The Horny Planet Guide to Global Bonking : Fuck Me Friday

The day : Friday. The place : Funny Boners. The event : Fuck Me Friday. The prompt word : Sight.

Check out Aisling Weaver's site to read all about this event and check out all the exciting contributions. And, remember, we're writers, we're insecure, if you don't comment we'll assume you hate us. :oP

The Horny Planet Guide to Global Bonking

(The following are some brief excerpts from chapters in this most excellent travel guide).

Introduction

Travelling doesn't come cheap these days. You want to get more bang for your buck. You want to see the sights. But you want more. You want the experience of a life-time. You want an adventure. You want some photo opportunities that aren't safe for work.

With the help of this travel guide you will be able be the dirty foreigner in someone else's country for a change. Where is the nearest place to buy condoms if you get horny looking at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? Is wife-swapping still obligatory among the Inuit? Which district in Tokyo has the cheapest used panty dispensers? Which clubs in Afghanistan hold Wet Burkha Nights? You won't find any of this in Fodor's or Frommer's. Our writers do dirty things in glamorous places so that you can too!

France


by Reg Northrop

Virtually all French people know how to speak English. But they won't speak English to you. They'll pretend they don't understand. I have my own patented way of dealing with this. I go up to the nearest Frenchman and ask, "Do you share your mother's prodigious talent for sucking cock?" If he kicks me in the balls then I know that he understand's English, so, once I regain my ability to speak, I ask him for directions to the tomb of Victor Hugo. If, on the other hand, he winks at me and replies, "Mais oui, mon cheri!", I make a run for it.

*         *         *

You can have a lot of fun in the Louvre. Malcolm the photographer joined Tracy and I for a bit of arty sight seeing. It was my job to create diversions to distract the guards. Meanwhile Malcolm snapped photos of Tracy licking the cocks of famous statues like Balthazar Keller's Adonis, Francois Joseph Bosio's Aristée, etc. Then it was Tracy's turn to distract the guards while I went around some of the female statues sucking nipples and licking pussies and butt cracks.

*          *         *

It was Tracy who insisted we fuck on the top of the Eiffel Tower. Whenever she sees something standing up straight and tall it gets her thinking.

It's actually easier than you might think. The view is so spectacular, who's going to be looking at anything else? I eased Tracy's skirt up and her panties down, unzipped my jeans, opened the fly of my y-fronts and slid in my rock hard six inches. (Well, hey, I'm a travel writer, not a porn star you know!) She leaned up against the metal railing as we looked down at the ant-like humans scurrying about below. All around us fellow tourists jostled us and snapped off their photos, but no-one noticed what we were doing. Tracy's juicy wet pussy massaged my hot stiffness. We had to be a bit careful not to move too wildly, but the excitement of the situation was enough to bring us to the boil pretty quickly. I owe my climax to a fat American woman who jostled me from behind at just the crucial moment, causing me to slam hard into Tracy's cunt and fill it full of jism. I staggered back in the throws of ecstasy, accidentally leaving Tracy bent over the railing with her bare arse in the air and cum dribbling down her legs.

"Now I know why they call it the Eyeful Tower!" exclaimed the husband of the fat woman.

The USA

by Bazza Kenneally

They call the United States "the Land of the Free", but in most cases, you'll find you do have to pay for things.

*          *          *

The first sight I checked out was the Statue of Liberty. I thought it would be appropriate to take a few liberties with a trio of Swedish backpacker chicks. They weren't too sure of what the inscription said. Their English wasn't good. I explained that it said, "This area is clothing optional." I introduced myself as the head of the Girls Gone Crazy empire and offered them $5,000 to streak around Liberty Island. Got some great footage of bouncing boobs and wobbling bums. I bet they are still checking the letterbox daily for that cheque.

*           *          *

"Just because we're at Mt. Rushmore doesn't mean it has to be a quickie," I quipped to Pam, the hot brunette cougar in whose RUV I'd hitched a ride.

"I don't do quickies," she informed me with an evil smile as she locked the door and pushed me down onto the bed. "You really should be careful when you hitch a ride. I'm a serial killer. The badlands of America are strewn with the unmarked graves of men I've fucked to death."

I'm not sure she was kidding. She was the most uninhibited woman I'd ever met. When she picked me up she was driving naked with a vibrator buzzing away in her pussy.

"Mind changing the batteries for me?" she asked. "By the way, the name's Pam."

Several times she got stopped by the police for driving erratically while orgasming. She never got a ticket. But those cops sure got their cocks sucked.

She had more energy than I did, so I lay back on the bed and let her ride me cowgirl fashion. She had nice big tits, a bit droopy, but that just made it all the more exciting to watch them swaying back and forth as she fucked me. Her hairy pussy slammed down over my cock again and again until finally I spurted deep inside her. Then she sucked me back to erection again and fucked me all over. When I couldn't get it up a third time she cuddle up to me and talked dirty in my ear while she masturbated herself to orgasm another five times. That's when I fell asleep. When I woke up she was just coming in the door. She explained that, after I'd fallen asleep, she dressed and headed to the local country and western bar where she hooked up with the band and went back to their place for a gang bang.

Thailand

by George Armstrong

The Thais are very open-minded about sex. In fact it is enshrined in their Constitution. Article 53, paragraph 65, says "It doesn't matter what you do sexually, as long as you don't do it in the street and frighten the elephants."

This doesn't mean you are not allowed to have sex in the streets. When this article was tested in court it was found that two things were needed for such an act to be illegal - 1. That it take place in the street - and - 2. That it frighten at least one elephant. Don't frighten any elephants and you can do what you like in the street. Thai elephants are themselves pretty broadminded and not easily frightened by human sexual activity, however, if you are planning to try anything outlandishly kinky, it might be best to slip any nearby elephants a couple of valium just to be on the safe side.

*          *          *

When attempting to pick up in Thai nightclubs the issue of gender identity can crop up. It is important to remember that not everyone in a Thai nightclub who has a penis will necessarily be a ladyboy.

*          *          *

Clarice was an American tourist I met at the hotel. She'd come to Thailand to learn the art of Thai massage. I met her on my last evening.

I was sitting in my room working on my notes for this chapter while sipping at a scotch on the rocks when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," I called, expecting it to be a member of the hotel staff come to remind me about when I had to check out the next morning.

In walked Clarice, a fresh-faced blonde with rosy cheeks and pig-tails, wearing a tie-dye t-shirt and harem pants.

"I'm just going around the hotel getting to know my fellow guests," she explained. "You don't meet anyone new if you don't make an effort to mix."

"I'm very glad to meet you," I replied. "Are you enjoying your holiday?"

"Very much so," she explained. "I came here to learn massage and I've learned a lot. Would you like to be one of my test subjects?"

And that is how I ended up laying back on the bed stark naked with an equally naked Clarice pummelling and pressing my every muscle.

"Can I confess something?" she asked, blushing.

"Sure," I said.

"I love masturbating guys," she giggled.

"You're not just saying that because my cock is in such obvious need of relief?" I queried.

"No," she told me as she wrapped her fist around it and began pumping it up and down. "I checked with the staff about which single guys are leaving tomorrow and I'm going around making sure that their holidays have a happy ending!"

The End

Wanda's Wet Dream Journal : Wank Wednesday

Time for another Wank Wednesday story in answer to Ruby Kiddell of The Erotic Notebook's prompt word which this week is #journal. Check out The Erotic Notebook for the rest of the entries.

Wanda's Wet Dream Journal

When I saw a diary laying in the lounge room with the title Wanda's Wet Dream Diary written in flowerly letters on the cover I knew I had to read it. I also knew that it was very wrong of me to do so. I weighed up the potential suffering involved in reading or not reading it. If I didn't read it, I would be tormented by the knowledge that it existed and most likely obsessed with speculation about what it might contain. If I did read it I would feel guilty and not be able to look my flatmate Wanda in the face.

I hate the thought of opportunities lost, and if I had to stare down Wanda's impressive cleavage instead of looking her in the eye as a result of taking advantage of that opportunity, it was a sacrifice I was prepared to make.

Wanda is a psychologist. She's 28, six years my junior, and makes up in the boobs and butt department what she lacks in height. She's a redhead with the face of a pixie and the body of a burlesque dancer. We had been sharing a flat for three months. I'd been jacking off to dreams of her every night. But she seemed to look at me as a lower life-form because I'm unemployed and like to watch wrestling all day long. She, on the other hand, could have been living in her own house by now except that she insisted on working at a struggling youth centre instead of in private practise.

I picked up her journal and began to read :

July 17 2011


Last night I had a very perverse dream. I was walking down Main Street and I had pants on. It was everyone else who didn't. Everyone was bottomless - women jogging in the park in just t-shirts, business men with brief cases but no trousers or underpants, policemen patrolling the streets with their guns hanging parallel to their flaccid cocks... I was wearing a Guess t-shirt and straight leg denim jeans.


I hopped on a bus and bought a ticked from the bare-assed bus driver. The seats were unusually wide, so I was able to sit between two guys wearing suit jackets, black socks and dress shoes, but nothing else. In front of us sat a couple of middle aged women with perms. They looked after the hair on their heads, but I had noticed as I walked past that their pubes were rather unkept.


"Nice cocks, guys!" I said, grabbing one in either hand and giving them a friendly squeeze. "I'm Wanda the wanker."


"Wow!" cried one of the businessmen. "I've never met such an inhibitionist! Actually going out in public with pants on!"


"Mmmmmmm," I sighed, "aren't I naughty! I just love the feel of clothing rubbing against my cunt."


"I bet you love this," said the other businessman reaching over and pulling the zip of my tight jeans up and down.


"Oh, God, yes!" I squealed. "Some people complain about rudeness on public transport, but I always find that commuters are so friendly when you're tugging their tallywhackers."


By now both of the guys were really stiff and oodles of pre-cum was soaking the top of my hands.


"What do you think you're doing?!?" cried one of the middle-aged women looking around. And the other turned to see what she was responding to. "Take you're pants off this minute, and leave those poor gentlemen alone!"


Just at that moment the men cried out in unison and I aimed their big throbbing cocks so that spurt after spurt of hot creamy cum splattered all over the women's shocked faces.


"That was a cheap trick!" the second one exclaimed. "We're going to report you to the Dream Police!"


July 20 2011


Last night I dreamt that I was Jane Austen. I appeared to be in some alternative universe writer's colony with writers from various historical periods.


I was wearing a lovely frilly BBC period drama kind of dress which I had pulled up so that I could finger my juicy unclad pussy. Meanwhile I was writing with a quill pen : "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man with a nutsack full of jism, wants to get his knob gobbled..."

After I'd finished the sentence I looked around the room.


There was Percy Shelley exposing himself and declaring : "My name is Ozymandias, kings of kings : Look on my cock, ye Mighty, and despair!" And, sure enough, his erection was fully two feet in length and wearing a mini-Sombrero.


His wife - Mary Shelley - smiled proudly. "It sure is a monster!" she exclaimed.


"Merde, but I am a prophetic writer of science fantasy tales," put in Jules Verne, stroking his beard. "The world will fall at my feet when they read my latest masterpiece. I have entitled it A Journey to the Centre of Uranus."


"To pee, or not to pee, that is the question," mused William Shakespeare, normally a conservative individual in the bedroom, when all three Bronte sisters invited him to a golden shower orgy.


July 22 2011


When I dream about being someone other than who I am, I don't expect them to be a fully fleshed out character. After all dreams are fairly short. But in this one I was literally two-dimensional. I was a Playboy centrefold. I was laying on a bed and in the photo I was also laying back on a four poster bed feeling very skinny, partly because I was a Playboy model, and partly because I was less than a fifth of a millimetre deep. Hmmm, come to think of it, that's pretty normal for Playboy models too. But I was actually a photo of a Playboy model. I was also feeling a bit fuzzy, like I'd had too much to drink. Perhaps that was due to the airbrushing. I was naked and I had my legs spread.


There was a guy looking at me and masturbating. He was kind of fat and sweaty. I couldn't respond in any way. I just stared out of the photo at him as he stroked his stiff cock with one hand and rubbed one of his chubby hairy nipples with the other.


"Oh, baby!" he sighed. "You want it, don't you? You really want it. I can tell."


"I already got it," I thought to myself. "A cool $20,000 as Playmate of the Year."


"I'm licking my lips, baby," he groaned. "But I'd rather be licking yours."


Eventually he moaned and shot his spunk into a Kleenex.


Footsteps were coming down the hall and he quickly disposed of his tissue full of genetic material in the nearby waste paper basket.

"What are you up to, honey?" came the voice of his wife as she entered the bedroom. She was an attractive woman in her forties with blonde frizzy hair, an aquiline nose, droopy breasts and a little cellulite on her chunky thighs, which were revealed by the see-through yellow baby doll nightie she wore over pink cotton panties.


The man made an attempt to flip the page and make it look like he was reading an article, but he was too nervous and his fingers closed on air.


Suddenly I found I could move within the picture. I stood up off of the bed and pointed out of the picture at Mr. Monkey Spanker.


"He was wanking off over me!" I told her. "That's what he was doing. You'll find a spunk soaked tissue in the bin over there."


"Is Miss December telling the truth?" asked the man's wife.


"There's something wrong with this magazine!" cried the man. "It's malfunctioning."


"How can a magazine malfunction?" she wanted to know.


"The girls aren't supposed to talk back," he insisted.


"Typical male attitude," was his wife's opinion.


"Interactivity," I explained. "The magazines have to compete with the internet now."


"So how does it work?" asked wifey. "You talk dirty to him and shake your tushie while he jacks off?"


"I could if I wanted to," I said. "I could even come right off the page and slide my juicy wet cunt all over his fat cock."


"She's a saucy bitch!" she declared.


"I only get it for the articles," he insisted.


"But I don't think he deserves to have nicely naughty things done to his wiener," I told her.


"See, I told you it was malfunctioning," he replied. "I think it must have spent too much time next to Ms. on the newsstand."


"But you, on the other hand, do deserve a lewd lesbian liaison... If you are into that kind of thing," I informed her, stepping out of the page and growing to full human size.


"Wow!" cried the bedroom's resident boner-botherer.


Then I put my thumb in my mouth and blew myself back to my normal shapely proportions.


"A bit fat," he said.


"Fuck you, pencil dick!" I cried, rolling him off the bed and climbing in to embrace his cute and cuddly spouse.


"I've never done it with a woman before," she confessed, "but my pussy is so wet just thinking about it."


"I better get your panties off and confirm that," I suggested.


"I'm ringing Hugh Heffner!" cried her husband. "He's going to be so pissed when he hears about this!"

July 25 2011


I never expected to have an erotic dream about my loser of a flatmate, Charles, but the subconscious is a strange territory. Well, actually, I have to admit that he is kind of hot. He's got a great body. But he's so stupid and uncouth that I sometimes wonder if he has a frontal lobe at all.


In the dream it was me who initiated the sex. I walked into his bedroom stark naked. He was asleep. I bent over the bed and rubbed my titties all in his face until he woke up. Then I pulled off his bedclothes to reveal his super stiff erection.


"I'm feeling peckish," I told him as I rubbed my pussy up and down his leg, leaving a wet trail. "There is nothing in the fridge, but a mouthful of your hot salty cum would go down a treat. Do you want to help me fill my grumbly little belly?"


"I may have no frontal lobe," he replied, "but I'm not brain dead. Suck me dry, my sweet little slut!"


Come to think of it, I might actually turn this dream into a reality some time. It would be so easy to turn Charles into my own personal sex slave. I bet he wanks off thinking about me every night. One day I'll walk into his bedroom and catch him at it.

Wow! I wasn't expecting that!

So that evening when I found myself with a stiff cock on my hands, I decided to make use of what I had found out from Wanda's diary. I got out of bed. I was wearing pyjamas. My hard prick was poking out of the fly and I followed its lead toward Wanda's bedroom.

I didn't bother to knock. I just walked in. Wanda was sitting at her computer with her back to me. She was naked.

"Hey Wanda," I said, "I've got a present for you."

She spun her chair around. When she saw my cock her eyes opened wide and a big grin spread across her face.

"The only way you could get a stiffy that hard is if you were thinking about sliding it into my sweet pink little cunt," she theorised. "I bet you've been a sticky beak and read the ridiculously nice things I said about you in my dream journal."

"I did take a peak," I admitted.

"You shouldn't invade another person's privacy," she informed me. "Journals are very private things. Looking at my diary is like looking at my pussy. Some things are not to be shared. Oh, I see that you are looking at my pussy. Well, come to think of it, I'm a generous girl who likes to share. Come and invade my privates with that beautiful prick of yours."

Soon we were on the bed and I was balls deep in her slippery wetness...

And that is when I woke up to find myself in my own bed with hot jism pumping over my belly...

Wanda couldn't believe what she was reading. Did Charles really mean to publish this story (about himself having a wet dream inspired by reading her dream journal and then fucking her) on the internet? This was a nightmare.

And indeed it was. She woke to find her face pressed against the latest issue of Psychology Today on her bedroom desk...

And what of you, dear reader, you think you are in front of your computer reading the latest Wank Wednesday story at Aussiescribbler's Funny Boners blog, but perhaps this too is but a dream and you will wake to find yourself in a bed made entirely of blancmange in the elephant enclosure of the London Zoo and wearing nothing but a vintage World War II gas mask...

The End

New Story Series : Ruby Tuesday, The Dirtiest Girl in the World

Sex Shop 365 UK, who held the recent sex blog awards, asked me to write a series of stories as a guest blogger to their site, so I decided to bring to life a character who had been floating around the back of my mind. I've called her Ruby Tuesday, The Dirtiest Girl in the World. She was born in 1942 and her adventures, which will be presented out of chronological order will take place during the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s and, maybe, beyond. The first story (her origin story as they say) tells of her early days in an orphanage run by nuns. You can check it out here.

The Girl Who Played With Herself : Fuck Me Friday

The Aussiescribbler is back from an unwanted absence during which the word "fuck" has mainly been aimed at his broken down computer. Now it is time for another Fuck Me Friday tale of filthy fun. The prompt word is #peek. You can find out more and read the other entries at Aisling Weaver's site. And if you like what they've given you a peek at, make sure to let them know.

The Girl Who Played With Herself

Lisbeth Salamander never paid porn site subscriptions. That was one of the fringe benefits of being a professional computer hacker. She hacked into the billing company's computers and signed herself up using the names and identities of government ministers or members of the clergy.

Lisbeth had a boyfriend, a young investigative journalist named Michael Plumfist, but she was one horny goth. Being fucked twice a night just whetted her appetite, and if she couldn't sleep she would log onto the net and look for something to wank to.

She loved wanking, and she loved porn. She also liked to be comfortable. Sweden can be pretty cold, but Lisbeth had central heating so she was able to sit cross-legged on her computer chair wearing nothing but her spiky dog collar as she played with herself while gazing at sexy women and men doing all the naughtiest things. She had all sorts of toys, but she liked to use her fingers best. She knew just how to give herself pleasure - gently pulling on her nipple piercings, rubbing around and around on her clit and sometimes sticking a lubed finger up her butthole. She always laughed at Michael insisting on using his own keyboard when accessing information stored on her computer. He was such a tease. Hadn't he stuck his tongue up her butthole plenty of times?

Michael had been working hard on a big case involving government corruption and was sound asleep in their bed, which was up against the far wall. He might be asleep, but Lisbeth suspected he was dreaming of her. How else could she explain the fact that his cock had turned the bed sheet into a tent worthy of Barnum and Bailey? She was tempted to go have a peek, but she knew that, if she did, she wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to touch it, maybe kiss or lick it, perhaps wank it up and down with her fist, or even bounce her cunt on it. If she did that he would surely wake up, and she knew he couldn't get by without his rest. Much better to content herself with a bit of visually assisted wanking.

"Watch real people doing rude things while they look at porn! They don't know anyone is peeking!" screamed an ad for a website.

Lisbeth chuckled to herself. People were so gullible. They wanted to think they were seeing something illicit and the web masters would always promise it, but, of course, it was all fake. They would have a bunch of models sitting in front of webcams masturbating, but not acknowledging the screen, so that it looked like they were being spied on without their knowledge. The oldest trick in the book. But, what the hell, some of them might be cute, and she wasn't going to pay for it anyway.

Getting herself a membership was the work of but two minutes, her fingers dancing across the keyboard with lightning speed. One strange coincidence did impress itself upon the lust-filled landscape of her mind. The real name of the company behind the site was Phoenix, the same name as the manufacturer of her computer. Still, it was a common enough name in the world of business.

The blurb on the opening page claimed that the individuals depicted inside did not even know that their web cams were on. They were truly being filmed without their knowledge. "Ever wondered what girls really do when looking at porn or reading emails from their boyfriends?" it asked. Apparently there were guys on the site, too, but Lisbeth realised that no-one wondered what they did when looking at porn. Everyone knew.

There was a ranking for most popular cams. So Lisbeth went straight to the top of the list, already starting to rub pussy juice around her stiff clit as she double clicked on the link, anticipating some hot action.

What she saw was her own face leering back at her.

*          *          *

Barton Banger was the head of Phoenix Global, the world's fourth largest computer manufacturer. He prided himself that, while his company was only the fourth largest, it was the most unscrupulous. His latest dastardly scheme had been to install web cams in his computers which, when the user was connected to the internet, could be controlled from his central offices in Zurich. Most of the time, nothing of interest was revealed, but sometimes he was able to obtain pictures with which he could blackmail the computer users, and at other times he lucked onto hot individuals of either sex who spent a lot of time wanking to internet porn. These connections provided the basis for his Peek at the Peekers porn site.

The most popular girl on the whole site for the last month had been some super hot Goth chick named Salamander. Hell, Barton and rubbed a few out to her himself. She had enthusiasm. She wanked like a wild thing. And memberships were going up and up through word-of-mouth (or rather word-of-email) because of her.

"She's putting in quite a performance today," he commented to Miss Bergman, his officious secretary.

"Yes she is," she replied matter-of-factly, watching Lisbeth finger herself.

"Do you ever do that?" he asked her, trying to peek down the minimal cleavage revealed by her sensible business shirt.

"When you first asked me that question, Mr. Banger, my answer was that it was not an appropriate question for the head of a major computing firm to ask his secretary," she explained patiently. "The fact that you have persisted in asking me the same question another sixty seven times in no way alters my initial judgement."

"Prude..." he muttered under his breath.

*          *          *

Never had Lisbeth been so glad that she was an expert at one-handed typing. She wanted to find out how this scam operated, but she didn't want to attract attention, so she kept on wanking as she hacked. She didn't have to pretend. She'd never been so turned on in her life. The thought that thousands of guys and probably women too, all over the world were watching her finger herself was driving her crazy with lust. She was the most popular! Perhaps she had been stiffening cocks and clits for months without realising it. She wondered how many litres of hot cum had spurted out of guy's cocks while they watched her writhing around with her finger up her arse. But she mustn't let her excitement interfere with her hacking. She had to find out who was behind this.

"Hmmm... Barton Banger, hey?" she said to herself as she licked the juice of another cum off of her finger tips.

*          *          *

"Is she still masturbating?" asked Barton when he returned from his extended lunch.

Miss Bergman looked up at the screen.

"No, not at the moment," she replied. "She seems to be talking."

"Talking?" queried Banger. "What about?"

Miss Bergman turned up the sound.

"About you, sir," she answered.

"Me?!?!" he cried. "She shouldn't be talking about me! Why would she be talking about me? What is she saying?"

"She appears to be reading out your credit card details," Miss Bergman informed him, coolly.

"My what!!!???" he screamed, red in the face.

"Oh, and your home phone number..." she added.

*          *          *

Once Lisbeth had finished righting wrongs she began to consider the upside of this situation. It would take a while for Banger to close down the network. In the mean time Lisbeth wanted to keep together her fan base. Not everyone would be as happy about having been an unknowing porn star as she was, but she also hoped she could help anyone who did like the idea to keep in touch with their fans too.

It didn't take her long to collect an email list of all the customers and all the "performers". She wrote an email explaining what had happened and explaining that she would use one of the many under-utilized hard drives on a government computer network to keep the webcam switchboard going for any who still wanted to take part. She especially emphasised to her fans that she wanted them to keep watching her. She told them that, now she knew they were watching, she was determined to stick lots of things up her bottom. And she also said that she would love for it to be two-way. She couldn't watch all of her thousand or more fans jack off to her, but she intended to watch as many as she could.

She ended up staying up all night, and when Michael woke up the next day he found that his goth girlfriend was now the mistress of ceremonies of a world-wide web of wanking.

"Don't look! Don't look!" she insisted, as he came over to see what she was up to. "It's a surprise!"

He covered his eyes, but poked her impatiently in the shoulder with his erection. He was, however, careful to keep it away from her spiky dog collar.

"O.K. You can look now!" she said. "Meet my girlfriends!"

Michael opened his eyes to find the whole of Lisbeth's computer screen covered with small windows in which women of all shapes, ages and colours were shamelessly wanking, sucking on their nipples and sticking things up their bottoms.

"Well, say hi!" she insisted.

"They can see me?" he asked.

"Of course," she huffed impatiently, "now wave your lovely cock at them. They deserve encouragement."

A bunch of comments started appearing in a chat window down the bottom of the screen. "Nice cock!" "Don't I make you want to stroke it?" and "Wank that willy!"

Michael laughed and began stroking his hard cock as he looked at all those horny women.

"Why don't you show your girlfriends that you're a sucker for cock," he suggested, gently turning Lisbeth's head and pressing his hard-on against her lips, while taking care to rest, rather than skewer, his balls on the spikes of her dog collar.

She dropped down, opened her mouth and began licking his balls as a river of pre-cum ran down the side of his cock. Then she licked all the way up to the head, making sure to gather up all the glistening liquid as she went. Finally she planted a warm kiss on his sensitive head. But she didn't go on to give him what he really wanted.

"I'll show you how much of a sucker I am for cock!" she cried. "Look at my other friends!"

She hit a button and all of a sudden the screen was covered with images of guys jacking off.

"Billy's my favourite!" she exclaimed, clicking on one frame so that it expanded to fill the screen. On it a fit young man who looked like a surfer was gyrating around while stroking the biggest cock Michael had ever seen. After a minute he cried out, "Oh, Lisbeth!" and spurt after spurt of creamy cum shot out of the end and splattered all over his nut-brown muscular chest.

"I didn't really need to see that!" insisted Michael.

"Oh, but I did!" she teased, slapping him on the arse.

She brought back the bank of women.

"So who's your favourite wanker woman?" she asked.

"You," he insisted, kissing her on the head and inserting a finger up her dripping wet pussy.

"I know that, stupid!" she replied. "I mean from my fan club."

Michael thought a moment and then pointed at a redhead in her mid-forties who had really lovely big soft pale boobs and a cheeky smile on her face as she sat with one leg pulled up so that the foot was on her office chair and the other stretched out along the ground. "She looks like an older version of my gym teacher from when I was in college," he explained. "And I always did want to see Mrs. Stokes masturbate."

Lisbeth made the web cam image go full screen.

"Michael thinks you look like his old gym teacher," she informed the woman.

"I don't believe it!" cried the woman. "I thought it looked like you, Michael. I always wondered what the schlong that flopped around in your gym shorts would look like angry!"

"It's a class reunion!" laughed Lisbeth.

"Now you be good to that boy!" insisted Mrs. Stokes. "He deserves to have his cock sucked. I just wish I could do it! Yum!"

And so that is how Michael Plumfist ended up filling his girlfriend's mouth with cum while his sexy ex-gym mistress looked on and wanked off.

"This could be a great tool for networking in other ways," he told Lisbeth later as they chatted with their fans. "I have to fly to Helsinki the day after tomorrow to research my new story. Maybe we have a fan who lives there who would be willing to put me up."

"There's a girl named Katti who lives in Helsinki. She's only eighteen, but she has her own flat. Here she is," she added, calling up the image of a blonde girl with her hand down her pink panties. "I'll see what she thinks of the idea."

"Very nice," declared Michael looking her over.

"She seems to like the idea," Lisbeth told him. "I'll just turn up the sound again."

"I put him up," said the smiling girl in broken English. "I put him up my bum!"

"There won't be much time for extra-curricular activities," Michael declared. "If I'm going to break the story of price fixing in the pharmaceutical industry of Finland I'm going to need to do some deep probing."

"And if you want free accommodation while you're there I think you are definitely going to have to do some deep probing," Lisbeth pointed out. Then she laughed so hard she fell off her chair.

The End