Prologue

Report:
Harriet Danes
Upper Sixth Form
Kunt College
July 2049

Dear Mr & Mrs Danes,

Harriet has had a very successful first year in Sixth Form. Her marks so far in her chosen ‘A’-Levels – English Literature, French and Fucking – have been very impressive. But quite apart from her academic success, she has proved herself to be a fine example of a New Enlightenment young lady, liberally fucking many of her student colleagues as well as several of the academic staff. She has also availed herself of many of the enrichment activities available here at Kunt, and has become a stalwart of our twice-weekly Porn Club. I am delighted that she has chosen to take Further Fucking in her second year as a fourth ‘A’-Level. She has also signalled her interest in applying for a place at the Royal Academy of Fucking in autumn 2050 – an ambitious goal, but one which should be within her grasp if she applies herself assiduously to her studies.

As you may be aware, the government is eager to ensure that young people keen on a professional career in fucking should develop skills in a wide variety of sexual fetishes, so as to make them more employable in an increasingly competitive fucking market. Therefore, the Further Fucking syllabus requires a choice of fetish, and in Kunt College that choice needs to be finalised by no later than Tuesday 21st September. However, Harriet seems somewhat unclear as to what her chosen fetish might be. Perhaps this is something you could discuss with her over the summer, so that she can start working on it once term resumes in the autumn?

Kind regards,

Miss P. Poussée
Deputy Head of Fucking | Tutor, Fuckindor House
Kunt College, London
“Proud to be Enlightened: Valuing and Nurturing the Fuckers of the Future” 

PART ONE:
Autumn

 Chapter One:
Anybody Got a Match?

“Brothers and sisters, let us fuck one another, for Pleasure is from God, and whoever fucks knows God. Anyone who does not fuck does not know God, because God is Pleasure. If we fuck one another, God abides in us and His Pleasure is perfected in us. By this we know that we abide in Him and He in us, because He has given us of His Horny Spirit.”

Reverend Dicky Fumbel looked up from his Bible, a mien of ecstatic purpose on his clean-shaven face, as he addressed his congregation. “Brothers and sisters in Christ, were you listening? Did you hear? Did you allow the voice of God to speak to your heart? God is Pleasure. And Pleasure is God! And that is the great gift, the inestimable gift, offered to us – to us, brothers and sisters – free of charge, in Christ Jesus! You have heard the testimonies of so many others who have made that great step of saving faith before you. Do you doubt them? Or will you accept His call now?

“Now, I know that some of you may be worried, may be scared. Some of you may be thinking, ‘How can I be a true fucker for Jesus? Surely I am not worthy! I’m not enough of a slut, not enough of a stud. My cock’s not big enough, my cunt’s not wet enough, my asshole’s not wide enough! Lord, I am not worthy! Well, if that is the case, then, I invite you to come up to the altar now. Come, brothers and sisters. If you need healing, if you need prayer, if you need a word of prophecy, to strengthen you on your fucking journey, to raise you up to the heights of filth and fuckery that deep down you know you owe to God, then remember the words of Scripture –

“Come, all you who are horny, come; and you who have no pussy, come and eat! Why spend money on what is not pussy, and your labour on what does not make you cum? Listen, listen to me, and you will delight in the tastiest of cunt. Give ear and come to me; fuck, that you may live!

“Come now – yes, you, my brother!” Reverend Fumbel gestured to a young man in the congregation who was hesitating at the edge of the aisle. “Why hold back, brother? Come up now, and God will give you what you need!”

The young man, lanky and slightly pimply, with sandy hair, dressed in faded blue jeans and a T-shirt, looked nervous as he approached the altar. “My brother,” Reverend Fumbel called into his microphone, so that the entire congregation could hear, “have you not read what Jesus said?

“Do not worry about your life, saying, ‘Who shall I fuck?’ or ‘Whose cunt shall I eat?’ or ‘Whose asshole shall I lick?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Fucker knows that you need them. But seek first His Kinkdom and His filthiness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

“Tell me your name, brother!” demanded Reverend Fumbel, as the boy reached the altar.

“Michael,” muttered the boy.

“Michael – tell us what you do in life: are you studying, are you working?”

The young man shuffled awkwardly, before muttering, “Well, I… I paint things… and I draw things…”

“An artist!” cried the preacher. “Michael, you have the potential to be an Artist of Lust! Why are you scared to answer God’s call to be His Consecrated Fucker?”

The boy muttered something inaudible into the preacher’s ear – but the latter was not about to allow it to stay private. “Brothers and sisters!” he bellowed into his microphone, as the young man turned bright red with embarrassment. “This young man says he has trouble getting a hardon!” The congregation clapped and cheered in encouragement. “Are we disheartened?”

“Fuck no!” shouted the crowd.

“Fuck no indeed!” echoed Reverend Fumbel. “Because we know that God heals all who come to Him, for His purposes! Michael, get your cock out, now!”

The boy continued to blush red, but unzipped his fly to reveal a rather small, flaccid cock. “Brother Michael, be not afraid! I call upon Deaconess Rahab to approach the altar!”

Blond deaconess Rahab was clad in a nothing more than see-through lace surplice, through which her ample breasts were visible, swaying and jiggling. Her exposed bald pussy glistened as she approached.

“Michael, isn’t Rahab beautiful? Doesn’t she reflect God’s glory perfectly?” Michael nodded, but his cock remained soft, dangling rather pathetically down the front of his jeans. “Doesn’t the sight of her hot cunt just make you want to fuck her to Heaven and back, Michael?” Michael nodded, his eyes fixed on Rahab’s hairless gash as the deaconess lay back on the altar and spread her legs wide for all to see – but his cock remained flaccid. “Don’t you just want ram your stiff dick deep inside that wet fuck-hole and paint her insides with your cum, Michael?” bellowed Reverend Fumbel.

“Oh yes, please,” responded the boy, “but… but…” He gestured hopelessly at his soft dangling member.

“See, brothers and sisters, what a pathetic unfuckable wimp Michael is?” cried the preacher. “Look at that diddy little dick! How can something like that ever hope to fuck a glorious hot cunt like Rahab’s? How can God ever be happy with that?!” The congregation groaned in response, as they studied Michael’s poor derided penis. “But have faith, brothers and sisters! Have faith, Michael! For God can heal the lame, the blind, the lepers – and even the pathetic unfuckable droopy-cocked wimps of this world!” Reverend Fumbel stretched out both his hands towards Michael’s cock, turned his eyes heavenward, and called out, “Lord Christ Jesus, healer of the sick and the weak and the unfuckable, I beg of you, come down now to heal our brother Michael. Reach out your hand, stroke his poor weak dick, make it whole and healthy again. Transform it, Lord, as only you know how, into a big dick, a huge dick, a great massive motherfucking miracle of a cock – stiff, thick, throbbing, Lord, with a big purple head, Lord, oozing pre-cum – so that he can fuck Rahab’s wet cunt like she deserves! AMEN!”

The chorus of “Amens” and “Hallelujahs” from the congregation had barely finished when, miraculously, Michael’s cock began to twitch, and grow. Soon it was stiffening, and thickening, and its foreskin was retreating naturally to reveal a large, beautiful, throbbing cockhead, glistening with pre-cum – just as the preacher had prayed. Michael gasped and fell to his knees: “Oh God! Oh thank you Lord!” he cried, as the entire congregation burst into extemporaneous praise, lifting their arms to Heaven, crying out with words of acclamation and worship, and calling out loud in tongues of men and of angels.

Deaconess Rahab grinned in anticipation, as Reverend Fumbel cried out: “See, Michael, God is true to His word. Jesus is the Healer, the Saviour, the Fucker of Fuckers! See the cock He has given you. Now pick thyself up, Michael, and fuck that hot cunt!” Michael needed no further persuasion. He strode confidently over to the altar, grabbed Rahab’s ankles to yank her legs apart, aimed, and plunged his cock deep into the deaconess’ dripping fuck-hole.

“Fuck yeah!” screeched Rahab. “Oh Jesus, oh yeah, fuck me!” she continued, as Michael rammed his miraculous cock in and out of her wet gash, pounding hard and deep, his heavy balls slapping noisily against her buttocks. Between the screaming of the crowd, the ongoing ecstatic prayers of Reverend Fumbel, and the tight caresses of Rahab’s exquisite gloopy fuck-depths, there was no way Michael was going to last long: soon he cried out in ecstasy as his cock exploded, releasing wave after wave of hot cum deep into Rahab’s cunt. The deaconess screamed, rubbing her clit hard with the palm of one hand as she too climaxed.

“HALLELUJAH” screamed the crowd, as they burst into applause, praising God and marvelling at the miracle. Their fear banished and their faith thus rekindled, several more people stood up and made their way up the aisle towards the altar, praising God with arms and voices raised, some of them tearing off their clothes as they came.

But one young lady held back. She sat in the back row of the congregation, dressed as one would expect for someone attending a church of the Enlightenment: indeed, her blonde hair, pink stilettos, short pink latex skirt and crop top seemed to announce her as a well brought-up modern bimbo, a true Jesus fucker. But, though she did not stand, the Reverend Fumbel saw her, and knew, and his heart was moved. “Sister, I see you, sister,” called the preacher, gesturing to the girl through the crowd. “I can tell that you are troubled in your walk with Jesus Christ. How can the Lord help you today? Come forward, sister, and unburden your cunt to the Lord.”

Slowly, the girl stood. Unlike Michael, she did not seem unsure of her own sexual prowess, swaggering forward, swaying her ass like a true slut. The preacher noticed this: “Look, brothers and sisters, look at this filthy whore. Look at the way she dresses. Look at the way she walks. Look at that broad jaw – just made for sucking cock! And those tits – are they GM, pretty cunt?”

The girl smiled broadly. “Yes, Reverend Dicky, my parents are really Enlightened: they genetically modified my tits in vitro. I really like them, don’t you?” she grinned, kneading her full breasts through her top to prove the point.

“So how about showing them to us properly, Jesus-whore?” suggested the preacher – and Harriet did, pulling her crop top up over her large breasts to display her wide pale areolas – eliciting a series of scattered “Hallelujahs” and “Praise the Lords” from the congregation. “And tell us your name, sweet slut.”

“Harriet,” replied the girl, tossing her hair seductively and jiggling her tits some more.

“Harriet,” replied the preacher, “I’m so glad you chose to come forward today. See, some people think that just by being a fucking slut all their troubles are over, that nothing can go wrong in their walk with Jesus. And you look like a filthy fucking slut if there ever was one!

“Oh yes, Reverend Dicky, I’m a total whore. I’m doing Further Fucking at Kunt College. And I love to fuck – anyone and everyone!” smiled the girl.

“That’s the spirit, Harriet! As it says in Romans 2: ‘God does not show favoritism – but glory, honour and peace for everyone who fucks.’ But tell me, then, Harriet, if you are such a faithful fucker for Jesus, why have you come forward? Unburden your heart to the Lord, Harriet.”

Harriet looked pensive for a moment, before saying, with evident caution. “Well, Reverend Dicky, my only problem is that, I’m going back to college next week, and for my Further Fucking course I have to choose a fetish – but I’m having real trouble: nothing seems to attract me, nothing gets my cunt wet other than straight fucking. My classmates all seem to have found fetishes which turn them on; even my best friend likes it when I piss on her face. But me… nothing! Is there something wrong with me? Can I be a true fucker without a fetish?”

A collective sigh of empathy rose from the congregation, and the preacher nodded supportively. “Well, Harriet, you ask a good question. These days, even though we live in Enlightened times, we can get so hung up on kinks and fetishes that we can lose sight of what is truly important. I tell you this from the bottom of my heart, Harriet: I don’t believe you have to have a fetish. Indeed, I’ll go as far as to quote Titus 3 to you: ‘When the goodness and fucking-kindness of God our Saviour appeared, He saved us, not because of kinks done by us in horniness, but according to his own mercy, by the fucking of regeneration and renewal of the Horny Spirit.’ See? Some people pursue fetishes because they are not biblically grounded in pure fucking, in pure Pleasure. But a Christian slut does not need a fetish, Harriet, because a Christian slut knows what is truly important – which is to let her cunt, and her throat, and her asshole be ravaged by every hard dick she can. Do you see?”

Harriet’s face broke into a broad relieved smile. But before she could express her thanks, Reverend Fumbel went on: “May I pray for you, sister? As it says in James 5, ‘the cum of a righteous man is powerful and effective.’ Suck my cock, Harriet, so I can pray for you!”

As Harriet knelt on the carpeted floor and fed Reverend Fumbel’s thick cock into her wide mouth, the preacher lifted his hands and eyes to Heaven and began to pray: “Lord Jesus, we know how much our sister Harriet pleasures you, how much you accept and honour her as your devoted slut, your filthy fucking whore. We praise you, Lord, for making her so, for her big tits, for her wet cunt, and for inspiring in her the desire to pursue fucking as her holy vocation. And we ask you, Lord – if it is thy will – to help our sister Harriet to find wisdom regarding her kinks: either to find her true fetish, and soon, or to be at peace with being the dirtiest, filthiest, cunt-fucking whore she can.”

“Yes Lord!” moaned the congregation in response.

The Reverend Fumbel sped up his face-fucking. “And so, Lord, I anoint my sister Harriet with cum, for your glory, in Jesus’ name!” The congregation moaned and cried and sang and fuck-talked in tongues, as the preacher pulled his cock from Harriet’s mouth and began jerking on it, spraying her face with thick ropes of Jesus-cum. Harriet squealed with delight, her tongue lapping, her lips sucking, as she revelled in the holy ecstasy of feeling her face plastered with the fuck-blessings of the Almighty.

And in that moment she knew deep in her heart that, fetish or no fetish, all would be well, and that she pleasured God.

*

“Was church good?” called a voice from the kitchen.

“Yeah, fucking!” enthused Harriet, as she shut the front door behind her. “You should come sometime!”

“Oh, you know, all this religion stuff is not really for me, cunty-pie,” replied her mother, as Harriet entered the kitchen. The older woman was seated on a high stool at the breakfast bar, dressed in a black leather basque and knee-length boots, wielding a seven-tailed whip, while her husband knelt on the floor, naked bar a dog-collar and chain around his neck, eating her cunt. His bare buttocks were red and gleaming, as was the head of his stiff cock, which he was stroking gently with one hand. “No no, don’t stop, Henry,” corrected his wife, looking down and giving her husband’s buttocks another gentle flay of the whip.

Henry squealed, and buried his face deeper into his wife’s vulva.

“Did you get any help with your fetish?” asked Genevieve.

“Well, Reverend Dicky prayed and sprayed over me, and I know the Lord is faithful, so if it is His will He will reveal my path to me,” replied Harriet with confidence.

“If you say so, dear,” smiled her mother indulgently. “No no, Henry, tongue deeper, that’s it,” she added as an aside, giving his raw buttocks another playful stroke with the whip and using the chain to pull his face deeper into her crotch, before turning back to her daughter. “Why don’t you just follow in our footsteps, sweet cunt? I mean, there’s no nicer fetish than BDSM, you know? It’s got everything: pain, fear, humiliation, degradation – what more could a nice girl like you want?”

“Yes, I know, Mummy. But it just doesn’t get my cunt wet – and if it doesn’t do that, it can’t be for me, can it?”

“Well, what other fetishes have you tried at school?”

“Oh, all sorts: food, WAM, enemas, farting, leather, rubber, balloons, fur, tickling, piss…”

“Oh, piss!” interrupted the older woman. “Doesn’t your friend Janey like getting peed on? Have you tried that?”

“Well, I don’t mind peeing on her when she asks me to: she likes that. But whenever she’s done it to me I haven’t quite seen the point. It just doesn’t get me wet… uh, I mean, of course it gets me wet, what I mean is –”

“Well, all I can say,” interrupted Genevieve, “is how lucky you are to grow up in Enlightenment times; we were ever so coy about such things when I was young. How society has changed!” She broke off to encourage her husband with another strike of her whip: “Henry, arsehole now, remember – up and down with that tongue, clit to shit!” Henry moaned in painful pleasure, his backside glowing brighter than ever as he stroked his cock and began dutifully slurping the full length of his wife’s perineum.

“Well, anyway, Mummy, I’m going over to Janey’s this evening, all right? I’ll be back late.”

“Going to do some nice fucking?”

Harriet grinned. “Yeah, probably. She says her Auntie Mabel’s given her a new strapon she wants to try out on me. And we might watch a movie on her screen.”

Her mother’s eyebrows rose. “Well, I presume her parents will be keeping an eye on you, making sure you don’t watch anything inappropriate?”

“Oh Mummy, of course! Janey’s family only ever watch porn,” Harriet lied, “nothing weird.”

“Well, that’s lovely, dear. But you know me, it’s a mother’s job to check that her fuckslut daughter isn’t being led astray. Your Daddy and I wouldn’t like to hear that you’d been watching… well,” she grimaced, “‘crime dramas’ or ‘love stories’ or anything horrible like that – would we, Henry?”

Tongue still buried in the sweet space between cunt and asshole, pre-cum leaking down his fingers, Henry muttered in the affirmative, before his wife gave him another flay with her whip and commanded, “Now, darling, finger in my arse while you eat that cunt…”

*

Janey’s home was not far away from Harriet’s – though it was significantly more modest. “Are your parents really out all evening?” giggled Harriet as she walked in the front door of the two-up-two-down terrace.

“They’re not back till about eleven,” responded Janey, tossing her long black hair mischievously and wiggling her delicate slender torso. “They’re going to a dinner party.” Janey’s parents were not as well educated, or as well-to-do, as Harriet’s: indeed, their daughter was only able to attend Kunt College as a result of a very generous scholarship from the Ministry of Fucking. Consequently, Janey was, it must be admitted, not quite as well brought up as Harriet – which the latter girl found quite exciting. While Henry and Genevieve encouraged their daughter to enjoy respectable pastimes like fucking, masturbating, and watching porn, Janey’s parents had a more alternative, hands-off approach, allowing Janey to indulge in more suspect hobbies such as playing the clarinet, amateur dramatics, and even philately.

“A ‘dinner party’ – what’s that? Is that where you fuck while eating dinner? Or you fuck your dinner? Or both?” Harriet cackled.

“No, it’s where a bunch of friends eat a meal together and, like, converse and stuff – no fucking required.”

“Jesus, Janey, that’s weird. I mean, it’s the Enlightenment now, for Christ’s sake. We’re allowed to fuck anywhere and everywhere we like. Are your parents really going to spend the evening just eating and talking? I mean, that’s so antisocial, so… gauche!”

“I know, my parents are weird. I mean, they like fucking, don’t worry – but they kinda keep it… private.” Harriet looked horrified, but Janey continued unabated. “Anyway, I’ve got some really naughty shit for us to do!”

“Oh Jesus, Janey, what are you plotting now? I thought today I was gonna piss all over you, and you were going to fuck me with your new strapon!”

“Oh, we can do that too, Hat,” smirked the skinny dark-haired waif. “But guess what? This guy I told you about in Soho who sells all that pre-Enlightenment stuff under the counter – I went there yesterday, and bought a classic movie from the 1940s, a ‘romance’!” She cackled wickedly.

Harriet gasped. “Fuck, Janey, is that legal? I mean, that sort of stuff’s banned, isn’t it? A movie like that might have ‘love’ in it, or even monogamy – that’s seriously dangerous shit, girl! I mean, my parents would kill me if they found out I’d been watching stuff like that. They might even confiscate my dildo!”

“Well, they’re not gonna fucking find out, are they, Hat? We’re gonna be really naughty and watch a ‘love’ story – and be totally led astray. Come on!”

In fact, if Harriet was expecting Janey’s “classic movie” to be shocking from the outset, it did not take her long to be disappointed. It was in black and white, grainy, and quite dull: the opening scene featured a bunch of rather ugly men going fishing in a boat for what seemed like a very long time. “This is so boring, Janey,” she whined. “Come on, let’s fuck instead. Go get that new dildo of yours!”

It was while Janey was upstairs retrieving her dildo, however, that something happened on screen which sent a jolt through Harriet’s body. There was a girl on the screen, standing in the background by an open door, in a rather drab room, with a strange white tube dangling from her lips. She was, Harriet thought, potentially quite sexy, though dressed in what any modern Enlightened girl would consider ridiculously modest, even prudish, clothing. “Anybody got a match?” said the girl in husky tones, before one of the ugly fishermen tossed a small box across the room to her, which she caught deftly in one hand.

“Oh Jesus fuck!” exclaimed Harriet, just as Janey reappeared naked in the living room, a large black strapon protruding from her crotch. “What the fuck’s she doing? What’s that thing?” Harriet squealed, pointing at the screen, her lips trembling with excitement.

“Oh – she’s smoking a cigarette,” explained Janey knowledgeably, as she began to spread lube on her dildo. “I’ve seen it before in old movies. People used to do it in pre-Enlightenment times, but then it was banned: I think it was supposed to be bad for your health or something.”

“Health… oh fuck… oh fuck, but Janey, it looks so sexy! Don’t you think it looks sexy, girl?” Harriet’s eyes were dilated, her lips trembling, her heart racing, her cunt beginning to tingle – and she had temporarily lost interest in the dildo. “Play that scene again, Janey, I gotta see it again!”

Janey was bewildered by the dramatic nature of Harriet’s behaviour, but she humoured her friend, rewinding by a couple of minutes to let her watch the smoking scene again. This time Harriet was ready with her fingers up her skirt. “Oh fuck, Janey, I gotta come to this,” squealed Harriet, as she fingered her now wet pussy and began rubbing her clit hard. She had never seen anything like this in her life before, and it was, she felt in that moment, the hottest thing imaginable. She had to come, and she had to come now. She grabbed the remote control with slimy fingers so she could slow the movie to quarter speed, all the better to revel in the sheer sensuality of the actress’ every move. On screen, the girl dangled her cigarette from her lips with a sexually-charged nonchalance Harriet had never seen before, tightened her lips with blowjob-perfect timing to take her first drag of her cigarette just as the match flame illuminated her fine features, tossed the used match over her shoulder with the same devil-may-care nonchalance, and exhaled a perfect cone of creamy white smoke as she turned and left.

Harriet came, fast and hard. Janey watched, bewildered but impressed, as her best friend whimpered and twitched through her orgasm. “Jesus, Hat! That’s amazing! D’you think you got a smoking fetish, bitch? I didn’t even know that was a thing!”

Harriet was still panting. That orgasm had been good – but she wanted more. “Oh Jesus, Janey, is there more smoking in this movie? Please, find me some more smoking! Please, quick! Fast forward it, I need to see that girl smoking some more!”

It took a few minutes for Janey to find the next scene featuring the same sexy girl smoking (“It says here her name is Lauren Bacall. Never heard of her, have you?”), as Harriet whimpered in sexual desperation. “There!” she squealed. “Look! Oh, look at the way she puts that in her mouth, look at the angle it makes dangling between her lips – oh fuck, that’s so fucking hot! Please, Janey, fuck me from behind while I watch! I need you to fuck me while I watch the smoking!”

Under normal circumstances, Harriet would have spent some time admiring Janey’s new dildo and making sure to give her friend as much reciprocal pleasure as she could. But these were not normal circumstances, and Janey could tell that. She pushed Harriet forward over the coffee table, clicked quarter speed on the remote, and began to slide her strapon in and out of her blond friend’s bald wet cunt.

Harriet was in ecstasy. She watched as the girl took her first drag on the lit cigarette, cheeks hollowed with desire and desperation, head tilted slightly upward in ecstasy, the first mouthful of creamy cum-white smoke disappearing with a sharp snap deep into her throat, as if she were gasping in sheer oral pleasure. “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Harriet whimpered, “fuck me, Janey, fuck me hard!” Now the girl on the screen was exhaling in profile, a long thin stream of immaculate white shooting – no, ejaculating – across the room towards her interlocutor. Harriet screamed with joy – joy at the sheer beauty of what she was witnessing, joy at the way it made her heart pound, her clit tingle, her cunt drip and, soon, very soon, joy at the orgasm which the combined vicarious smoking and strapon fucking caused to charge through her body. “FUUUUUCK!” she wailed, feeling her cunt spasm wildly while watching the last wisps of smoke pass from the actress’ lips.

Harriet was spent – but she was still trembling with desire, whimpering in pleasure at the mad fetish-induced orgasm she had just experienced, her mind swirling with the sheer sexual beauty of what she had just witnessed. Yes, she thought, I have found my fetish. And not just my fetish, but my vocation. I need to learn to smoke, I need to be like that Lauren girl on the screen, I need to smoke and fuck and smoke and cum. This is my goal, my purpose, my meaning. This is my new identity!

Still in ecstasy, sexually possessed in a way she had never been before in her life, Harriet rubbed her cunt, turned her eyes to Heaven and prayed, “Thank you, Jesus, for revealing my fetish to me. You are my Lord, my Master, my Fucker. I promise you, Lord Jesus, I will learn to smoke, and I will smoke and fuck, and fuck and smoke, for You, for Thy glory, forever and ever. Amennnnn…” she whimpered, as another spasm rippled through her body.

“Jeez,” muttered Janey.

To be continued...