'the Invasion'

It was late when he arrived. About tenish, night-time, dark, wet, a typical Manchester evening, which is where he was. The front door was just as he'd pictured it; white UPVC frame, full length glass inset with leaded and frosted glass, just as she'd described it to him. He removed his damp hood and knocked firmly, his eager war drum pounding in his chest. As he waited, he inspected the door more closely, it was internally beaded and the glass was triple glazed. 'Impressive' he thought to himself. He began to wonder what forbidden treasure he would soon discover beyond this formidable entrance. He didn't have to wait long.

The door swung open and there stood Kimberley, her vast silhouette plugging the doorway like an erotic death star. She was slightly bigger than her picture had suggested. "Cecil?" she enquired, rather directly. He nodded casually. "You drunk?" she continued abruptly. She had a bit of an accent, but he didn't mind. "No" he answered confidently. And with that, he was over the border and behind enemy lines.

Once Kimberley had finished her cigarillo and put the dog out, she led Cecil hungrily to her dimly lit and musky scented bedroom. Once inside, she casually slipped out of her pink velour onesie and within seconds Cecil was faced with his imposing enemy in all her clammy glory.

He'd never undressed so quickly, his moist grey joggers and matching hoodie were dispensed in a blur, followed quickly by his white socks and briefs. She clocked his already semi erect love pipe like a starving dog sniffing out a hot sausage. In the blink of an eye, Cecil was up to his nuts in her slavering cake hole, with Kimberley's huge hands kneading his freshly shaved trouser buns like a master baker. She clearly had some serious skills. Cecil knew he had a fight on his hands if he was going to slay this exotic beast.

With all his might, he pulled her to her feet and planted his eager lips onto hers. Her picasso-like teeth clashed erotically against his as he slithered his young zesty tongue into her mature, full bodied mouth. She moaned as he plunged his hand between her soft, mountainous thighs, like a child digging for a free toy in a cereal packet. But there were no blood diamonds on the agenda for this Rhodesian mining mission, it was the magical underground river of love lube that Cecil was hunting for.

Sensing his urgency, Kimberley fell back onto her bed and, like Moses, parted her red sea of dimpled flesh to allow Cecil's Israelite fingers to reach the promised land. She gasped as his conveniently swollen fingers plunged into her generously proportioned cock socket, with first 2, then 3, then 4 'sticky digits' engulfed by her love swamp. Like an old volcanologist's dog, Cecil could sense the approaching eruption, but he wasn't going to let her surrender her labia lava just yet.

Like a rage fuelled mother lifting a bus to release her trapped baby, Cecil, powered by pure lust and 3 cans of imitation red bull, heaved his now limp and slippery foe onto her generously cushioned front. He knelt behind her and sized her up for his final attack. As if reading his mind, she reached back with both hands and expertly grabbed her majestic rump, pulling her hefty cheeks apart to reveal his dribbling prize. He plunged his throbbing pork ness monster into the darkest depths of her vast pink loch. He couldn't hold back, his furious hips recoiling back and forth, smashing her rusty syrup tin with the relentless destruction of an austerity fuelled cabinet minister.

Rippling flesh crashed into the base of her neck, poetically mirroring the waves of pleasure pulsing through her groin ocean, building like a tsunami and bearing down ominously on the unknowing inhabitants of climax beach. With a scream that would have silenced Maggie Thatcher, Kimberley erupted with the power of a riot control water cannon, drenching Cecil's hungry Yorkshire miner and the already stained sheets, thus ensuring that they would need a wash in the morning. Cecil could take no more, he withdrew his victorious weapon and sprayed his hot napalm all over her still spasming spunk charmer.

Satisfied, he sat back and surveyed the battlefield. Victory was his. He had conquered her expansive and bountiful land mass and slayed her like a celebrity lion. His only regret was that his father was no longer around to see it.