“Fucking or Non-Fucking?” asked the lady behind the ticket counter. “Fucking, please,” replied Alison confidently. “First Class or Shit Class?” “First, please.” “Two-berth, four-berth, or seat?” “Uh… what’s the difference?” “Well, it’s a long journey, so frankly, if you’re planning on doing any fucking, I would avoid the seat carriages. You can just about give a blowjob, but there’s barely room to spread your legs. Are yo...

Before the Great Enlightenment of the 2020s, European society had a dysfunctional, nay, a schizophrenic attitude to fucking. On the one hand, both men and women favoured what society called “sexual liberation”, i.e. the right of anyone to fuck whoever they wanted, whenever they wanted, without any attendant responsibilities or obligations. On the other hand, society claimed to value what was called “the family”: men and w...

Monday, 19th September, 2050 Dearest Mommy, My first day at RAF has been totally fucking amazing! In the morning, we had our first practical session, in what they call the “Money Lab”. In the middle is a huge bed, for the group stuff. And around that, in a semi-circle, are all these individual “fuck-stations”, each with a couch for fucking, and a desk for writing (and fucking too, I guess), and a cabinet full of toys, inc...

Friday 30th September, 2050 Dearest Mommy, I am sooooo sorry it has taken me so long to write. I have been so fucking busy – or vice versa! The first two weeks of this term have been the fuckingest I have ever had in my life. In Cunts’ classes we have been doing every variation of cock-in-cunt fucking I have ever heard of: mish, cowgirl, doggy, spoons, sideways, corkscrew, sitting, wheelbarrow, standing – you name it! I n...

  “Hey, Alison, suck my cock! How’re you doing?” said Rob, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her spit-covered face peeping out from under Claire’s ass. “Shit, Rob, I wasn’t expecting you. But… come in…” said Alison uncertainly, not really knowing what else to do. “Claire, Brad: this is Rob – Rob: Claire and Brad.” “Suck my cock, Claire,” said Rob politely. “Fuck a bitch, Brad.” “M’ pussy,” muttered Claire. “Bitch,” gru...

  “TITS!” declaimed Cunts, baring her own. Nor was Cunts wearing her auto-dildo today – “presumably because she doesn’t need it to suck tit!” whispered Claire to Alison as they resumed their normal stations in “the Money Lab”. Monday morning marked the beginning of a new topic in Professor Cunts’ morning sessions: Female Oral – “kissing, tit-sucking, cunt-eating, and rimming,” explained the Professor. “The latter term, to...

  Professor Emma Jane Cuntslicker, PGCF, FD, FRSF (Fellow of the Royal Society of Fuckers), sat slumped at her desk, weighing up the events of the week. Had there ever been a worse one during the course of her entire twenty-year career in fucking? Perhaps when that stupid girl from Fuckham had accidentally lost a marble up her ass – oh, the hours nurse Cat had spent trying to retrieve it! Cunts chuckled… Or no, even worse...

  “Are you sure it’s gonna be okay?” asked Alison. She was sitting in the back of a black London taxi, sandwiched between her parents. “Yes, honeypot,” replied her mother, “Professor Cuntslicker has sorted it all out. The black boy has left the country – isn’t that right, Bill? – and he knows not to come back. His sister now knows that it wasn’t your fault, and is really sorry for hurting you. She wants to make it up to y...

  Claire was delighted to see Alison back at the Academy, and gave her a long sloppy tongue-suck the moment she reappeared in the Money Lab. That she appeared hand-in-hand with Eva was a shock, and elicited a twinge of jealousy at first – but Alison deflected it with another of her mother’s unassailable moral aphorisms: “The fruits of fucking are joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, gentleness…” “Oh shut up, Al. H...

  “Where’s Claire?” asked Dick-Dick – for indeed, Claire was missing. “She was with Danica and Johnny,” said Alison. “I think she wanted to catch the beginning of their lecture.” “Ah – excellent idea,” said Dick-Dick, “but I hope she isn’t late. We all have to go in as a group here.” It was nearly three o’clock, and Dr Dick and the NDF students were gathered in the lobby of the Princess Asshole Hospice on Oxfuck Street. “...

  Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God...

  “You can’t wear that!” exclaimed Alison. “Why not? Isn’t it sluttish enough?” replied Claire. She was proudly showing off her tight black wet-look PVC one-piece dress, which barely covered the distance between her nipples and her ass. Her cunt lips peeped out cheekily from underneath. “It’s too sluttish! This is an old-style religious service we’re going to: you’ve got to look modest and chaste and stuff – like they dre...

  Alison trudged despondently homeward-bound up Tottenham Cunt Road. She was numb, bewildered, livid. “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!” she screamed. There was no reaction from any passers-by, for whom the word, in Enlightened Europe of the twenty-first century, was mere background noise. “WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, CLAIRE?” Alison shouted into the middle-distance. “WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO FUCKING…” – she quietened...

  Dr Hildegard Fotzenficker had had a hard couple of weeks. “Fucking overagers, fucking Undesirables, fucking escapees – fuck the whole fucking lot of them!” she grumbled to herself, as she sat at her large oak desk in her office at the Princess Asshole Hospice. “To ruin that whole funeral party – and to force me to implement Emergency Measure Number Six – ungrateful fucking fool! He could have gone in the ecstasy of plea...

  “OH FUCK, I CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS!!!” screamed Alison in frustration. She was standing naked in the bathroom, scowling angrily at a flexible suction-cup dildo which waggled mockingly at her from her wall-length mirror. Her mouth was drooling – but her pussy was not. There was nothing, Alison thought, nothing at all pleasant about trying to deepthroat a dildo. “What is it, pretty cunt?” called Claire from the bedroom. “T...

  Fucky Birthday to you, Fucky Birthday to you, Fucky Birthday, dear Alison, Fucky Birthday to you! “Surprise!” There was a chorus of cheers, and Alison felt her blindfold being untied. She looked around and gasped at the sight of Claire’s room, decorated with bunting and banners displaying messages like “Happy 19th – to a True Whore!” and “Many Fucky Returns!” Little pink paper cocks, tits and asses, dangling from ribbon...

  The sun was setting on Alison’s birthday, as she, Eva and Claire sat on a bench in the park facing the empty bandstand – waiting. It was getting a little chilly on this autumn evening, so most of the outdoor fucking activity of the day was winding up – apart from one solitary couple about fifty yards away on another bench. They were both dressed in tight black leather, but the man’s cock jutted through his fly, and he w...

  “Okay, m’ cunt, guys, are we all ready?” It was dawn, and outside the window a drear misty late-November morning was beginning to break, as Alison and her friends gathered in her room at Fuckers’ Hall. “Check!” they all chorused. “Okay, let’s go through it. Riley, are you and your friends clear about what’s happening?” “Yeah, I’m meetin’ ‘em at Oxfuck Circus at eight. From there, we’ll be able to see Chad comin’. Chad w...

  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 a...

This two-part “Christmas special” follows on from the conclusion of Alison Goes to London – but it can also stand alone. It is 2051, and under the “Enlightenment”, Europe is ruled by Pleasure, and love is eschewed. Claire and Bradley have graduated from the Royal Academy of Fucking and, assisted by their friend, up-and-coming anal slut Riley, have set up a fuck-café in Cuntden Market. However, their best friend Alison has...

The sun has barely risen this wintry Sunday morning, and fog swirls across the path and canal outside the front door of Claire’s Cunt Kitchen. “Brad, shut the blinds, will you?” calls Claire from deep within the bowels of her kitchen. “And turn the screen on, it’s nearly nine!” Bradley is wiping tables in the front room of the café, scrubbing the last of yesterday’s semen stains off the pink Formica tops. Jill has arrived...

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. It was the age of headiness, of ambition, of imagination. It was the epoch of desire, indulgence and Pleasure. So it was in the season when the Enlightenment burst forth upon this Continent. After the pandemic, the migrant crises, the collapse of the world climate, and the wars of the early twenties, after the destruction of all we held dear, it would have been too easy...

ACT TWO, SCENE ONE First a brief orchestral prelude, and we’re back to the RAF again, where it is still Friday 16th July 2060, but later in the afternoon. “Cocks and cunts!” Dr Dick held centre stage again. “It is time for us to proceed to the finale of this week’s proceedings – which I know you have all been looking forward to.” There was a hubbub of excitement from the audience. “What you are about to witness is utterly...

ACT THREE, SCENE ONE “Well, you’ve got some fucking gall, turning up now, after all these years!” Riley spat the words out with contempt – but some indecision, which was evident in the way her accent wavered: part of her felt determined to be profoundly chavvy, so as to identify unequivocally with her mother, her mother who, she felt certain, has been so wronged by this man all those years ago; but part of her wanted to d...

ACT FOUR, SCENE ONE a few days after our last chapter: Friday 21st May 2032, but very early in the morning, after a long night: The Corn Exchange, Cambridge We will, we will FUCK YOU! chanted the crowd. We will, we will FUCK YOU! “What a night, eh?!” Cunts bellowed as she and Hildegard leapt on the podium. “What a fucking night!” The crowd cheered raucously. “Fuckers!” shouted Cunts. “Need I remind you of how far we have...

ACT FIVE, SCENE ONE Another three and a half years since the last flashback: it is now 2036, early summer, in a Victorian Grade II listed townhouse in Islington, London. “Friends and Fuckers! Welcome! Lick my pussy, all of you!” Hildegard was dressed in a red basque which showed off the buxom curves of her large jiggling breasts. Cunts was by her side, proudly naked, her own tits huge and perfect, beautiful despite their...

The name is Ouettecunte: Jane Ouettecunte. A highly distinguished old Saxon name, I am told by my husband. Mine was Bloggs; so you could say I have married into pedigree – and it suits me. Ouettecunte is, of course, the Norman bastardisation: the Wettkunts were a noble Wessex family who curried favour with the invaders and were granted a bishopric in perpetuity in what was then called Wiltshire. So they are terribly respe...

The name’s Ouettecunte: Carl Ouettecunte. You’ve met my slut of a wife already, I believe. And my two wonderful fuck-brained children, Jack and Claire, of whom I am very proud. I am a small businessman. That is, my business is small, not me. And nor is my cock, as I think Jane has already mentioned. I run an agency providing fuckers to local businesses – a small but personalised service, highly respected locally, includin...

The name’s Ouettecunte: Jack Ouettecunte. Now, I know what you’re thinking: that’s kind of a cunty name for a guy, isn’t it? I mean, how about something a bit more masculine, like “Jack Hammer”, or “Jack Screw”, or even “Jack McDickoff”? Actually, I like to jack my dick off. But I hardly ever get a chance, because either Mum or Claire always does it for me. Tough, huh? The only time I get to stroke my own dick is when I’m...

Hey fuckers! The name’s Ouettecunte: Claire Ouettecunte. But I think you know that already, right? This story is all about me, see: me and my pretty wet cunt – isn’t that totally fucking? So, Mom and Dad and Jack have at last allowed me to write a chapter. It was hard persuading them. They think I’m a bit dumb. But I think I’m just smart in different ways from them. They complain that I can’t spell or write proper English...