Dear Diary, picture this:
A small slim woman with big black eyes, massive podgy lips, and an annoyingly big bottom struts across her lawns toward a waiting mirror-black helicopter. Her fists are clenched. Her little feet are bare, as is her annoying bottom under her black Bellenciaga cocktail dress. Her dress and her sharp black bob are blown all about by the whirling blades and she finds this exhilarating, especially the powerful wind about her naked nethers. In the distance, behind her, stands her annoyingly big-choppered gardener-stroke-boyfriend. She tosses him a glare and flicks up the back of her skirt so he gets a-- hopefully torturing--flash of bare buttock.
Bullseye! His eyes swell with worry, and his hand raises in a confused farewell.
"Fuck you, Bill," the woman says. But the helicopter drowns it out.
Now, picture this:
One hour later. The same furiously desirable woman is starfished naked on a graphite silk bedspread, writhing in orgasm as she's fed on by eight naked billionaire starlets while their rippling husbands watch in sated, post-coital awe.
Yes Dear Diary, dear Father, dear Bill, dear Whoever-the-fuck-is-reading-this, today I was angry with Bill and took revenge in my own unique way.
Remember, my muscle-bound giant of a gardener and I, Lady Bathsheba Ottoline Lovecome have been having an illicit--if not a little cliched--affair. In my last instalment, my best friend Gabrielle came to stay, then stayed to come, and much excellent fun was had. Eventually.
A few days later, Gabrielle sent me a dildo replica of my apparently loyal gardener's erection. This, remember, is her art, so it's not as odd as it might sound. She has many casts of many excellent penises. So more fun was had. I think I even confessed to you, dear Diary that nothing feels better than being simultaneously licked and fucked by the same man. But then it hit me: how, and when had Gabrielle made a cast of Bill's erect penis? Not just your everyday morning glory either, we're talking Bill at his biggest and hardest, as if someone had been playing with him for some time...
As an aristocrat, I have a rather unique little-black-book. You know that list of numbers everyone has for when they're lonely or needy down below? Well mine is full of invitations mostly, to upmarket sexy soirees that want their reputations made by nearly-royal patronage. I collect the invites for fun because generally they look just awful. And anyway, until recently Bill looked after me rather well down below so I haven't needed to party in that way.
Not today. Today I chose the most exclusive sex party I could find, the kind that sends a helicopter to collect you, and I scrubbed inside and out, deep down clean, ready to be dirty as I liked.
Diary, Bill, It was epic, and I'm going to recount it for you, and then make sure you read it. I understand we're not a couple in the traditional sense, or even exclusive fuck buddies. You're just my gardener for fuck sake. In fact we're doomed to part as soon as Father arranges a marriage for me--the only downside to a life as an entitled billionaire. But still, I didn't expect you to fuck my friend; well, not secretly anyway, not without me. I want you to see how it feels imagining me with someone else, like I'm forced to feel your betrayal every time we use the fucking dildo SHE cast from your monstrously erect penis. What did she do to get you that hard Bill? For me, you only get that veiny when I suck you, and when you're about to come. Or sometimes when I've come on your mouth. Is that what she did? Come on your mouth and suck you? Did you fuck her after? The one thing we deny each other since my father's death threats over getting me pregnant? Where did you come, Bill? In her cunt? Did you like coming in her cunt more than in my mouth? I've never enjoyed cum with anyone before, you know that don't you? Only yours.
So read this. And know I loved every last drop of it.
THE UNICORN AND THE BEAST OF A THOUSAND MOUTHS
The party was in a Bond villain mansion on its own island somewhere. Doesn't matter where. When I arrived, eight beautiful couples were milling about a golden terrace, sipping sunset cocktails and making awkward pre-sex small talk. They were the world's most highly paid models--all female--and their trophy husbands, all of them buff, witty, and--it turned out--very eager to please.
Jaws dropped when I walked onto the terrace. Mouths actually gaped. Any self-consciousness I had about my bubble bum offending these lithe angels fled. In my enforced solitude at Father's estate, it's easy to forget how the press has built me up into something of a unicorn. "The Most Desirable Woman Of All Time" Vogue called me. Little me! And the more invitations I ignore, the more desirable I become it seems. You'd do well to bear that in mind sometimes, Bill. Anyway, you should've seen how these beauties converged on me. I felt like a zookeeper at feeding time.
So many flirty smiles. So many pink cheeks.
The host bowed and scraped and I ignored her, grabbed a glass and drained it, then reached for the tallest, poutiest, cheekboniest girl I could find. I pulled her face down to mine and kissed her hungrily. She tasted as good as she looked, and perhaps she felt the same about me, because she whimpered in my mouth then melted and hummed on my tongue. My hand sought her husband's approval with a huntress will of its own, grabbing the swelling lump in his trousers. He very much approved. In seconds, with a flourish, and without unsuckering from his wife, I had his trousers unfastened and his naked rod bucking in my palm.
The onlookers laughed. Some clapped. All drew closer.
"A room," I said to my glowing host. "Now." Then I strode after her with a beautiful woman in one hand and a beautiful cock in the other. "All of you. Come," I demanded. And not for the last time either.
In a blink and a sashay we were in a bedroom that jutted out from cliffs over the sea. Aside from a floor-to-ceiling panoramic view of the surf, the room was decorated in shades of stormcloud, including a cumulus bed set beneath a mirror--like a silver lining! The monochrome interior of stone and leather and silk seemed purpose-made to make us baubles pop.
Eight couples, that's sixteen people, smooched over me as we explored our possibilities. Other than the one cock I'd unwrapped, we were all still dressed, and the planet's finest fabrics slid over me, hinting at hardnesses and softnesses beneath. Wherever I turned, smiling lips met mine, and glorious perfumes, and hands slid over my arms and back, and, as I filled my grip with firm buttocks and hard fronts and pert breasts, so my admiring crowd's hands returned the favour. I felt like a ball of dough being deliciously kneaded, but also deliciously needed.
Have you ever been adored by a crowd, Bill? I mean tenderly pawed at by sixteen beautiful, highly successful and tasteful people? For their pleasure? Well I can heartily recommend it.
I felt wrapped in some fabulous creature intent on my pleasure, thirty-two hands stroking and squeezing, sixteen mouths seeking mine, or just any bit of skin, and pulling my clothes aside to find it. It was a girl who first discovered I was naked under my dress, because I remember the purr of delight and the claws digging into my bum. My knees wobbled but even gravity didn't matter against this kind of sexual force and my toes left the floor, born aloft by hungry doting. I threw back my head and laughed and the mirrored ceiling showed me flat out and held high, like a stage-diving rock-star, caught and totally in the hands of her adoring fans.
I watched my Ballenciaga unfurl itself from my body and snake away, leaving me naked and exquisitely vulnerable among the elegantly dressed crowd--this beast of a thousand mouths. Happy lips found the places they craved with moans and giggles. My feet parted, and touches got cheeky on my inner thighs and abdomen, spiralling in but still restrained. I was like a starfish floating on an ocean of caresses, being loved up by soft, hot jellyfish.
They turned me this way and that for their delight, while I squirmed in their grip to kiss whoever I could, wherever I could. More clothes peeled away, from my admirers this time, and soon nipples were offered to me, then, tipping me almost upside down, bouncy bottoms met my kisses, and sweet sexes, some yielding and wet, others hot and hard. Meanwhile a thousand little kisses rained down on my breasts and bottom and, at last, my clamouring sex. Then held like a bloom into which they nuzzled and cooed.
My adorers sat me in the middle of the bed, and there were so many naked bodies pressed in on me, I was bewildered by sweeping curves and veiny muscles, all smoothed in every shade of brown and bronze and pink, all shoving or spreading for me. I worked by touch alone, exploring proffered limbs with fingers or lips or tongue in order to determine their masculine or feminine form. Even unexpected combinations of both: a girl stood astride my lap to offer me a kiss with her rudest lips, but a huge and eager penis slid under her from behind until I was licking and sucking both at once. Remember when Gabrielle did this for us, Bill? I didn't, I was enjoying the juicy meat in my mouth too much. Then my eyelids grew heavy. Tongues took turns beneath my splayed, kneeling thighs--and bodies seemed to morph. I mean one minute I'd be running my tongue down the lovely grooves of some epic abs, but just as I got to the great club I was after, the shapes all changed into a bottom, which bent over to present a sopping slot and little pink knot, which melted on my tongue into lovely warm balls dropping into my upturned mouth.
All the while, men rutted at any soft cleft on my body, while women rubbed wetly on any lump, and my mouth couldn't keep up with the demands of it. My cunt, licked by two, sometimes three people at once, fizzled like a firecracker.
Too much. So I put my foot down. "Stop," I said. "Girls, wait. Men, fuck me." I stretched out on my side, cocked a leg, and reached under to spread my cunt and bum cheeks wide."Fuck all of me."
What do you think of that, Bill? Would you like that? To fuck my cunt and my arse? Or would you agonise over it, but fuck Gabrielle instead? Well, all eight of these muscle-bound fuckers leapt right to it.
The women stopped feeding off me to become my handmaidens, manoeuvring their husbands into place for my pleasure. There was a rush for my cunt at first, but I made them promise this was an "excuse me" dance, and all should move on if asked to do so. I also told them that no man could come without my permission and when they came they should do so together and, most importantly, withdraw. I wanted to watch them explode on me. Women were to make sure their men behaved, but in the process could cum as much as they--we--liked. Lucky us.
So, Dear Diary, dear Bill, dear Father, dear Strangers, I was utterly, utterly fucked. Cunt, anus and mouth obviously, but also my hollow fists too as I rubbed a couple of monsters on my nipples. Even the soft pads of my feet joggled on a couple of clubs and my ears were teased by dancing tongues while another cockhead pattered on my giddy clitoris.
I shut my eyes and let myself get profoundly stretched and deeply stuffed. After so long denying myself I felt like an itch was finally, properly getting scratched. Sorry Bill. But isn't that how you felt fucking Gabrielle?
The women did a marvellous job of synchronising their men and licking--or dripping on!--cock tips so they were always slippy on nipples or clit or toes. I felt like I was being force-fed pleasure. The dough of me was pulled this way and that, to let new configurations get access to my arse and cunt and clit, while a constant delicious rut of cocks presented themselves to my mouth and fists for a royal blowjob-cum-titwank.
What started as sensuous, almost exploratory slidings, deep in and out of me, became harder and demanding. I grew needy too, taking meat into my throat, and grinding hard at thrusts down below, possessed of the delirious notion that I might get all the cocks to knock together in my middle. I gobbled at every end. Even my hands milked hard and fast. Even my feet!
