Native Love : Wank Wednesday

Time to get back to a bit of Wank Wednesday wantonness. Today's prompt is #grace. For more info on this near legendary writing challenge and to read the rest of the entries, check out the Word Ejaculation blog.

Native Love

It was a bright summer's day in the Cotswolds, the daisies in full bloom, when news reached Prudence Butterworth that her husband had been mauled to death by a leopard.

The year was 1910 and Prudence, who had just turned fifty a few weeks earlier, was not particularly surprised at the news. Reverend Bartholomew Butterworth had been the Presbyterian pastor of Puddleby-on-the-Donk when she married him. She had been a good respectable pastor's wife and had born him a son, Archibald. But when Archibald graduated from college and took passage to Australia, Bartholomew found himself suddenly fired by missionary zeal. No longer could he content himself with a life of jumble sales, tea parties and organ repair fund-raisers when he knew that the Dark Continent was just chock full of naked heathens living a shamefully carefree existence in complete ignorance of the peril hanging over their eternal souls. He kissed his devoted wife goodbye and, armed with a trunk full of Bibles and a copy of Teach Yourself Swahili he headed off for the Congo.

He had been gone for six years when the grizzly news of his demise reached Prudence. She hadn't really missed him all that much. He'd always been a bit of a wet blanket, but he was a good provider. Prudence was a dreamer. She had always longed for a man who would take her in his strong arms, ravish her soft wet mouth with rough kisses and give her a long hard poke in the whiskers. She knew she shouldn't really think about these things, but she couldn't help herself. She was far more hot-blooded than her husband who seemed to view sex as some kind of regrettable necessity much like blowing one's nose. She paid close attention to the men of the village. She daren't flirt with them. That would not be proper. But if she saw a finely chiselled muscular workman with his shirt open spilling water down over his chest as he drank from the water pump in the town square, she would discreetly run her eyes over him and store up the image to be enjoyed in the realm of fancy when she was curled up in her warm bed. One reason she didn't mind her husband's absence was that it gave her the freedom to do what she wanted in her bedroom. One day, while unpacking a box of books for the jumble sale, she had discovered a copy of a magazine called The Oyster. My did that open up her imagination to new possibilities! The magazine was full of stories of wicked men and women engaging in every kind of debauchery. Prudence read it over and over again, and then she would lie in her bed naked (something she could never do with Bartholomew beside her) and she would recast the orgies from the magazine with herself and the men of the village as she fondled her stiff nipples and frigged her wet pussy, sailing away on a sea of salaciously saucy sluttiness. That, she was afraid, was the only word for her - a slut. Well, maybe not the only word - trollope, whore and jezebel would do just as nicely. But this was only what she was in spirit, not in deed. There was no reasonable opportunity for a secret slut to live out her desires when she was trapped in the body of a pastor's wife.

The letter which informed Prudence of the death of her husband also asked what she wanted done with his body. To send it back to England would be expensive, and she knew that he would prefer to be buried in the wild land that he had come to love.

"If he can travel to Africa, I don't see why I shouldn't do the same," she said to herself. "It is only right that I be there to put his body to rest."

And so this was how, three months later, after a long sea voyage and a long and dangerous trek into the dark interior she found herself in the village of Utambi.

Her husband had done an amazing job of civilizing the natives. She had to give him that. They all spoke perfect English. The men were all dressed in neatly pressed black suits with white bowties, and the women wore brightly coloured dresses which hung down straight over their bodies and reached to their ankles. They didn't seem troubled by the demise of their benefactor, in fact they were all smiles. The men grinned broadly and their eyes had a naughty twinkle, and the women giggled shyly and reaching out to touch Prudence.

"We are most honoured to meet the good Reverend's charming wife," announced Chief Ngobla with a deep bow.

"I can understand now why my husband was so in love with Africa," she replied. "Such a charming congregation."

"May I dare to suggest," put in Ngobla, "that he might be alive today if his love had not extended to the wildlife."

"Poor Bartholomew," sighed Prudence. "It must have been dreadful. But tomorrow we will bury him and have a proper funeral."

"A funeral we shall have," agreed the chief, "but we cannot bury him."

"Why not?" she asked.

"A week after the leopard killed him," he explained, "the Goona tribe from the next valley stole him for their cooking pot."

"That's terrible!" cried Prudence. "You can't mean that there are still cannibals in this area?"

"It is most regrettable," he nodded. "We too ate the first three missionaries sent to our village."

"But you have learned to be good Christians now, haven't you?" she replied, a bit nervously.

"Oh, yes," he reassured her, with a big toothy grin, "we are good Christians now. We no longer eat missionaries. Only athiests. And we say grace first."

"Oh, my!" cried Prudence, not sure if he was joking or not. It was so hard to tell when he grinned all the time and the women kept giggling.

"Now that the Reverend has been taken from us, what can we do for spiritual guidance?" asked Ngobla.

"I'm sure the church will send you another missionary," she said.

"Yes," he replied sadly, his grin suddenly gone, "but there are missionaries and missionaries."

"You stay and be our missionary," said one of the women enthusiastically, grabbing her by the arm.

"Yes!" cried Ngobla. "We like you! It is decided!"

"But I can't be a missionary!" exclaimed Prudence. "I haven't had any training."

"We'll train you," explained Ngobla. "The Reverend trained us so well, we can train you and then you can train us back again."

"Well, I must admit the prospect is much more appealing than going back to boring old England," she admitted. "I'll stay until a proper missionary turns up anyway."

So Prudence was shown to the Reverend's old hut where she stowed away her luggage, and then they sat around and ate a delicious zebra hot pot cooked by Ndooboo, a short chubby man who was Ngobla's chef as well as the village witch doctor. (The Reverend had had a hard time persuading him to stop telling people with various ailments to sacrifice two chickens and see him in the morning.)

Prudence had never felt so welcome anywhere before. It was as if she had instantly been adopted into the tribe.

That night as she lay in her tent, thinking about how handsome Ngobla and the other men of the tribe were, and quietly fingering her wet pussy, she began to hear the sounds of passionate love-making in the other huts. The growl of marauding lions, the laughing bark of the hyena and the crash of rhinoceroses through the undergrowth - these background noises were now drowned out by groans and grunts and feminine squeals as the flimsy walls of the village huts trembled and shook.

Prudence didn't sleep well that first night. She came about twenty times pleasuring herself to imaginings of what was going on just feet away from her, but she didn't sleep well. She awoke with a plan.

"Ngobla," she said, when she emerged from her hut shortly after dawn, "I've been thinking. I think perhaps my husband made a mistake."

"I would say so," replied Ngobla. "Stepping on a leopard cub when its mother is sitting on a tree branch over your head would generally be classified as a mistake."

"No, I don't mean that," she insisted. "I mean when it comes to cultural sensitivity. I'm sure he meant well by dressing you all in these fancy clothes, but it isn't really appropriate for the climate, and it shows insensitivity to your culture, which, in its own way, is just as legitimate as English culture."

Ngobla's face lit up with his trademark grin.

"You would not be embarrassed if we went naked?" he asked.

Prudence blushed.

"Well, off course, I might feel a bit embarrassed, but it is the right thing to do, to let you be comfortable," she responded, though she couldn't keep a cheeky grin of her own from creeping across her face.

"I think you want to be a bit embarrassed," Ngobla replied. "The Reverend was very embarrassed when he arrived in the village. He was so embarrassed when he saw the ladies of the tribe that the front of his trousers became insubordinate."

"I wish I'd been here to see that," she replied. "Now get out of those ridiculous clothes, all of you!"

Ngobla tore off his coat and shirt and yanked down his trousers and undergarment. In less than a minute he was nude. And what a fine figure of a man he was, tall and muscular, his ebony skin shining in the sun.

"Wow! I can see why you're the chief of the tribe!" cried Prudence, as her eyes fell upon his massive cock which hung about a third of the way to his knees.

The women, who were all now naked as well, giggled.

"You like it?" asked Ngobla with a wink as he fondled his big soft penis. "You can touch it if you like."

Prudence blushed a deep red, but she reached out as if in a trance and began stroking Ngobla's cock, which slowly began to stiffen.

"We love it best of all!" shouted Mboobla, the prettiest of the women, and all the rest giggled. "We love his big thing and we all like him to put it inside of us."

"Your English is very good," said Prudence, her voice quivering with passion as she stroked her soft hand up and down Ngobla's now rigidly erect rod, "but my husband left some gaps in your education. There are other words you need to know. Say it along with me - 'We love Ngobla's huge cock and we love it when he fucks us with it!"

"We love Ngobla's huge cock and we love it when he fucks us with it!" they giggled.

"'We want him to fill our juicy wet cunts with jets of juicy jism!'" she added, her head spinning as Ngobla's proud prick throbbed in her fist.

"'We want him to fill our juicy wet cunts with jets of juicy jism!'" they agreed.

Ngoba suddenly pushed her down onto her hands and knees in the dust and pulled up the back of her dress.

"No! No!" she cried. "That's not the way to do it. Didn't my husband teach you anything?"

"I never did this with your husband," replied Ngobla.

"He didn't teach you about the missionary position?" she gasped.

"Missionaries have their own position?" he wanted to know.

"No, its for everybody," she tried to explain. "Look, I'll show you." She rolled onto her back, pulled up her dress and pulled down her wet panties. "Now you lie on top of me this way and we fuck."

"OOOOooooh," replied Ngobla with a wink, "kinky!"

And then he slid his huge black cock deep into her pale pink grey-haired pussy.

"That's right," sighed Prudence.

"Do all women make such faces when they are being fucked?" asked the chief as one of Prudence's eye-lids began to flutter and her mouth hung open in an idiotic expression. "It is most amusing. I like this missionary position better."

The women giggled as they watched. Some were playing with themselves, some were playing with someone else.

"I love your pale skin," said Ngobla, tearing off the rest of her clothes. She felt embarrassed to be revealed in this way, especially since she was older than the rest, her breasts soft and droopy and her belly less than firm, but it was an exciting embarrassment. After all her years of hiding her true nature, here she was completely naked being fucked senseless by a black man with a massive cock as a whole tribe of horny savages looked on aroused by the novelty of her pale flesh.

"Oh, God! You don't know how I've longed to be properly fucked!" she sighed, running her fingers over Ngobla's sweaty chest as his cock slid deeper into her very being than she ever thought possible.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" groaned the chief as he spurted over and over, before collapsing on top of the missionary's wife.

"Did he fill your cunt with jets of juicy jism?" cried one of the women.

"He did! He did!" grinned a satisfied Prudence.

Later as they were laying beside the river after a swim, Ngobla covered her body in tender kisses.

"Your flesh is tender and pale," he sighed adoringly. "It makes my mouth water."

"Now, now," replied Prudence anxiously, "we'll have none of that."

"All the men adore you," he replied. "They all want to fuck you very much."

"I assure you the feeling is mutual," she smiled.

"There is also much mutual feeling going on amongst the women," Ngobla laughed, pointing towards a lesbian orgy that was taking place further up the bank.

"You have some very horny women in this tribe," she replied. "I feel very much at home."

"Yes, they were very troublesome for your husband. He was always having to scare away the poachers," Ngobla explained.

"There are tribes which poach women?" she asked.

"No, the elephant poachers," he said.

"What do they have to do with the women?" she wanted to know.

"These poachers, they were always trying to egg the women on to buy their ivory dildoes," he explained.

"Ah," she replied, pulling him close for a long slow kiss.

"Can I eat your pussy?" he asked, looking down at the spot were droplets of water clung to the silver hairs which crowned her tender pink slit.

"Only if you say grace first," she smiled.

"For what you are about to receive may the Lord make you truly thankful," laughed Ngobla.

The End

Learning to Maintain Self-Control with Arial Bisou (An Aussiescribbler VidCapToon)

It's time for another Aussiescribbler VidCapToon. These are cartoons I made from images captured from videos on the Girl's Out West site back when I was doing Picture of the Day postings for them on their message boards.

Today's Toon features cheeky French girl Arial Bisou. Check out Girls Out West to see more of her.

You'll have to to click on the image and view it full size to read the captions.

Book Review : Giggles, Grins and 'Gasms by Nikki Palmer

I'm always looking for writers with a playful, humorous approach to erotica. That's the kind of stories I like to write, but it is also what I like to read. So I am glad that I've happened upon Nikki Palmer. She doesn't only write humorous erotic, she writes a lot of more serious stories too, but anyone who likes my stories should definitely read her collection Giggles, Grins and 'Gasms which brings together six of her more light-hearted stories.



I really love this book! To me sexy stories are sexier when they are funny and playful. Nikki Palmer certainly delivers some erotically described sexual encounters, but the sexiest thing about these short stories is the cheeky nature of their heroines and anti-heroines. Two of the lead characters are nasty pieces of work, but by the end of their stories I'd developed a soft spot in my heart even for them. And I fell almost instantly in love with the other four female protagonists who either pursue their particular erotic desires with cheerful enthusiasm or surrender themselves to an ultimately rapturous sexual experience with a kind of wide-eyed innocence.


Nikki Palmer has a way of softening this reader's heart while stiffening his...err, resolve to seek out more of her writing.


The Stories


Rose and the Alien

Comedy based around aliens taking what humans say too literally is nothing new, but this story still made me laugh. And, perhaps more importantly, I found it very sexy, not because of the alien - who is pretty unemotional about the idea of having sex with a human - but because of Rose's dedication to pursuing her own pleasure untroubled by the unconventional nature of the satisfier of her needs. And the story has a plot twist which had me practically clapping my hands in glee.


Kara the Slave

This is not at all a believable story. Kara supposedly acts out of fear and yet seems happy and relaxed about her situation. But that's part of the fun of the story. It's like a cartoon. And the predictability of the resolution doesn't matter for the same reason. It's implausibility does nothing to take away from the sexiness of Kara's all-too-willing exercise in submission.


Brenda the Bitch

There are lots of spanking stories but they are always more fun when the spankee really deserves to be paddled and that is the case with this story. Brenda really is obnoxious. Her come-uppance is satisfying and very, very sexy. But in the end she's kind of loveable because her uninhibited bitchiness is just going to require so much punishment.


Buttcrack Betty

I've always had a thing for the sight of a little female buttcrack so I was bound to be intrigued by this story. It's a imaginative story about a girl with a fixation on plumbers, an uninhibitedly sexy little romance.


Naked Natalie

This was the first of Nikki Palmer's stories which I read before buying this collection. How can anyone not love a heroine who just loves being naked and is amused by the response of guys to whom she opens her front door that way? Natalie is mischief personified.


Wham Bam Thank You, Pam!

Pam is not a very pleasant person. It's funny and satisfying to see her struggle to get what she normally takes for granted. But, in the end, I found her indefatigable selfishness kind of endearing. And the story provided a scenario I've since found myself playing back in my head as a fantasy - something which is a sure sign that an erotic story has done what it is intended to do.


You can find this ebook at Smashwords or Barnes & Noble. You'll also find most of the stories as individual ebooks.

Book Review : Forum Rejects - Rejected Erotic Letters by Tom Nardone

Forum Rejects is a collection of letters which Tom Nardone wrote to Penthouse magazine. He decided that it would be funny to write deliberately bad erotic letters and see what happened. Would they be accepted as curiosities? Would they be rejected? It was the literary equivalent of making prank phone calls. But with a prank phone call you know how it has been received. Nardone never found out how his letters were received. He never received any feedback. But now he has dug out those old letters and put them out in ebook form. So we can all share the fun and laughs that may or may not have been brought to the editors of Penthouse by Nardone's special brand of humour.

The book (which is available for free from Smashwords) contains ten letters, all ostensibly written by different characters - 1 woman and 9 men. Each takes a different approach to the idea of the unerotic "erotic letter", from sexual incompetence to gross out to insane forms of description. My favourite is the second letter Louise at the Circus :

"In the 80's I thought that the curve of my television screen was about as curved as Louise's stomach. This was handy because I rented a lot of porn movies and whenever they zoomed in on the woman stomach I felt the curve of the screen and the stomach matched really well. It would get me very hot. I'll never get one of those flat TV's. I don't care if the resolution is better."

"Her breast weren't like fat elephants at all. The skin was much smoother than I imagined. It was like they were made from two half bowling balls but they were the consistency of jell-o. I massaged those jell-o semispherical bowling balls while Louise moaned like a broken vacuum cleaner."

 That letter had me laughing so hard I practically choked, and the rest are nearly as funny.

Rude Health

Carolina from Girls Out West demonstrates some Pilates

"We can help you lose a few inches!" How often have we heard that? Almost as often as, "We can help you gain a few inches!"

Working out and getting fit is often presented as the way to make ourselves sexy. The only problem is that a lot of pain has to come before the gain. And there is something puritanistic about this mortification of the too too flabby flesh.

But perhaps the process might be sexy in itself. When Olivia Newton-John sang Let's Get Physical she was suggesting something more than what Richard Simmons has to offer. Gyms are places where men and women wear skimpy or tight-fitting clothing, moving their bodies around and sweating a lot. There can be something sexy in all this.

Then there is massage. Even when it isn't just a code word for the old rub and tug, it can still be a very sensual experience.

If you are attracted to your own sex, what better place than the communal showers at the gym to check them out?

And the supposed health benefits of nudism should not be forgotten. Lots and lots of Vitamin D from all that sun on skin exposure, plus endless games of volleyball.

Long before the establishment of Playboy in 1953, guys were jacking off to Health & Efficiency, the British nudist magazine founded in 1900. I'm not sure what the "Efficiency" bit refers to. Perhaps the fact that you can save so much time in the morning if you don't have to get dressed.

Television's Trinny and Susannah go nudist

Although getting fit is always on my "to do" list for tomorrow if not the day after, I have explored some of its sexy possibilities in a couple of my stories.

In Chapter Nine of my novel Vanessa's Island (soon to be available as an e-book), our would-be reclusive artist hero David reads aloud from a lesbian fantasy story written by his lover Vanessa :

At first it seemed a bit strange to be reading aloud a story written in the first person by a woman. But somehow, knowing that Vanessa had written the story, I found it a tremendous turn-on. It was as if I was not just possessing her body from the outside as I had already, but from the inside. When she played with her body or the bodies of other women in the story it was with my hands. When she saw them it was with my eyes.

"'I run a health club for women only'," I began. "'Alot of women would rather work-out away from the lustful eyes of men. What the women who frequent my establishment didn't know up until recently, is that they were still being lusted after as they worked out. Only by a woman. Me.

"'Oh, I've had boyfriends and lived a normal life. My passion for women was secret until recently, but it was the deciding factor in my career choice. The sight of women working out has always been a turn-on for me. Not that I like tight hardbodies, not at all. But most of the women who come to work out are not like that. They think they could afford to lose a few pounds. I like them just as they are. And in the showers I get to see every inch of them.

"'Of course, I used to have to be careful to make sure they didn't notice me looking at them. Now all that has changed. This is the story of how it happened.

"'It all began with Samantha. Samantha was five foot ten, a brunette, with the breasts and ass of a swimsuit model. Watching her work-out in her tightly stretched leotards got me so worked up that I often had to go and get changed in the middle of a session lest she or any of my other customers notice the wet patch forming in my crotch. They must have thought I suffered from some form of obssessive compulsive disorder, but it was better than letting them find out that I lusted after their bodies.

"'I remember the first day that Samantha joined our aerobics class. How my heart beat hard at the prospect of seeing her naked. I always showered with the clients. Under the shower no-one could tell how wet the sight of their naked bodies made me.

"'At last that first session ended and I followed Samantha into the shower room, my eyes rivetted to her gently rolling ass encased as it was in sweat-soaked lycra. Slowly she peeled of the lycra and I tried not to stare too obviously as her soft pale breasts with their small pink nipples sprang free. Then she pulled her leotard down further, having to wriggle to get it over the swelling, snow-white cheeks of her bottom.'

By this stage my stiff cock was crying out for some attention. I grabbed Vanessa's hand and pushed her soft palm against it.

"Hey," she cried, "there aren't any cocks in this story. This is girl's only."

"But I need it," I pleaded. "I need to use both hands to keep my place with the pages."

"Oh, all right," she agreed, slowly beginning to wank my stiff dick. "You can be hiding in the towel bin, sneaking peeks at us girlies in the shower and jerking yourself off. O.K. Just think how the towels that surround your naked, masturbating body were used to wipe off every part of our bodies, our boobs, our bottoms and particularly our sweet little pussies."

I couldn't hold out any longer. Pleasure coursed through my body as Vanessa's soft hand coaxed spurt after spurt of hot cum out of my cock. It splattered all over the front of her leotards.

"If you think I'm going to take off my leotards just because you've shot your load all over them, you've got another thing coming," Vanessa informed me with a pout. She wiped up some of my cum on her finger and then sucked on it playfully. "Now on with the story."

"'I could stand to loose a little bit off of my butt,' she laughed [that was Samantha, wasn't it], giving me an excuse to look.

"'Couldn't we all,' I replied, frustrated that I couldn't tell her what I really thought.

"'I quickly stripped off my own leotard and laid it down carefully in such a way that the sopping crotch was not visible. Then I joined the rest of the ladies in the shower. I was so tempted to take up a position next to Samantha, but I thought that if I did I might not be able to resist the temptation to reach out and touch her soft, wet, soapy skin.

The soapy bottom of Anna from Girls Out West

 "'One by one, the girls stepped out, dried themselves, got dressed and left. Samantha was one of the last to go. When I was alone, I did what I always did. I played with myself. I played back everything in my mind, especially Samantha stripping out of her sweaty leotard, while I slid two soapy fingers in and out of my juiced up pussy.

"'This routine continued for several weeks, until that fateful day when Samantha left her car keys in her locker.

"'On that day, as always, I stayed under the shower, after the others had gone, and imagined what I would like to do with Samantha. I imagined undressing her slowly from her sensible business suit, kissing her nipples, kissing her lips, the ones on her face and the ones between her legs. I imagined her in her leotards. How they stretched across that luscious ass.

"'As I fantasized I let my hands wander sensuously and soapily across my body. The fingers of one hand gently tweaked my hard nipples, while my other hand slid slowly down over my stomach and through my pubes into my waiting pussy. I slid one finger in on either side of my sensitive clit. I love that sensation. My fingers glided across my stiffening clit, while also giving me that satisfying sensation of being filled. Only it wasn't some guy's cock filling me, but Samantha's long and versatile tongue.

"'I felt that delicious warmth glowing in my belly as I slowly sank to my knees, feeling the spray of the shower carressing every inch of my skin. I had been dying to do this all the time I had been watching Samantha and the other girls work-out. I loved playing with myself. But if only I could play with them. Give them the pleasure I was giving myself.

"'"For this next exercise," I said, speaking aloud in the heat of my fantasy, "I want you all to strip naked for me, so that I can lick out your pussies one by one. You first, Samantha."

"'My heart nearly jumped out of my chest when Samantha's voice answered me casually.

"'"Sounds good to me," she said, and I looked up to see that she was standing there in her grey business suit watching me blatantly finger-fuck myself.'"

And in How Meggie Made Me Hard (one of the 13 stories contained in my e-book Inappropriate Behavior and Other Stories), Meggie decides to take on the role of personal trainer to an out of condition delivery man, but her motives are decidedly self-indulgent :

I was a bit of a slob until Meggie took me in hand. Took me in hand. There I go again, whenever I think about Meggie my mind turns to sex.

It all started when I delivered her exercise equipment. When I pushed the buzzer on the door it was answered by an attractive woman in her late 40’s with curly reddish brown hair and a sweet slightly shy smile. She was wearing a light blue summer dress.

“Bring it all in,” she said, seeing the truck and realising that her equipment had arrived. “I’ll show you where to put it.

Normally I get the smaller things to deliver as I’m not very fit. As I carried Meggie’s walking machine through the door I panted and wheezed.

“I can see you don’t keep yourself in shape,” Meggie commented patting me on my beer belly as I went past. I thought it was rather forward of her.

I brought in the excercise bike and the ab-roller, then I was finished.

It was a hot day and I was tired and sweaty. Meggie offered me a cold drink. I accepted.

“Pew! You stink,” she said, proving once more that tactfulness was not her stong suit. “You’d better have a shower before you go.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I asked. “I could do with freshening up a little.”

“Go ahead,” she replied, “the bathroom is that way.”

Once I got to the bathroom, I shut the door and stripped off my sweaty t-shirt. I unzipped my jeans and pulled them off. When I was naked I turned on the shower and stepped in. Because it was such a hot day I left the water on lukewarm.

I was just enjoying the feel of the refreshing water running over my body and beginning to apply soap to me face, when the door opened. Quickly, I rinsed the soap off of my face. I mustn’t have been too thorough because my eyes stung as I opened them just in time to see Meggie opening the shower door.

“What do you think you are doing?” I asked. “Can’t a guy have a bit of privacy?”

Meggie smiled so sweetly that I couldn’t help but forgive her instantly. “I just wanted to see if you were really as out of shape as you looked with your clothes on,” she explained.

She reached out her right hand and brought it up against my belly, just inches above the spot where my hands were clasped protectively over my cock.

“You could stand to lose a bit of that,” she said.

“I know, I know,” I replied. “Now let me shower in peace.”

“You don’t have to be so shy,” Meggie chided me, pushing my hands gently away from my prick. “If I let you use my shower, the least you could do is give me a look at your cock. I like looking at guys’ cocks. Mmmmm, I don’t think you really mind me looking, otherwise it wouldn’t be swelling up like that.”

She was right. I loved the idea of having a sexy woman like herself looking at my nude body with undisguised lust. I had only tried to hide my cock in the first place because it seemed the polite thing to do. How was I to know that politeness was not high on Meggie’s list of priorities.

“I could really do something with that body of yours,” Meggie mused, deep in thought. “Oh, wow! Look how your cock jumped when I said that. You thought I meant sex, didn’t you? No, I mean if you let me be your personal trainer I could really whip you into shape. If you got yourself into shape, then a little sex might not be out of the question.”

In my mind I imagined taking Meggie right away, right there, just lifting up her dress, pulling down her panties and slipping my prick into her sweet pussy.

“Oh, dear, now I’ve really made your cock go stiff,” she said, teasingly. “I think you’d better pull yourself off. Then you’ll feel much more relaxed.”

“What, with you standing there watching?” I asked, in disbelief.

“I can tell you don’t mind the idea,” replied Meggie with a smile.  “If your dick gets any harder it’s going to burst. Come on let’s see how a naughty boy likes to stroke his stiff dick in the shower.”

That was it. There was no point resisting. I grabbed my rock-hard prick in my soapy right-hand and began to wank myself off. My soapy hand slid up and down my cock as I watched Meggie watching me. There was a twinkle in those sexy brown eyes of hers as she watched me masturbate.

“Feel good, honey?” she asked looking me in the eyes briefly before returning her attention to my slippery stiff cock.

“You bet,” I sighed.

“Would it give you a bit of inspiration if I let you see how wet my panties are getting?” she asked, lifting her skirt and leaning back with her legs spread so that I could see the spreading patch of wetness on her pale pink knickers. She gently teased the area through the wet material with the tip of the index finger of her right hand.”

To feel my hot, hard cock in my hand, and to know that the sight of it was making her drip pussy juice into her fresh clean panties, sent me over the edge. My cock jerked in my hand and spurted a shower of hot cum across the bathroom floor.

“Yeah!” cried Meggie, dropping her skirt and clapping her hands.

*    *    *

“Now these are the rules,” said Meggie, “if you want me to be your personal trainer.

“’1. You have to come over at 7.00 ever night and stay until 10.00.

“’2. You have to do anything that I tell you to without question.

“’3. As soon as you arrive you have to take off all of your clothes and remain completely naked  until it is time for you to go. (This has nothing to do with the effectiveness of the workout, you understand. It’s just my reward for helping you.)

“’4. You are not allowed to touch me in any way. That is your reward when you have achieved our goal.

“Sound O.K.?” she asked.

“I suppose so,” I said. “How will you be dressed?”

“I’ll start off the way I am, but if you do well, I’ll gradually wear less, is that a deal?” she asked. “I reckon you need to lose about ten inches from around that waist of yours. Let’s say that by the time you have lost two inches, I’ll be totally nude. Then while you lose those last eight inches you will have a bare-bottomed, hairy-pussied, bouncing-boobed totally naked trainer giving you the encouragement you need. But still no touching until you lose those other eight inches.”

“Oh, God,” I sighed, rubbing the crotch of my jeans, where my cock was once more making his presence felt.

“Don’t worry,” Meggie assured me, “you  can have as many masturbation breaks as you want. And if I’m feeling really horny I might just join in.”

Check out Inappropriate Behavior for the rest of the story.

Book Review

Confessions from a Health Farm by Timothy Lea

Back in my very first post on this blog I briefly discussed the Confessions series of books and films. These were an institution in Britain (as well as Australia) back in the Seventies.

Author Christopher Wood, who would later write the screenplays (and novelizations) for two James Bond films - The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker, wrote a novel called Confessions of a Window Cleaner in 1971. The hero, a loveable rogue and bungler by the name of Timothy Lea, related his picaresque adventures in the window cleaning trade in the first person, and Wood hid his identity behind that of his fictional hero by giving Lea the author credit. Many more books were to follow in which Timmy took on jobs ranging from travelling salesman to private soldier to icecream man. He even spent time in jail and as a member of a committee investigating the pornography trade in Confessions from the Clink. Whatever occupation he was pursuing it would always lead to a multitude of sexual encounters, many of them ending disastrously with angry husbands chasing him down the street in the nude or sexually aggressive women ganging up on him and fucking him within an inch of his life.

In 1974 Confessions of a Window Cleaner was made into a movie starring Robin Askwith as Timmy Lea. It was the top-grossing British film of the year and spawned three sequels, based loosely on other books in the series.

The appeal of these books is perhaps limited by two factors which, I'm sure, endear them to fans. Lea uses loads of colloquial expressions, some presumably of his own invention, others traditional Cockney rhyming slang, to tell his story. To those who are used to these kinds of expressions, e.g. a beak is a judge, a Hampton (i.e. Hampton Wick, i.e. dick) is a penis, etc., this adds to the amusement, but others may feel that they are reading something approaching Clockwork Orange when it comes to mysterious forms of expression. There is, however, something amusing about a book in which the hero plunges his "action man kit" into a girl's "spasm chasm". The other aspect which might alienate some modern readers is the political incorrectness of Lea's world view. One can look on it as a satire of that world view a la 'Til Death Us Do Part or All in the Family, but there are no doubt some who will fail to warm to a character who refers to women as "bints" and black women as "jungle bunnies" and says that the subservience of Japanese women is almost appealing enough to make up for the buck teeth one would no doubt have if Japanese. (And in the distaff Confessions series which Wood wrote under the pseudonym of Rosie Dixon most the humour revolves around farcical ways for Rosie to get raped or molested.) For some of us, however, this kind of bad taste has its own appeal, and the fact that Timmy usually ends up being the butt of the joke keeps it from being mean-spirited.

While these novels are no great works of literature, and are seriously dated by all sorts of 1970s cultural and political references, when it comes to creating hilariously farcical situations, Wood sometimes recalls even such masters of the form as P.G. Wodehouse and Tom Sharpe. Only sometimes mind you. There are also lots of cheap gags and run-of-the-mill bedroom capers. But the books are always a quick fun read.

Confessions from a Health Farm (1974) was the tenth in the series. As with all the other books it begins with a scheme cooked up by Timmy's brother-in-law Sid. Having recently had a lucky escape from managing one of the world's worst rock bands (Confessions from the Pop Scene), he has now decided to start up a health farm. A certain massage therapist by the name of Wanda Zonker has incriminating photos of Lord Baulkit, thus allowing her to persuade him to let her convert his country seat Long Hall into Beauty Manor, a luxurious health farm. The manor is full of secret passageways and spy holes. The horny Lady Baulkit shows Timmy around and also shows him a good time. Then Sid tries to prove that he is fitter than Timmy by challenging him to a pentathlon on Clapham Common during which both cheat shamelessly and also get in trouble with the police. Timmy has to go undercover at Bosky Dell Health Clinic to see how these organisations are run. There he has an erotic encounter with the insatiable Mrs. Chalfont and is so hungry due to the minimal diet that he is reduced to eating dog food. When he gets back to Beauty Manor he finds himself at the centre of various anarchic adventures involving sex in the sauna, overly-energetic Japanese nude masseuses and a mud-machine full of horse manure that breaks loose and runs rampant through the establishment. And everything comes to climax with a visit by Omar Gord and his fellow oil sheiks.

This is neither the best nor the worst of the series. But it is a fun romp. If it has any particular weakness it is that Wood seems to have decided to really run the rhyming slang into the ground. I love this stuff, but a sentence like "She has a large Mahatma Gandhi to pull herself together and though I fancy a pint of apple fritter I have to settle for Gunga Din because there is not an Aristotle of pig's ear in the Mickey Mouse" is too much even for me!

The Cat Who Shot the Cream : Fuck Me Friday

Fuck me! It's Friday already, and time for another of Aisling Weaver's Fuck Me Friday writing challenges. By now most of you know how it works and those who don't can read all the whys and how tos on her site. Today's prompt is #Cream. Make sure to check out the other entries from the links on Aisling's site.

The Cat Who Shot the Cream

"I can't give you any more for it," explained Gerard Steele to the figure lurking in the dark shadows of his large office. He puffed on his cigar sending clouds of smoke drifting through the cone of light that illuminated his desk. All he could see of his visitor was her amber eyes which burned in the darkness like glowing coals. "We get them hooked on the Cream and then we milk them for all that they've got. Your share stays the same - 25%. I take the risks. You're not really in a position to distribute."

"Not yet," Emma Blaine agreed. "But don't feel too complacent. My posse gets bigger every day."

"If you want to make some more money," Steele began thoughtfully, "there is another task that you and your posse are well positioned to perform."

"And what might that be?" she asked, her voice full of barely suppressed contempt.

"You know Professor Basingstoke?" he queried.

"Sure. Physicist. Most intelligent man in the word, if you believe the hype. I.Q. of 365," she informed him.

"Someone wants his spunk," explained Steele, tapping ash into an ashtray carved from the shell of a recently extinct species of tortoise.

"Breeding purposes, I presume," mused Blaine. "Of course there is no solid evidence that I.Q. is hereditary."

"I don't care about the rationality of my client's demands," Steele pointed out. "All I care about is their credit rating. This lady's loaded."

"The girls and I can do the job," she assured him. "What's our cut?"

"A cool million," declared Steele.

Now she was interested.

*          *          *

"Damn!" cursed Calvin Selfridge, as the bathroom window of the Alpha Sigma Sigma Sorority steamed up, obscuring his view of Rita Goodbody's soapy nude buttocks.

Image courtesy of Girls Out West

Perhaps he should have felt ashamed of himself. But he didn't. If something was his duty, did it make any difference that it was pleasant?

By day, Selfridge was the pride of the Delta Delta Tango Fraternity. Everyone believed that he lived for toga parties, keggers and the humiliation of pledges. But as soon as night fell he became Fratman, courageous curber of campus crime. And one of his principle duties was to watch over the sorority sisters, lest they fall under the seductive sway of his arch nemesis The Panther.

The Panther. Real name - Emma Blaine. In 1966 she'd been a student at Blake College herself. This was the age of government-sanctioned psychedelic drug research. Blaine was the first and only individual to ever ingest a particularly powerful form of LSD known as Black Moonlight. It sent her on a trip from which she had never returned. She came to believe that she was a wild beast stalking the urban jungle. But beyond that it caused a bizarre form of instantaneous genetic mutation. She was able to slow down the ageing process if she consumed a certain minimum dose of semen. Most significantly, however, the process of orgasm caused her to ejaculate large quantities of an addictive drug. It's scientific name was Purrroine. Street name : Cream. It was a powerful aphrodisiac. It could be taken orally, but most addict's took it intravenously. Psychologically it induced euphoria and a loss of sexual inhibitions. On men it also had a powerful physical effect, causing the testicles to swell up to the size of mangoes until such time as the individual ejaculated gallons of jism which would shoot out of the penis with all the force of a fire hose. Side-effects included dehydration and protein deficiency. It was a price that addicts were willing to pay.

Blaine only came out after dark. She wore a bodysuit of soft black velvet with cat's ears. It zipped up the back. There were eighteen holes in the suit - two each for her eyes, two each for her ears, one for her mouth, ten for her long claw-like fingernails, one each to bare her permanently erect nipples, and one to allow access to her cunt. When she stood, her jet black pubes disguised the fact that her genitals were open to the air, but when she crouched with feline grace the glistening wet pinkness of her pussy was on proud display.

Conventional wisdom was that the feline scourge of Scrotum City was insane. But, as Selfridge knew, insanity was a relative concept. There were even those who would consider an individual who took on a new identity at night, stalking villains while dressed in a turtleneck Fraternity jumper pulled up over his face with mouth and eye holes cut out, insane. What mattered wasn't intentions, but outcomes. And the outcome with The Panther was the efficient accumulation of wealth through the enslavement of men to a testicle-swelling addictive substance. She wasn't some old woman rambling on at the bus stop about the United Nations being infiltrate by lizard creatures from Alpha Centauri. Labelling her as insane was just not helpful.

Selfridge took up a new position outside the window of the sorority's main dormitory. These girls were shameless. Patty Cake was sitting cross-legged at a computer screen. She was wearing a see-through nightie and no panties. She was looking at a picture of a rather handsome nude man with a large stiff cock. And she was masturbating.

"Barry Townsend's sent us another nude photo of himself," she informed the other four girls who were lazing on their beds in various states of undress, either watching television or reading. "I think it's about time we paid him back by sneaking him into our room and giving his lovely big cock a friendly sucking."

"I wonder if he'd like to bugger my bottom with his beautiful boner," mused red-headed Molly Ringworm, sitting down hard on her bright blue butt plug.

The Panther had been recruiting girls from the sorority for what she called her Pussy Posse. Selfridge could see how innocent and helpless the girls were, and this stiffened his resolve. His resolve wasn't the only thing that it stiffened though.

My mind must be alert, and my body ready to respond to any danger, Selfridge told himself, as he pulled down his pants and began stroking his hot hard cock. It was simply a matter of dealing with a physical liability and clearing his mind of distracting fantasies about Patty and Molly kissing each other wetly around his cock while he slid a lubricated finger right up into each of their assholes as the other two girls spanked his arse and accused him of assassinating President Kennedy. He groaned and squirmed, squeezing his fist hard around his prick as he played with his balls with his other hand.

"What's that?" asked Molly, looking over Patty's shoulder.

"Something seems to be happening on the security camera," she replied. "I'll zoom in."

"Jeez, not again!" exclaimed Molly. "It's Pratman spanking his monkey outside the window."

*          *          *

Professor Basingstoke was a dignified gentleman in his early fifties with a bushy head of grey hair and a Mark Twain moustache. He was sitting in his study smoking a pipe and leafing through the latest copy of Nude Scientist, a girlie magazine which only featured young women scientists. This month's centrefold was a 27 year old chemist who lay back with her lab coat open to reveal her generous pale breasts. Her pubic region was coyly concealed by a beaker full of copper sulphate.

Basingstoke was a leading expert in the field of quantum particle physics. It is well known that certain subatomic particles behave differently depending on how they are being observed. Basingstoke had deepened understanding of this phenomenon. He had discovered that these particles act nervous when being observed by Republicans. Now he was working on the theory that they held wild parties when nobody at all was observing them. Unfortunately, so far, he'd been unable to find a conclusive way to test this hypothesis.

Of course this work was familiar only to other academics, but he was known to the general public as the author of the humorous bestseller 101 Uses for Schrödinger's Cat.

"What's that?" he asked himself, looking up from Miss January's pert nipples, as a grappling iron clanked loudly over the metal railing of his balcony.

*          *          *

"Wank off to our porn site like everyone else, you cheapskate!" yelled the Alpha Sigma Sigma girls as they chased Selfridge across the campus. He'd pulled up his pants so that he could run, but his cock was still poking out of his fly bouncing around in the chilly night air. The girls were a warm-blooded lot and didn't seem to be too trouble by the fact that their asses and pussies were bare and their tits were falling out of their flimsy nighties.

Selfridge had a lucky escape when the college gridiron team jogged past on their way to the showers and greeted the girls with a chorus of wolf whistles.

"Want some company in the showers?" Patty asked. "After all those cocks aren't going to suck themselves."

The football players looked a bit nervous, especially when the girls stripped them of all of their clothes before they'd even reached the cover of the change rooms, but they knew they were in for a good time.

Image courtesy of Girls Out West

And Selfridge felt relieved. He could stop running.

But then he noticed some dark shapes moving around on one of the balconies of the staff living quarters. The Panther and her Pussy Posse. It could be noone else. He began to run once more, this time in the direction of that building's lift.

*          *          *

The windows crashed open and in strode a maleficent and magnificent figure. Her eyes spat fire and her body moved like a dark tide in its covering of inky velvet. This covering did nothing to hide the sway of her flesh. Her deep pink nipples stood out stiff with arousal through the holes cut in the cloth. And her sexual juices were flowing so freely that it looked as if she had just pissed down her leg.

"Get a whiff of your prey, girls," she purred to her companions. She was accompanied by five young women, who now dropped the long black cloaks which had provided them with camouflage as they slid through the night to reveal the skimpiest of leopard skin bikinis.

"What do you l-l-l-l-adies want?" Makepiece wanted to know.

"Just relax, honey," The Panther suggested soothingly. "Think of yourself as a cow, and these charming ladies as milk maids."

"A c-c-c-cow?" stammered the professor. "What kind of bull is this?"

"Yes, you're right," she smiled, reaching out and stroking the crotch of his pants, "you are a bull, aren't you? You are a one man sperm bank and we are about to make a withdrawal. Get him girls!"

"I'll take his left leg!" said Duchess.

"I'll take the right!" said Marie.

"His right arm will be my responsibility," said Frou-Frou.

"Let me take the left," said Abigail.

"And I," declared Amelia, "shall sit on his face."

"Not yet, Amelia," ordered The Panther. "For now your duty is to supervise the removal of his clothes."

The next thing the professor knew he was pinned to the floor and his shirt buttons were being undone. The girl's g-strings didn't do much to cover their pussies. In their horniness Frou-Frou and Abigail were rubbing the bare damp flesh of their aroused cunts against  the palms of his hands as they rested their virtually bare bottoms on his wrists.

"Just expose the relevant parts," insisted The Panther. "We don't have time to strip him completely.

Amelia pulled open his shirt and lifted the t-shirt beneath. Then she smiled wickedly and began licking his nipples.

"Duchess. Marie. You get his pants down," The Panther ordered.

The professor felt his pants being unzipped and pulled down, and then down came his underpants allowing his now rock hard cock to slap up against this belly.

Then a wet mouth engulfed his prick. He didn't know if it was Duchess's or Marie's.

At that moment the door burst open with a loud crunching sound. Fratman had kicked it open.

"Don't worry, Professor," he shouted. "Fratman has arrived just in the nick of time to rescue you!"

"That's very kind of you," said the professor. "But I don't think I'm going to need rescuing for the next few minutes. Perhaps give me ten minutes and then come back, hey?"

"You don't realise how dangerous these vermin are," insisted Fratman.

"Well," said the professor philosophically, "some dangers are best faced head on."

"So we meet again, my fine furry feline friend," declared Fratman, addressing the Panther.

"So now I'm your friend am I?" she wanted to know.

"Well, actually I meant that ironically," he qualified.

"Fuck off, Fratman!" she spat contemptuously.

"I can't allow you to rape this poor defenceless old man," Fratman insisted.

"It's only rape if I don't give my consent," pointed out the professor.

"Perhaps, Professor, you won't mind waiting while we take care of this ill-mannered interloper," The Panther suggested.

"Not at all," replied the professor. "Do what you must."

The girls grabbed Fratman and threw him to the ground. Amelia held his mouth open while The Panther squatted down over his face and began wanking. Frou-Frou and Abigail, who were holding down his arms, leant forward and began sucking on their mistress's stiff nipples.

"Oh, yeah-h-h," she moaned and her belly spasmed as a powerful stream of liquid shot out of her cunt, filling Fratman's mouth and splashing all over his face and hair and chest. It felt like he was being pissed on, but the clear liquid had a slightly creamy taste like coconut milk.

"Now, Fratman, we are more than friends. You have joined the brotherhood of those who have drunk my cunt juice!" she declared triumphantly.

Fratman felt a warm sensation spreading throughout his body. He noticed for the first time how stiff his cock was and he felt an overwhelming desire to lick the Pussy Posse all over. He wanted to stick his tongue up their noses and in their ears and lick out their assholes. He wanted to perform hours and hours of acupressure massage on their soft young bodies using only the head of his cock. He wanted to perform uninhibited nude dance routines for their grandmothers while they pleasured their own withered flesh. Permutations of polymorphous perversity pervaded every part of his being, and meanwhile his balls grew ever larger.

Meanwhile, the Panther and the Pussy Posse had returned their attentions to the professor. He was drinking down the Cream shooting out of the Panther's pussy like a man who'd just spent a week in the desert. And the girls were taking turns sucking and wanking his cock. And, like Fratman, he now had prodigiously large balls.

"Grab the bucket!" cried The Panther, and soon Frou-Frou was pointing the professor's cock into the receptacle as it erupted in a torrent of thick juicy jism. Soon the bucket was full to overflowing, and the professor was lying back on the floor exhausted and pale.

Through his erotic haze, Fratman realised he had to act quickly if he were going to do his duty as a superhero. He jumped up and started to run towards The Panther and her cohorts. But it isn't easy to run with balls the size of mangos. And it is very painful when the attempt causes you to fall over and land on those massive balls.

"Fuck!" cried Fratman. "That smarts."

Then he had an idea. He started to masturbate. He grabbed his stiff cock and began stroking forcefully.

The girls put the professor to bed and redonned their cloaks. Then they and The Panther turned toward the window.

"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" moaned Fratman as he came, shooting a massive slick of cum all over the study floor.

"Woah!" cried The Panther as she slipped in all the cum.

"Woah!" cried the Pussy Posse as they did likewise.

Trying to right themselves they leaned towards the open window, their feet pedalling but finding no steady purchase. And so it was that they slid out onto the balcony and fell over the railing, plummeting to the ground below.

The girls all ended up in hospital. Once mended they would all take up residence in The Big House.

The next day Fratman read the headlines in the Scrotum City Herald. They read :

WANKER ACCIDENTALLY HELPS POLICE IN ARREST OF THE PANTHER.

Slice : Wank Wednesday

Today we arrive once more at Wank Wednesday, an institution established by Ruby Kiddell at The Erotic Notebook. Here is how she explains it :

Welcome to week 13 of Wank Wednesday, your weekly festival of smut.

With so many great writers of smut and erotica on Twitter and the web I thought it would be a nice idea to get a smutty blog carnival going. For writers or would be writers a weekly prompt will get you writing and as a reader well you’ll be able to get your fix of sexy stories all in one go.

All you need to do to join in is to write a story using this week’s prompt #slice and then;

Blog it – post it on your blog then come back here and add it to the link list.

Tweet it – write it on twitter using the prompt hashtag and the #wankwednesday hashtag.

Add it – if you don’t want to blog or tweet it then please do add it as comment to my post.

WE it – if you are a member at Word Ejaculation you can submit with them too, just remember to link back to me here and to add your entry to the link list.

A couple of housekeeping points;

Please include a link back to this post in your post, if not I’ll remove it from the link list.

Please take the time to read and comment on some of the other posts, it is after all about writing and encouraging writing.

Thank you for writing and reading.

Slice

No matter which way you slice it, two girls are better than none. That was the decision I had to make when Clara fell in love with Maisie.

Clara and I had been living together for ten years at that stage. We were best mates. We weren't lovers, but we did spend a lot of time fucking each other, licking each others erogenous zones and wanking off together. We were friends and these were friendly activities. True, our relationship was an unconventional one. Essentially, we didn't believe in repression. We could have pretended not to have sexual feelings for each other simply because we didn't think about each other in a romantic way, but why should we live with that awkwardness and deny ourselves lots of pleasure?

From time to time we did get involved with someone romantically. If we thought they were open-minded, then we didn't hide our uninhibited home life. If we thought it would trouble them, we did the compassionate thing and didn't tell them about it.

But when Clara met Maisie it looked like things had come to a crossroad. It was a match made in heaven. They were crazy about each other. So I did the honourable thing and started looking for another apartment. But then one afternoon, when I came back from a hard day of apartment hunting, Clara announced that she and Maisie had been discussing the situation and had come to a decision.

"We've decided to keep you," she told me. "The landlord won't let us have a dog or cat."

"How magnanimous of you," I replied, acidly. "Will I have to eat kibbles and poo in a litter tray?"

"Don't be a grumpy bum," she chuckled, poking me in the belly. "You like Maisie and Maisie likes you. It won't be so different from how it has always been. You might have to whack off a bit more, because Maisie and I are going to be very busy licking each others pussies. But you never know, we might need your cock from time to time if the batteries go flat in our vibrators."

I wasn't at all sure that this arrangement was going to be good for my dignity. But what guy could possibly turn down a front row seat at a lesbian lickoff?

For a couple of weeks I had the place to myself. The lovers had decided to spend some time in Paris having a horny honeymoon. On the first couple of evenings I went out to nudie bars with some of my mates. When I got sick of their company I stocked the refrigerator with beer, and spent my evenings masturbating to internet porn. By the end of the second week I was in a very maudlin mood, binging on chocolate bars while watching Clara's chick flick DVDs with a pair of Maisie's knickers on my head.

On a Saturday afternoon they returned with suitcases full of new clothes.

"Let's have a movie night!" suggested Clara.

So we headed down to the local video store. Clara always prefers to pick something off the shelf the old fashioned way rather than get DVDs through the mail or download movies off the internet.

"I feel like something creepy," she said.

"How about this one," suggested Maisie, picking up a film entitled Sorority Shish Kebab.

"What's it about?" I asked.

"It's a slice and dice movie about a cannibal who only eats vegans," explained Maisie enthusiastically.

How could we say "No" to that? On the way home we picked up a family sized capricciosa pizza, a large order of spaghetti bolognese, assorted bags of lollies and two two litre bottles of Coke.

"We had a fantastic movie marathon in our hotel room in Paris," gushed Maisie. "We watched all six Star Wars movies one after the other and then Clara wrapped a sheet around herself, stuck fruit buns on the sides of her head and gave me a foaming Chewbacca!"

"Dare I ask what a foaming Chewbacca is?" I queried.

"We found out about it on the internet and just had to try it," Clara pointed out.

"Yeah, I licked her clit until she was right on the verge," explained Maisie, " and then I lifted up her bum and filled her cunt with pop rocks and cola. You should have seen her squirm!"

"And after I squirted my juices into the mix she drank the lot," added Clara proudly.

"Have you ever heard of the Light Sabre Lollipop?" I asked, unzipping my fly.

"Don't be stupid," Clara replied. "You don't even like Star Wars."

Clara turned on the television and we watched a bit of Wipe Out while eating the spaghetti. When a fat guy bounced off of one of the balls and somersaulted into the water, I laughed so hard I spilled spaghetti sauce all over my t-shirt.

"We can't take you anywhere!" complained Clara.

"We aren't anywhere," I pointed out. "We're at home."

"I think he'd better take all of his clothes off," suggested Maisie. "It'll take him ages to get that sauce out of his t-shirt, and we wouldn't want him to make a mess of his jeans as well."

"Why don't you ladies join me?" I suggested.

"We don't need to," replied Clara. "We don't make a mess."

Well, I've always been something of a closet exhibitionist. And if they don't want to see my closet then I'll happily show them my cock.

I kicked off my thongs, took off my soiled t-shirt and stood up and pulled down my jeans.

"And these too," declared Maisie, pulling down my underpants and leaving me completely naked. "Nice bum," she declared with a giggle.

We ate the rest of the spaghetti without incident, then the girls decided that they wanted to get more comfortable, so they went into their bedroom and changed into their pyjamas. They were determined to maintain their position of power over me, however, so they closed the door and didn't let me peek. All the same, by the time they came back my cock was semi-erect just from thinking about being totally naked with a pair of girls whose pussies could be exposed with a simple tug on their pyjama bottoms.

"Pizza time!" cried Maisie, opening the box.

I grabbed a big slice with lots of olives. Immediately the front flopped down and a huge dollop of melted cheese fell right onto my swollen cock.

"I'll get it!" cried Maisie, diving between my legs and hungrily licking and sucking the mozzarella from my manhood. For a few moments I was in heaven, but it didn't last. She came up giggling and wiping the grease from her chin. "I never thought I'd be hungry enough to eat the cheese off a guy's cock," she declared.

"Ewwww. You're so gross!" exclaimed Clara.

"I think you like me that way," teased Maisie, giving Clara a cuddle. "Because you know I'm dirty enough to do anything you want me to do, even pee on your clit."

"Pee on her clit?" I enquired. "Tell me more."

"No, don't," insisted Clara, turning red.

"Clara's a kinky girl," Maisie told me. "She likes to lay back naked in an empty bath with her legs spread and play with herself. And then she likes me to get naked too and squat over her in the bath and let out a hot stream of steaming piss right onto her excited little girl boner. Don't you Clara?"

"You didn't have to tell him," she complained.

"Now, now," I told her, "we mustn't have any secrets. The more we share the more we care."

"Exactly," agreed Maisie. "That's why Clara and I logged onto your computer back when you were apartment hunting and found your collection of she-male porn."

"What?!?" I exclaimed.

"You don't have to be embarassed," Maisie reassured me. "We like big cocks too, only we prefer them when they're on men."

"Let's watch the movie!" cried Clara.

So we turned off all the lights and fired up the BluRay player.

I sat next to Clara and Maisie sat on her other side. Maisie took charge of opening the packets of lollies. There were Jaffas and aniseed rings and Minties.

The first time the killer leapt out of the shadows and chopped someone's head off Maisie jumped and the Jaffas rained down all over us. And Clara grabbed my leg as she screamed.

The next time the killer struck, I screamed and grabbed Clara's left boob. She looked down disapprovingly and coughed.

"I know what you're thinking," she told me. "You're thinking this movie is going to scare the pants off us. Well, it's not. Our pants are staying put."

"Cooorrrrr!" I groaned, a few minutes later, as the screen filled with soapy naked sorority sisters in the shower, and my cock stood to attention.

"Want some help there?" chided Clara, grabbing my stiff cock in her left hand and tugging the loose skin up and down.

"Don't encourage him. He's such a dirty boy," put in Maisie. The room was dark, but not so dark that I couldn't see that she had her hand down her pyjama bottoms and appeared to be energetically scratching an itch that was several centimetres inside her vagina.

The killer continued his spree. When one girl closed the mirrored door of her bathroom cabinet in such as way as to reveal the killer grinning evilly over her shoulder, Maisie squealed and pulled her feet up onto the couch.

"I think Maisie's going to piss herself," I pointed out. "You better get your girl boner out."

"If you don't stop teasing me about that, I'll get her to take a dump on your head," threatened Clara.

"If she did that, I'd have to sue 'er," I cracked. "Get it, take a dump... sewer..."

"You are going to have to pay for that!" exclaimed Maisie. "Clara, how many Jaffa's do you think you can fit in your cunt?"

The next thing I knew, the movie was on pause, Clara's pyjama bottoms were around her ankles, and me and Maisie were hunting the floor for Jaffas. In the end Maisie managed to fit 37 Jaffas into Clara's vagina. Then it was my job to use suction and the prying power of my tongue to try to get them all back out. Clara was loving it, squealing and giggling and spasming. My cock was stiff again. On the downside all that candy was making me feel a little queasy. But things were going fairly well until Clara orgasmed. When that happened the combination of lubrication from her pussy juices and her vaginal spasms caused the remaining Jaffas to shoot out of her cunt and into the back of my throat. One of them stuck there and I began to choke.

"Heimlich Maneuver!" cried Maisie grabbing me around the waist from behind and squeezing up under my rib cage.

The Jaffa shot out of my mouth, flew across the room and hit the stereo, turning on the radio. The voice of Tom Jones burst out into the semi-darkness singing, "What's new pussycat! Woah, Woah!"

"I think we'd better return to the homicidal maniac," declared Maisie. "Playing with Jaffas is too dangerous."

Once the movie was over we turned the lights back on and began tidying up. Maisie put what was left of the pizza in the fridge. Clara cleaned down the table top. My contribution to the clean up effort was to pull the girl's pyjama bottoms down every time they had their hands full. Eventually they decided it was just easier to strip off. When they came back from washing the glasses in the kitchen they found me standing in the middle of the lounge room with fifteen aniseed rings stretched over my erect cock.

"Anyone still have a sweet tooth?" I enquired.

"Both sweet and sharp," threatened Maisie doing the Piranha Chomp.

Then she came over and took the aniseed rings off one by one with her fingers and made me eat them.

My cock was still stiff. I put my arms around the girls and fondled a soft butt cheek with each hand.

"After watching that movie I'm scared stiff," I told them. "I'm afraid the Boogey Man will get me if I don't sleep in your bed tonight."

"O.K." said Maisie. "But you're sleeping on the wet spot."

For the next half hour I lay stroking my cock as I watched Maisie and Clara licking each other's pussies.

"I know you want to fuck me," said Maisie, taking a brief respite from her clit-sucking activities. "I'm not really so cruel. I'm just a tease. Why don't to crawl over Clara and slide right in. Don't worry about giving her a bit of a teabagging. Just don't expect her to lick your balls. Her tongue's mine for the time being."

So I threw a leg over Clara, bounced my balls on her forehead and gave Maisie a playful slap on the arse before sliding my cock home into her warm wet pussy. I could feel the heat of Clara's breath over my balls as she continued to lick her lover's pleasure button. It wasn't long before we all climaxed and collapsed onto the bed in a heap. Maisie's lips were covered in Clara's juices, and Clara's in both Maisie's juices and mine.

I was just returning to their bed, after drinking some orange juice, having a shower and brushing my teeth, when Maisie whispered something to Clara.

"Maisie hasn't had enough pussy licking," Clara told me. "I'm too tired. Would you mind helping her out?"

"Not at all," I replied, ever the gentleman.

"Come around here and get under the covers," Maisie requested.

I crawled into her side of the bed and slid down between her legs. She pulled the quilt up over my head.

"O.K.," she said. "Hold him Clara!"

"What's going on?" I protested, as Clara leaned on me hard.

Then Maisie let out a long, loud fart. It had a stench so thick you could slice it.