Hey fuckers! The name’s Ouettecunte: Claire Ouettecunte. But I think you know that already, right? This story is all about me, see: me and my pretty wet cunt – isn’t that totally fucking?
So, Mom and Dad and Jack have at last allowed me to write a chapter. It was hard persuading them. They think I’m a bit dumb. But I think I’m just smart in different ways from them. They complain that I can’t spell or write proper English. But I have this friend to help me, see: Grusha Vashnadze, who is a proper porn-writer who can actually spell. Now, I know what you’re imagining from the name: a hot Russian whore, tall, dark, elegant, with a tight cunt ready to fuck you to hell and gone, right? Well, no, sorry, not exactly – but, I mean, we have this deal, see? Basically, I do the fucking, and Grusha does the writing. We each have our talents – so don’t diss Grusha, or me – OK?
Anyway, it’s Monday 19th September 2050, the first day of term at the Royal Academy of Fucking, London. I’m kneeling here on the floor, in the big entrance lobby, gargling a mouthful of my big brother’s cum. And I’m about to empty said mouthful of cum into the face of a pretty brunette slut who has been rubbing her cunt off while watching me suck said big brother’s dick. Fucking, huh?
So, how did I get here? Well, it’s pretty straightforward, really. Jack’s told you about my audition – which, frankly, I aced. OK, they asked me all sorts of bullshit questions – but I figured if I just fucked right they’d come over to my way of looking at things, which is, basically, just shut up and fuck – I mean, am I right or am I right? I mean, history of fucking, philosophy of fucking: who gives a fucking shit, right? Those that can, fuck; those that can’t, should fuck off and stop asking stupid questions.
Sorry, Grusha says I should get off my soapbox now. Hehe. Well, anyway, back to the audition…
I could tell by the way Dr Dick came hard on my face that he liked me. And Anna the admissions secretary gave herself a huge, noisy, four-fingered frig while watching me taking three loads of jizz. Professor Cuntslicker was more in control of herself – I get the impression she’s just like that – but, hey, she recognises quality in a fucker, doesn’t she?
So, the following Saturday morning, back in Little Dicking, the postman delivered my acceptance letter, just as me and Jack were practising – no, perfecting – our sixty-nine technique upstairs, Mom was fucking her apple Danish in the kitchen, and Dad was boning the French maid, the dental assistant, and the policewoman. The postman offered to stay and help with the fucking, actually, but Dad just took the letter and chased him away. Shame – maybe next time…
Anyway, yesterday me and Jack came up to London again on the train to get me settled in. Mom and Dad wanted to drive me up – but Jack said he wanted to get one last morning blowjob from me before I start my term. We travelled First Class Fucking, which was nice because we were sharing a compartment with a pair of big-titted girls from Bristol (yeah, where else?) – so Jack got to bone their jugs a lot. Jack doesn’t normally like titfucking me or Mum, because we’ve both got such itty-bitty boobies – so this was a special treat for him: he loved putting his cum on their big nipples and then watching them lick it off each other. Cute, huh?
So anyway, after arriving in London, we found my room, which is in a student residence just north of Regents Park, called Fuckers’ Hall. Then we had a sort of fuck-crawl around Cuntden Town, got a bit drunk, and… well, I woke up with a sticky cunt, so who knows what went on in there…
This morning, I want to look my best for my first day at the RAF. So I get Jack to help me shave my slit so it’s smooth and shiny. To be honest, he’s not much help: he just kneels between my legs ogling the pink and asking stupid questions. (“Can I stick a finger in there, sis?” Answer: “Not while I’ve got a fucking razor in my hands, dickhead!” … “Can I lick your clit, sis?” Answer: “Not unless you want me to slice your fucking tongue off!” Jesus, how dumb can guys get? It’s like, faced with a piece of hot pussy, all attempt at rational thought goes out the window – know what I mean?) But I do let Jack apply moisturiser afterwards, though he takes forever doing it (“Sure you don’t want me to rub some more in, sis – just to be on the safe side?”) He gets a big boner, of course, doing all this – but there’s no time to do anything about that now, as we have to get dressed to go. I decide to wear a tank-top and my best pair of torn jeans, with holes in all the right places (knees, ass, cunt etc.) – I mean, I did say I want to look my best, right?
The walk across the park to the Royal Academy is not far, and it’s a lovely warm morning. People are out relaxing in the sun: some picnicking, some jogging, some sitting chatting on park benches, some just fucking. That’s what I love about London: so much fucking! We pass by a bukkake party in full swing under a big oak tree. There’s a skinny dark-haired girl wearing reflective shades lying on a picnic blanket while a bunch of guys stand around jerking off onto her face. “Love the shades!” I shout out. I mean, really, that’s good planning for a bukkake party, don’t you think? Why haven’t I ever thought of that?
A bit further along, there’s a hot blonde with big tits sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette. She’s wearing a pink bikini and thigh-length latex boots, and she’s pulled her thong to one side so she can dildo her pussy. She shuts her eyes as she blows smoke-rings into the air. “Nice colour scheme!” I call out: I mean, pink bikini, pink boots, pink dildo, pink cunt – what’s not to love?
As we reach Maryleboner Road we pass a brand new city-run gloryhole station. The billboard reads:
Blowjobs provided courtesy of the City of Wankminster: only 100 euros.
and a bunch of guys are there feeding their dicks through a shiny new aluminium wall behind which lurk, presumably, a row of kneeling underpaid oral chav whores. I mean, isn’t London a great city? There’s nothing like that down in Little Dicking. Before I know it Jack’s got his dick out and is about to pay his hundred euros. “Hey, I thought I was gonna suck you off!” I complain.
“Any law against having two blowjobs in one morning?” he counters.
He has a point. “But,” I say, “I wanna eat your first load this morning. After that, if you’re still horny, you can come back here, OK…?”
Now the RAF is an amazing place. In the entrance hall there are all these photos on the walls of their various alumni fucking, plus some of the most famous fuckers of the Olden Days: Traci Lords, Ginger Lynn, Nina Hartley, Kimberly Carson… But best of all, there’s this huge mural on the back wall, of this big cock fucking a shiny pink pussy, along with the words:
Welcome to the RAF: We Train the Fuckers of the Future.
“Fuckers of the Future”? That’s me, fuck-pervs – woohoo!
So, I pick up my “National Diploma in Fucking” Welcome Pack from the reception desk, and me and Jack sit down on a couch to leaf through it. It contains a lot of glossy brochures, with pictures of people fucking in boardrooms, planes, construction sites, schools, hospitals, prisons – you get the idea… But other than that it’s rather boring, and pretty soon I am losing interest, and instead start looking around watching the lobby fill up with other students. Most of them are sitting chatting, having cups of coffee, reading or fucking.
There are two blondes on the divan opposite us doing a lesbian sixty-nine. I’ve done that with Mom a few times, and it’s really nice. But the way these girls are doing it, with one on top and the other on the bottom – well, it looks hot, but top girl is having trouble getting any further south than bottom girl’s clit, before she suffocates in the cushion. Shame: they should either swap positions more frequently, or go on their sides…
There’s a redhead over the other side of the hall lying on her back stuffing large vibrators up her asshole: clearly training her gape. Frankly, it looks painful to me. I am reassured by the fact that the prospectus for the NDF course says we’re not doing anal till the spring term – which gives me a while to get into training. The girl pulls a fist-wide dildo out of her shit-chute and stretches her ass cheeks wide so I can see deep into her rectum. “Guck mal,” I mutter. (Actually, that’s something Jack always says when he sees a really nice gaping asshole. He taught me to say it: it’s… I dunno, French or something, and it means – well, actually I don’t know what the fuck it means, but it sounds good. And Jack looks up and laughs.
The receptionist at the desk is titfucking his colleague: I can’t say I blame him, as she’s none other than Anna the admissions secretary, and she’s got lovely huge melons which jiggle and bounce all over. And the sixty-nine girls have realised now, so they’ve changed position and they’re both on their sides. Nice move, bitches!
Off to the side of the reception desk, there’s a black girl sitting on her own. Don’t see many Undesirables in this country these days. Mom says there used to be more in the Olden Days, before they started expelling them all. This girl is hot, though: she’s skinny, with big pierced tits, and a pretty face framed by her loose afro hair. For some reasons, she looks pretty miserable. I almost feel like going over to say m’ pussy or something, but Jack interrupts: “Hey, listen to this, sis-slut.” He points to a page in the Welcome Pack. “Here’s a ‘Historical Timeline of the Enlightenment’. Did you know FFT was only invented in 2023?”
“What the fuck’s FFT?”
“‘Flexible Fertility Technology’ – allowing the flawless breeding of human beings in vitro –”
“Oh? How did they used to breed human beings?” I ask.
“Don’t you know anything, sis?” chuckles Jack. But he doesn’t answer my question; instead he goes on reading:
2030 – the Great Expulsion: from the European Union, of any non-sterilised specimens of Undesirables or Objectors;
2031 – the Societal Reconstruction Act (SRA), allowing parents to select GMs for their offspring in vitro – helping to create a society where everyone is beautiful and sexy, and Pleasure is universally available;