The Prurient Pickles of Penelope : Episode Three

Episode Three

Tramp on a Trampoline

What should Penelope do first? Rod Stroker was so far completely ignorant of the fact that he was living next door to a sexy woman who wanted to pander to his every forbidden desire, not to mention several he wouldn't even have until she suggested them.

She had to attract his attention.

Perhaps if he looked over the fence and saw her sunbathing in her back yard.

She looked at her fleshy naked body in the mirror and gave it a wiggle. If only she could sunbathe nude. It was so unfair that that wasn't allowed in suburbia. Hell, she wished she could just walk around the neighbourhood nude on a warm day. Being an exhibitionist it would make her feel so yummy. It would make her pussy really wet. And lots of guys would get stiff cocks which they could have so much fun playing with when they got home. If Penelope ruled the world it would be a happier place.

But she didn't, so she had to settle on a bikini. She dug one out of her bottom drawer which she hadn't worn in ten years. Black and white zebra stripes. She'd put on a few kilos since then, but she thought she could squeeze into it.

Sure enough she made it, though she had to tug hard. It didn't cover much. It pushed her big boobs up into a soft deep valley of cleavage. Her belly and hips bulged over the tight string that held the brief bottoms in place. And when she turned around, she could see that a couple of centimetres of butt-crack showed in the back. It looked obscene. Gloriously obscene. So obscene that she could just imagine Rod Stroker's hard cock bursting through a knothole in the fence at the sight of her.

She picked up her mobile phone and quickly took a couple of snaps of herself and sent them to Ahmed. She hoped he would share them with all his friends. She loved the idea of being the lust-object of licentious Libyans.

Next she picked up her portable speakers and her I-Pod and a tube of sunscreen, then she skipped out into her back yard. She set up her speakers and I-Pod, but didn't turn them on. There was plenty of time for that. Penelope had a trampoline in her backyard. It had been there when she moved in. Now she climbed up onto it and started covering herself with sunscreen.

The sun was soothing on her body and she soon fell asleep.

"...up to here with that fucking show," a man's voice came from across the fence. "I want a co-star that doesn't pee on me... Breath? Well, yes, he has better breath than Samantha. Eucalyptus. He eats nothing but gum leaves after all. But I had to kiss Samantha. I don't have to kiss Claude the koala... Mouth to mouth? You're fucking kidding me! Next episode? That's the final straw!"

It was Rod Stroker! Penelope went into action. She turned her I-Pod to "The Bad Touch" by Bloodhound Gang. Then she jumped up onto the trampoline and began bouncing and gyrating while singing along to the lyrics :

"You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals

So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel."

"Do you mind turning down that unholy racket?1?" Stroker cried, poking his head over the fence, his eyes shooting fire from above his sandy well-trimmed beard.

"Sorry, sir!" she apologised and turned off the music. "I'm such a big..." But his face was gone.

"Sorry about that," she heard him talking on the phone once more. "Some deranged bimbo next door..." His voice faded away as he went back into the house.

"Rod Stroker called me a 'bimbo'," Penelope sighed as she came in her bikini bottoms.

Where will Penelope's infatuation take her now? Find out next time!

The Prurient Pickles of Penelope : Episode Two

The idea for this serial was to come up with something I could write easily and quickly so that I could keep it going regularly. It's taken me more than a year to get to a second episode. Oh, well.

Episode Two

Hornier Consciousness

If Penelope was going to take full advantage of having her television idol Rod Stroker as a next door neighbour she was going to have to have a focussed mind.

She took her fluffy towel into her bedroom and placed it on the floor. As she sat down she loved the soft feeling of it against her bare bottom and the gentle caress of the warm breeze through her bedroom window as it caressed her widely spread wet pussy.

For several years now, she had been a student of a mystical practise called Horniyana Meditation. The aim was to connect with the universal erotic vibration of the universe.

First she picked up a moderate sized pink vibrator. Turning it on high she inserted it into her vagina. She was so wet that normally it would have popped right out again. To prevent this from happening, and in order to properly align her chakras, she crossed her legs into the lotus position, pressing the heal of one bare foot over the bottom of her buzzing toy.

She cleared her mind and let the light of creation illuminate her consciousness, as the waves of divine pleasure radiated out from her yoni to all parts of her physical being.

At first she would experience a series of orgasms, but as she learned to sit with her pleasure the cycle would become a constant. Orgasm was no longer a thing which happened. It was a place to be.

In this state the worldly boundaries, inhibitions and attachments would melt away. Sexual preferences were first perceived as limitations and then transcended. Penelope came to perceive that everyone was a point on the erotic matrix, and so the inherent sexiness of all her fellow humans was revealed to her as something irrespective of gender, physical appearance or age.

Image credit: jackf / 123RF Stock Photo

Through this spiritual practice, she became the earthly embodiment of the eternal sacred slut. She longed to bring enlightenment to all. She was not a woman of words or languages, but she knew that her tongue could speak the universal language of sexual pleasure. The problems of the world could be licked by licking. And there would be less men in the world who would act like pricks if she anointed their pricks with the love liquor leaking from between her labia.

Returning to this earthly realm she stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. It wasn't narcissism that made her gaze longingly at her bountiful breasts with their pert pink nipples, the soft curve of her pale belly, the neatly trimmed auburn curls which adorned the area above her large pink and puffy labia ("all the better to be sucked into your mouth and played with with your tongue" she would have told any prospective lover), or that made her wink at herself and smile in a cheeky way that wrinkled up her freckled nose. She was a part of the erotic matrix too, and this is what she was appreciating as she thought about how she would totally fuck herself if she had a cock. Even without one she would lick that lovely pussy of hers. But she wasn't a contortionist, so her self-love would have to be satisfied with masturbation.

The sad truth, of course, was that Penelope was ahead of the curve on this whole universal erotic consciousness stuff. She was a pleasantly plump thirty-year-old, more plain than pretty. Her main attractions were her warm heart and her curves. But few would give her a second look if they saw her walking down the street in jeans and t-shirt.

In her own mind though she was doing a slow striptease for an audience of 300 naked men. They were all stroking their stiff cocks. How could they not? And as she lay naked, legs spread wide, quivering in a self-induced orgasm, they took turns to shower her in the seminal tribute of their lust. And she giggled to herself as she thought what a good thing it was that the world was full of cum sluts like herself who would now come to lick her body clean with their tender pink tongues.

There was a whole world in need of succour and enlightenment. But the need was not equal. There were some who lived troubled stressful lives in the public eye with nothing to comfort them but empty materialism. People, for instance, who worked in the television industry, having to churn out episode after episode of a koala-themed family adventure series when deep down they longed to play Hamlet. Charity begins at home. Or if not at home then, at the very least, next door.

How will Penelope try to lure her lust-object Rod Stoker into an act of karmic copulation? Find out next time!