!” whispered Hildegard, as she looked into Rob’s bloody face.

“Give me your other arm,” said Rob, “and I can pull you up.” On the balcony opposite, Eva and Chad stood naked, watching in horror.

“Let go of her, Rob,” said Eva, her voice tight and hoarse with vengeful rage.

“No,” said Rob. “Give me your other arm, Hildegard!”

“Let her go!” shouted Eva again. “It’s what she deserves!”

But Rob never made that choice. For Hildegard, wild hatred blazing in her eyes, swung her nightstick so as to catch onto the edge of the balcony with the side-bar, screaming: “DON’T YOU TOUCH ME, YOU FILTHY N–” But she never finished her sentence, for she missed her target, instead, striking Rob hard on his elbow. In shock, Rob lost his grip, and Hildegard fell. Her scream lasted just a couple of seconds before, from the ground below, could be heard a sickening scrunch – and then silence.

Eva punched the sky in triumph. Alison doubled over and vomited. Rob clasped his head in his hands. And Father Ambrose, limping up the spiral staircase onto the roof garden, made the sign of the cross, collapsed to his knees, and began to pray.

~

The winter sun was beginning to set as Rob and Alison sat on the bench on Tottenham Cunt Road, just outside number 38B. The black eye Rob had received from Hildegard’s truncheon had been carefully bandaged up by Sister Rina – giving him a slightly piratical appearance. Bradley and Claire were in the parked hearse, fucking. Through the tinted windows, Alison could discern their happy faces gazing and giggling at each other, their naked bodies entwined, rolling, Bradley’s cock buried contentedly in Claire’s cunt.

“Just as well I lent them the keys,” said Rob.

Alison giggled. “Yeah, it’s a bit cold out here – and we’ve got the only bench. Even Claire, God bless her, has managed to work out that fucking in the chapel in front of all the nuns would be considered a touch gauche!”

Rob laughed, then paused. “They look happy,” he said.

“Yeah. I think Claire would be happy, even if I wasn’t around…”

Rob raised his eyebrows. “Are you jealous?” he probed gently.

Alison thought. “No… I would be, were it not for that fact that…”

She paused, before abruptly changing the subject: “Rob… you’re a good man, you know,” she said thoughtfully.

Rob cocked his head, puzzled.

“I mean,” Alison continued, “you could have just let Hildegard die, like Eva wanted you to.”

“I did let her die, Alison,” Rob sighed.

“Yes, but not deliberately. And if she had let you save her, well, what then? She was evil through and through.”

Rob frowned, doubtfully. “Have you ever heard this verse: He has not dealt with us according to our sins, nor punished us according to our iniquities. For as the heavens are high above the earth, so great is His mercy.”

“Fuck…” said Alison, looking downwards at her feet.

Rob laughed out loud. “Spoken like a true RAF fucker, my dear Alison!” And Alison laughed with him.

In the hearse, Bradley withdrew his cock from Claire’s pussy and knelt above her. His cock was purple and throbbing, poised in the excruciating ecstasy of the precipice, clearly just on the edge of orgasm. He was not touching it, and nor was Claire – but Alison could see through the windows that she was talking to him, coaxing him over the edge with just her words. Bradley gazed into Claire’s eyes – then gasped and arched his back in ecstasy as, hands-free, his cock twitched, then exploded, jets of semen flying through the air and splattering onto her delicate face and long blond hair. Despite the sound of the traffic, and muffled by the hearse windows, Alison could just hear a delighted “fuck yeah!” from Claire, as Bradley moaned in pleasure.

“Yeah, they belong together, don’t they?” smiled Alison.

“They’re wonderful,” Rob agreed. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of light brown hair from Alison’s face, so as to better admire her soft features. Alison lifted her hand, caught Rob’s fingers, and brought them gently to her cheek.

“If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea…” whispered Alison.

Rob completed the verse: “… even there, your right hand will hold me fast.”

They looked into each other’s eyes, and nodded. And then Rob said: “Now… we need to go.”

“Now?” asked Alison.

“Now,” replied Rob. “All the paperwork is ready for Chad and Eva, and they are ready to get back into the coffin. If we leave now, we can catch the last ferry from Fuckstone.”

“In which case, Rob, I…”

“Yes, Alison?” said Rob.

Rob waited. Alison paused.

“Rob, please make love to me,” said Alison, with just a touch of sheepishness in her voice.

Rob smiled. Actually, Rob grinned, broadly, ear to ear, delight gleaming – despite his one-eyed appearance – from his dark, happy, face. “Well,” he answered, “there’s nowhere here for me to do that…”

“Well then, how about we get a cabin on the boat? Nice and private. Just you and me.”

Rob grinned again – his lovely, wide, heart-stopping, twinkly – though monocular – grin.

And Alison laughed with relief and joy. “See how you have led me astray – a private cabin to make love in?! Cunts would be horrified…”

~

Epilogue – nine months later.

5th August, 2051

Dear Al,

It was so good to hear from you – I’ve missed you so much! I keep thinking about all those days we spent licking each other’s pussies, and just fucking around. Those were good times, hey?

Having said that, Brad is a great fucker. After graduating we found a flat together near Elephant and Arsehole. We are having such a fucking time together! We’re not allowed to call it love, of course – but that doesn’t bother me, and actually I think Brad is glad of it: he’s a well-brought-up, respectable sort of guy… unlike me! The “L-word” would just embarrass him…

Finals were so fucking hard – but I had a ball doing my specialist fetish area. Fuck, the amount of whipped cream and jam and chocolate syrup I got through just practising for my final show! Brad was so tolerant – but even he, when we got to end of exams, said, “Please, can I just fuck you once without any ganache or fucking ‘crème pât’ in the way?!” I love that guy – oops, mustn’t say that word – hee hee!

Cunts has mellowed, you know. I think it partly had to do with you and Rob, and Eva and Chad and all that. I think she saw what became of Hildegard, and kinda decided she needed to lighten up on all the ideological shit, and just concentrate on teaching us to fuck! I think Dick-Dick likes the new mellow Cunts too: they’re, like, always fucking! I wouldn’t dare suggest they’re “in love” – that would upset Cunts too much – but I think they’ve become very happy in each other’s company.

Dick-Dick was made interim head of the Princess Asshole Hospice – can you imagine a greater contrast from Hildegard? I think the place is pretty chill now. He fired that nurse whatever-her-name-was and replaced her with Cat from Farts. And he’s been making those three dick-brained fucker studs attend courses at the RAF – for “re-education”. He’s even – get this – invited your friend Ambrose to do “chaplaincy” work at the hospice – whatever the fuck that means. I guess it means they won’t be culling too many more Undesirables – in the near future at least…

Brad and I have decided what we’re going to do next! We ummed and ahhed a lot about it, but I really felt I wanted to start my own fuck-café – you know, where people can come for food, or a fuck, or a food-fuck! Brad had no strong feelings – so long as I promised we could play his favourite vintage fuck-flicks on a screen above the bar. So we’ve found a small place near Cuntden Market, and we’re going to call it Claire’s Culinary Cunt, or maybe Claire’s Cunt Kitchen – what do you think? I’ll give the blowjobs, and customers can eat food off my tits or off my pussy, and Bradley can fuck the lady diners. Angie and Harriet said they might be interested in working for us, and I’ve roped Johnny and Danica in to give us some training. My parents are a bit disappointed: I think they hoped I’d get into some high-powered corporate fucking – but it’s not as if they “love” me or anything, so I think they’re fairly cool about it.

Oh yeah – we’ve seen Riley a few times! She’s so excited about joining the RAF, during term-time she was always dropping by during her lunch breaks from school – and sometimes, to be honest, she’d bunk off school just to come and fuck with us. Cunts and Dick-Dick have grown so fond of her – they invited her to demonstrate her gape to the whole Academy, and to join us for free for the units on anal fisting and DAP and things like that. She’s so fucking amazing – it’s such an inspiration to see such filth in someone so young! Brad was saying we should offer her a job in our café after she’s graduated: we need someone with really good gape-farting skills, you know, for plating up – ha ha!

Oh, now, here’s a funny thing: one of the three studs from Princess Asshole – his mates call him Gaz, but we call him Gary – has taken a real shine to Riley. Whenever the two of them happen to be in the Academy at the same time, Gaz follows her around, like, sniffing her ass all the time. So Riley says, “Oh Gary, Gary, eat me arse out, Gary!” So Gary lies down on a couch, and she squats over his face while he licks her gape and strokes his cock off. And then, just as he’s about to come, she leans forward so he can shoot in her face. It's so fucking beautiful to watch – I’m sorry you’re not around to see it!

Well, and what about you?! I must admit, when you told me your news I was so horrified and scared for you, it took at least three orgasms to calm me down. But I’ve done a bit of reading – no really, I have! I read at least three pages of that Titfukskaya book you left behind – and I can just about see why you might be okay with it. But fucking hell, Al, won’t it fucking hurt? I mean, what the fuck?! Just take care of yourself, okay? And tell that stud of yours that if he does anything nasty to you, I’m gonna fucking send Gaz and Daz and Baz after him with their Number Sixes! (Sorry, I’m joking, of course – but just make sure he treats you right, and doesn’t dump you for some local floozie!)

I’m really sorry to hear about your Mommy and Daddy. But look at it from their point of view: it must be so hard for them, being such respectable and well-known figures in the fucking world, to see their prize-winning slut daughter go so off the rails – especially as they thought they were sending you down to London for the best fucking education money could buy. (I bet they’ve given Cunts and Dick-Dick shit!) But hey, I think you’re right, they probably do love you – though they’d never say so. I’m sure they’ll come round eventually and consent to speak to you again – and who knows, they might someday even come and visit you in your mud hut or wherever the fuck you live…

By the way, I’m posting you your auto-dick. I know you said you don’t need anything from here – but before your parents came to clear out your things, I… well, I kinda hid it… ‘coz I didn’t want them to take it back. I mean, it is yours after all, isn’t it?

Fuck, I’m late. Brad and I are going out tonight to see a show. Fleshlight Express it’s called – something about racing dildos…

Give that big black dick a good suck for me, babe,

C.

xfxfxf

P.S. Buns dropped by the other day – and we had a great fuck together. Anyway, I told her your news. She was wanting me to tell you something about perineal massage – but I can’t remember what the fuck she was talking about… Sounds like fun, though – can you do it with chocolate?

P.P.S. I miss you so much, my darling cunty-pie… I miss you so much. Please come back, won’t you…?

THE END