Now I don't know about you, but this global pandemic thingy has had a bit of a negative effect on my cash flow situation. Obviously, I've still got the blow job business which I've recently rebranded as 'Suck Jobs' with the fantastic new tagline 'swap seminal fluids not particulates', but at twenty quid a mouthful that's barely keeping me in lipstick and hosiery. So I've had to seek out new remunerative opportunities and where better to find them than the good old worldwide web.
What I've discovered is that there are these things called bots, and all you do is upload a little message and then the bot sends it out to everyone in the whole wide world. Then people read your message and send you loads of money; even people living in faraway places you never knew existed. I've done a few of these and they are absolutely fandabidozi so I thought I'd share some of the best ones with my dear saddos. No idea why, just think of me as exceptionally kind-hearted. Which of course I am, what with being the world's premier aunt of agony. So here are some examples:
Please help. My unbelievably sexy, early twenties with great tits, younger sister is being held against her will by some very naughty men and made to do degrading sexual acts daily. They're demanding £5,000 for her release but I must give them the money by this Friday. My sister has promised to show her gratitude to her saviour in the only way she knows how by insisting you use her super-sexy body in whatever debauched way you desire.
Or this ...
My cunt can't stop dripping and throbbing at the thought of your tumescent cock/divine cunt (delete as appropriate) and I can't wait for the day when you use and abuse me like the desperate fucktoy slut that I am. All I need is £2000 for Covid tests and visas and a fully refundable one-way airline ticket and I will be yours.
Or this ...
Fed up of Covid? Sick of lockdown? Bored with masturbating endlessly? Visit our top-secret getaway resort for a week of uninhibited sexual pleasure. Packed to the rafters with horny lingerie models and virile well-hung studs all eager to tend to your every whim and desire. Book now. Only a few places left. All kinks catered for. Yours for just £3000.
And the letters and money just come pouring in, it really is most gratifying.
Anyway, when I was stuck in that dingy office with Janine and her green eye shadow she banged on and on about how these columns weren't about me but about the saddos and their letters. Really? When I say 'banged on' I mean that quite literally because she had some cheap biro that she kept tapping on the table to emphasise each word, and if that isn't the most annoying personal habit imaginable then I don't know what is. So, just for you Janine, let's go 'to the letter'.
Though it's more of a novella than a letter really, and not just any old novella but one of those really dreary Henry James novellas that insist on telling you where the tablecloth was made and how many pieces of cutlery were on the table and what cakes were served and in which order. Now I love a bit of late Victorian chick-lit as much as the next girl but in an advice column letter? What's wrong with just saying 'Hey Cummies, I'm thinking about taking cocks up my bumhole, any advice?' Why do we have to have *all* the back story? The saddos don't care. They really don't. They're just a bunch of car-crash rubberneckers hoping to see twisted body parts dragged from the wreckage of other people's lives.
What these letters really need is an 'Intermission'; like you get with shouty stage nonsense, so that we can all drag ourselves off to the Circle Bar for our pre-ordered G&Ts, dive outside to snaffle a quick hit of nicotine, grab a choc ice on the way back and wonder whether it's preferable to queue for the single working stall in the ladies' toilet or enjoy the welcome distraction of warming pee trickling down your thighs as the assorted thesp-types bore you rigid with whatever piffle we're calling culture these days.
And with that thought, let's go to the novella.
Dear Cum Frump
Two of my friends returned from holidays last week, where they seemed to have had a great time with some guys they met there. So much so that they had already arranged to go out with them at the weekend. The thing is, the boys had already made plans with another dude who was hindering my slutty friends' ulterior motives; thus, they asked for my intervention to level the third wheel issue.
Saturday night found the six of us talking and laughing in a quiet bar - with everyone fully aware that we were merely stalling, making time for the Fucktastic Four to go and pick things up where they've left off.
Eventually, one of my friends looked at me like asking for permission to be excused, and I nodded slightly to let her know I was fine with them leaving me with my blind date.
The guy was really cute, you know, the innocent, blushing kind. These people always have me wondering, are they really innocent, or are they playing the part? So my wicked side activates and I take it as a personal challenge to unveil the truth.
This time, it turned out to be painfully true.
After a few drinks and many laughs accompanied by some seemingly inadvertent touches here and there, he finally suggested going to his place.
Once there, things heated up pretty fast; soon, we were not so much kissing but competing to see whose tongue got further into the other's hungry mouth... such a lewd omen!
He took me to the main bedroom and told me to get comfortable as he left me there, saying he would be right back.
I got naked faster than you can say, 'Lube me up, Scottie, ' and jumped onto the bed.
He returned wearing nothing but grey joggers, his bare torso and arms were ripped and his bulge was... irresistibly evident.
'Clitpot!' I thought.
*INTERMISSION*
He walked towards me with a racy look in his eyes and I was tingling in all the wrong places. He reached the edge of the bed and pulled his joggers down, dragging my high hopes along with them.
My cunt skipped a beat when I saw he was already wearing a condom. That should have been my cue to run away, but when he grabbed my ankles and pulled me closer to him, I got momentarily hopeful.
He went on his knees and dove between my legs. A second later, I felt a promising warm, soft touch of the tip of his tongue in the middle of no one's land, right between my two holey prospects. I held my breath, expectant.
His eyes fixed on mine as his tongue started to trace my wet slit slowly, until with one single continuous lick, he reached my throbbing peak.
One. Lick.
I know, but hold on, it gets better (read, worse). He pecked my clit and climbed right up, pressed his glans against my hole and plunged in. I was so utterly flabbergasted I couldn't even move or protest. Hey, I don't mean to brag, but I do have a nice pair of cushiony funbags he completely disregarded; that was a first for me.
Sadly, not the only one.
If memory serves me right, he gave his best four thrusts (I counted) and then collapsed over me, deflating with a deep growl.
A panting 'Thank you' broke the awkward silence, and the penny dropped. Sweet summer child, he was a virgin! I couldn't help but smile, and while those were the most unexciting, cunty-drying five minutes of my life, I said, 'No sweetie, thank you!'
You see, in his eagerness to finally get inside a woman, he didn't pay attention to 'where' he was getting into...
Up to that point, I have always been wary of anal sex because I'd heard it was so painful, but as I had unexpectedly discovered, it was not! After such a revel-ass-tion, I can't stop thinking about it! I'm so eager to dig deeper, you know, expand my whorezones.
