ACT FOUR, SCENE ONE

a few days after our last chapter:
Friday 21st May 2032,
but very early in the morning, after a long night:
The Corn Exchange, Cambridge

We will, we will FUCK YOU!

chanted the crowd.

We will, we will FUCK YOU!

“What a night, eh?!” Cunts bellowed as she and Hildegard leapt on the podium. “What a fucking night!” The crowd cheered raucously.

“Fuckers!” shouted Cunts. “Need I remind you of how far we have come?! The crowd started to chant: “Cunts! Cunts! Cunts!”

Emma Jane gestured for calm. “Fuckers,” she continued, “a mere four years ago, the European Union chose to turn its back on the chaos of war and disease, by welcoming the Enlightenment – abandoning the narrow-mindedness and moral repression of the past, realising that society would only be truly fulfilled, and Europe’s pre-eminence and independence could only be secured, if they accepted the pursuit of Pleasure as their primary goal. There were many who said that Britain would never follow that path – that we were bound to remain mired in prudishness, class privilege, nepotism, inclusivity, ‘love’: all those meaningless, pointless watchwords which achieved nothing save deprive us of our true destiny as free fuckers. When Hildegard and I founded the UK Fuckers Party three and a half years ago, we knew that the establishment would hate us, and would do their best to bring us down. But a new King and Queen, and a new generation of political leaders, saw the Light: we have rejoined Europe, and with the passing of the Societal Reconstruction Act last year the government was able to roll out Flexible Fertility and Genetic Modification to the whole country, allowing all our citizens to be freed from the shackles which prevented them from realising their full fucking potential.”

There was a huge cheer from the crowd, during which Cunts passed the microphone to Hildegard, who continued: “Comrades! Now, with this election, we hold the balance of power and, make no mistake, we intend to use it! If the Labour Party wants any part in the next government, they must embrace the Enlightenment in its fullness – and that means reshaping society from the bottom up: the end of love, the end of jealousy, the end of monogamy. We will make this a fucking nation, a fuckers’ nation. Anyone who tries to impede our progress – any Objectors, Undesirables, reactionary religious groups, disloyal ethnic minorities – these no longer have a place in our land!”

A new wave of cheering erupted from the crowd – though, it must be admitted, not quite as enthusiastic as that which had greeted Emma Jane’s speech. “And so,” continued Hildegard, “let us stand together to sing our anthem, The Interfucktionale!”

Arise ye fuckers from your slumbers
Arise ye lovers of wet cunt
For Pleasure in revolt now thunders
And at last ends the age of cant.

Hildegard’s tenor voice was strong and compelling, and some of those Party operatives on the podium joined in with her – but most of the crowd were not in the mood for such sincere and idealistic hymnody. Heady with their victory, and fired more by lust than political idealism, they began to chant over Hildegard:

We will, we will FUCK YOU!
We will, we will FUCK YOU!

And they proceeded to do just that. All around the hall, men and women alike were stripping off. Soon cocks were being sucked, cunts eaten, assholes penetrated with joyous abandon. Groups of the party faithful formed daisy chains of fuckers, writhing on the ground as they indiscriminately pleasured each other’s genitals. Some stood on the sidelines, jerking their cocks or fingering their cunts while watching the scene unfold. Banners hung from all the walls, decorated with pictures of tits and ass and pussy, proclaiming what everyone knew to be the glorious truth:

VICTORY TO THE FUCKERS PARTY:
THE PARTY OF THE NEW ENLIGHTENMENT!

The chanting grew, accompanied inevitably by the rhythmic clapping pattern everyone knew. Hildegard tried to keep up her Interfucktionale, bellowing as best as she could:

Away with all your moral scruples
Flaccid dicks arise, arise…

But Emma Jane Cuntslicker read the room the way Hildegard couldn’t. She knew what the Party faithful wanted: not philosophy, but filth. Grabbing the microphone, she began to chant:

Pussy, you’re a wet cunt, hot cunt
Fuckin’ in the street, gonna take a big cock today
You got cum on your face, you big disgrace
Fuckin’ your ass all over the place, singin’
We will, we will FUCK YOU!

“Sing it!” Cunts shouted. And they did just that. They sang, they fucked, they stamped and clapped, and they fucked as they sang:

We will, we will FUCK YOU!
We will, we will FUCK YOU!

Hildegard was momentarily bewildered, perhaps even annoyed at having the limelight taken away from her – but Cunts knew that this was the beginning of something utterly new and great: a people, a party, and soon to be a whole nation devoted to Pleasure, devoted to fucking, stripped of their inhibitions, having cast off their shame at the altar of the New Enlightenment.

“We will fuck you! This is it, Hildy: nothing can stop us now!”

Hildegard looked at the crowd, now fucking and sucking and cumming with unstoppable lust, and she knew it was true, and she saw that it was good. “You wonderful, fuck-obsessed, filthy little cunt!” she exclaimed to Emma Jane. “Fuck me!”

And Emma Jane did. Tearing off both her own and Hildegard’s clothes, she grabbed her blond fuckbuddy and wrestled her to the ground, grinding their cunts together in a tight scissors-lock. “Fuck me, Hildy!” she exclaimed. “Now we can fuck as we please! Pure fucking Pleasure will rule this nation – forever!”

Soon the two party leaders were rolling and writhing on the ground, their tongues frantically penetrating each other’s mouths, their sweaty tits slipping and squelching against each other, their cunts flaring and grinding. Their colleagues and supporters gathered round, frigging their cunts and jerking their cocks in a heady cocktail of ideology and lust as they watched and cheered their fucking co-leaders. And as Hildegard and Emma Jane climaxed together, their bodies twitching and pulsating as they screamed their ecstasy to the world, their colleagues gathered around to release their own juices. Cocks exploded and cunts squirted, and soon the writhing rising leadership of the Fuckers Party were being splattered with male and female cum which doused and coated their bodies, turning them into a gorgeous, creamy, wriggling mess.

We will, we will FUCK YOU!

chanted the crowd, as the two young women kissed, slurping jizz off each other’s faces and guzzling it down.

But it was not long before they noticed that someone had joined them. Hildegard noticed it first, as she felt a new tongue slurping across her cum-coated cunt. Cunts and Hildegard broke their slobbering kiss to look down and saw a pretty girl with reddish brown hair tied back in a high ponytail, naked apart from a Fuckers Party branded tank top and a red-cross nurse’s cap, devotedly slurping fuck-gloop off their bodies.

“Hey,” Hildegard grinned. “Who are you, pretty bitch?” she asked.

“Hello, Miss Hildegard. Hello, Miss Cuntslicker. My name is Dolores. I belong to you now.”

INTERMEZZO

the same morning
(Friday 21st May 2032, in case you had forgotten)
in the editorial pages of a highly respected broadsheet newspaper

The recent success in the General Election of the Party of the Enlightenment (dubbed by all its supporters the ‘Fuckers Party’) should not have taken us by surprise – but it did, which is surely yet another sign of how out of touch not only the British political establishment but also the national media are with the zeitgeist. Those of us old enough to remember may well compare last night’s result with the shock we felt at the Brexit vote in 2016. But whither Britain now? The Fuckers’ leaders appear in no mood to downplay their success. They know, as do any of us who dare to be honest about it, that no one will be able to form a government without them – and they are determined to impose their full agenda on the country: principally, rejoining the EU, where already all the most extreme elements of the Fuckers’ manifesto are commonplace, reshaping the whole of society to embrace “free fucking” as not merely the new norm, but the new sine qua non. Co-leader Hildegard “Fotzenficker” (yes, you read that right) insists upon the “purification” of British society of any objectors – whom she, somewhat indelicately, terms “Undesirables”. Her colleague Emma Jane “Cuntslicker” (where will it end?), affectionately referred to by her followers as “Cunts” (of course), is perhaps slightly less strident than her German colleague, but she is no cuddly compromiser: it is her intention, she says, to found a “Royal Academy of Fucking” to spearhead the transformation of society. And already she has organized a highly successful public “Exfucktion Rebellion” in central London (slogan: “Just fuck arse”), which neither municipal nor police authorities deemed it worthwhile interfering with. The Fuckers seem to be moving faster than anyone around them can react, and taking the public with them.

We do not envy the leadership of the Labour Party, who cannot escape their Hobson’s Choice: throw their lot in with the Fuckers and form a coalition, or risk the collapse of our polity entirely? If they seek the advice of our new King, we suspect that they may find him firmly under the sticky thumb of his Californian Queen, who has already publicly endorsed Bates buttplugs as “good for your spiritual health”. So perhaps the outcome is inevitable…

ACT FOUR, SCENE TWO

Just a few months after the last flashback:
Sunday 16th January 2033,
Northolt Aerodrome, West London.
No music required;
sometimes silence makes the best soundtrack.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please. Today’s Expulsion Flight will shortly be ready for boarding. Please proceed into the Terminal Building to have your luggage inspected and your papers checked. Please remember that only registered Undesirables are eligible for free transport: ethnic minorities, antediluvian religious adherents, or conscientious objectors to the New Enlightenment. You are limited to one suitcase each. 

It was a cold winter’s day outside Northolt Aerodrome, where the Daniels family gathered shivering and huddled together in the weak sunlight, one family among many in a sea of mainly dark, disturbed faces. John carried one suitcase in each hand, his face set with grim determination. Rosie clutched and clawed at her children as if by holding them tighter she could somehow delay the dreaded but inevitable parting. Tears coursed down her face as she gazed down at Eva bundled in her arms, and six-year-old Robbie, bewildered and fearful, clinging to her legs. With them stood a dark-skinned young man, cassock and clerical collar marking him out as a priest.

“Why do you have to go, Mummy?” asked the boy.

“Because it is not safe for Mummy and Daddy here anymore, Robbie,” said Rosie. “But don’t worry, Father Ambrose will keep you safe. You like Father Ambrose, don’t you, darling? He’s very kind, isn’t he?” Father Ambrose forced a smile.

“Yes, Mummy… but I don’t want you to leave us! Why can’t we come with you?”

Rosie’s jaw trembled, and she looked at her husband with barely concealed desperation, as if by some miracle a solution, even at this eleventh hour, might be found. But John’s jaw was still set hard, imprisoning the turmoil behind his façade. “You’ll be better off here for now, Robbie.” Rosie spoke the words like a well-rehearsed script. “Where Mummy and Daddy are going we will be very poor; we may not have enough food for you and Evie. Father Ambrose will look after you for a while. As soon as we find a safe place to live and enough food for us all, we will come and get you; then we’ll all be together again, OK?”

Not far away, on a hard bench just inside the terminal building, Edward Turner sat brooding, his black suit and white collar marking him out as a man of the cloth. He too was in the turmoil of parting – though one might not have been able to tell that, as he sat alone and silent. But as he sat, he thought, and thought hard and deep, for he was a careful and sincere man.

“Come with me,” he had said to his beloved Olive, as she rode his cock one hot July night in his quarters at the Chaplaincy, her pussy sliding deftly up and down on his stiff dick. He clutched her to him, feeling her sweaty fulsome tits squidge against his chest, speaking as quietly as he could so as not to wake the Rector in the next apartment down the corridor, or the student boarders upstairs.

“Sure!” the dark-haired buxom girl replied. “Where? Pussy? Arse? Or on my face while you eat me out?”

Eddie laughed, his cock jiggling deep in Olive’s pussy. “No, no! I mean… come with me: come with me to the Outside World. Let’s leave this crazy place. I have family in southern Africa; we could start a new life together, both of us together. You and me…” He looked into Olive’s eyes, so bright and keen and beautiful – and he meant it. “Come with me…”

But the memory was interrupted by an announcement on the tannoy:

Final call for today’s Expulsion Flight. All Undesirables eligible for transportation please proceed immediately to the terminal.

“You know how to contact me, don’t you?” muttered Ambrose, sidling up to John, whilst Rosie continued to claw and clutch at her children.

“Tottenham Court Road, number 38B, isn’t it? Your new hideout…” John replied.

“Yes. I think it’ll be safe. The landlord is sympathetic and well-connected. So long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves. And – John, I’ll take good care of them, you know.”

“I know, Ambrose. And, despite what Rosie says, we know that we may never be able to come back for them; we understand that they may need to be brought up in the new ways – the ‘Enlightenment’ ways, you know?”

Ambrose grimaced. “We will probably all have to make all sorts of unpleasant compromises and sacrifices to survive, John. You and Rosie are making one. Your kids and I, and the others who are trying to stay, will have to make others. We’ll take it one day at a time.”

“You know that we’ve done the GM thing on Evie, don’t you? And they’ve both been sterilised: they won’t let us even register with a doctor now without it. I hate the thought of it – but we figured that if she’s going to survive growing up in this ‘brave new world’, we may as well give them the best chances we can… Are we doing a terrible thing, do you think?”

“John, these are strange times. Nothing is forever. The Church has been persecuted before – and every time she is, her members just do the best they can in that moment…”

Meanwhile, inside the terminal building, Eddie was counting out the contents of his wallet, and stuffing a large envelope with banknotes. He muttered under his breath, “Eighty… ninety… a hundred… one hundred and five thousand, three hundred and sixty-four euros.” The envelope was fat and bulging, but somehow, to Eddie, it seemed paltry, pathetic, almost insultingly so. “Well, that’s all I have. And I won’t need it where I’m going.” Eddie sealed the envelope tightly, took a pen out of his coat pocket, and wrote a name and address on the front in block capitals.

“No, Eddie, come on, this is silly,” Olive had said, lying on her back and looking up into Eddie’s eyes as he slid his hard cock in and out of her wetness one early autumn night. “You want to leave all this, leave this country, this continent – all because you’re scared of the Enlightenment? I mean, here you are fuckin’ me – ooh, that’s good, yes, grind it like that, against my clit, yeah nice! – but you don’t like it when the country starts to come clean, admit that all they ever really think about is fuckin’! I mean, fuckin’ makes people happy, doesn’t it? What’s wrong with that?”

Eddie paused, his huge cock half-in, half-out, glistening with Olive’s cunt-nectar. “Yes, my darling, fucking you makes me happy. But fucking you – not the entire world. I know I’m a hypocrite. We all are, to one extent or another. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t higher ideals: love, commitment, constancy – all those things that the Enlightenment threatens to outlaw. I want to love you, Olive, I want to be with you forever. I want…” Eddie pulled his cock out with a gentle squelch. Still stiff and massive, it waggled comically before her flaring vulva, as if demanding an audience.

Eddie paused. “Olive… my darling…” Eddie paused again to take a deep breath. “Olive Throstlethwaite, will you marry me?” Eddie’s cock continued to nod up and down in front of Olive’s crotch, as if willing her answer.

Olive looked up in astonishment. “Oh God! Really? Do you love me that much, Eddie? Me? I’m just a slut, you know. Do you really want to be saddled with a ‘sick, perverted, filthy fucking whore’ for the rest of your life? Here, fuck me first, Eddie – and then we’ll talk about it afterward. Put that monster dick back in me now…”

“Can I suggest a more poetic way of describing it?” he smirked, reaching for his Bible from the nightstand.

“You’re not tryin’ ‘a tell me Solomon wrote poems about cocks as well, are ya?” Olive giggled, as she ran her hand up and down the full length of Eddie’s thick shaft, feeling the coating of cunt-slime, and the veins pulsating beneath her fingers. “Did he like boys too?”

Eddie laughed. “No, no, but… here, read this,” he said. “Just substitute a word or two here and there,” he smirked.

Olive took the Bible, and focused on the lines Eddie was now pointing out to her with a slime-stained finger. She got the joke and cackled, before declaiming in mock-ecclesiastical tones:

Your cock is like the tower of David, built with courses of stone…
Your cock is like the tower of Lebanon looking toward Damascus!

“You fuckin’ perv, Eddie! I love you, you know that?”

FINAL CALL!

came the voice from the tannoy, so loud that the speakers crackled and fed back.

Final call for today’s Expulsion Flight!

The Daniels party, along with a few other last straggling families, made their way at last into the terminal building, John holding Robbie’s hand tightly while trembling Rosie clutched Eva to her breast. Amidst the sea of dark queueing faces, there were a few people of paler complexion – and Father Ambrose recognised one of them with a gasp. “Eddie!” he called, “Reverend Edward Turner!” – and the young curate on the bench looked up from his reverie.

“Father Ambrose de Conceicao!” exclaimed Eddie, standing to greet him. “Fancy that! You leaving too?”

“Er… no, Eddie,” said Ambrose, as they shook hands. “I’m staying for now. I’ve found a place in London where I think some of us can stay safe – for a while, at least. But I don’t blame you for fleeing while you can. I’ve come to see off some friends of mine: I’m going to be looking after their kids for a while, whilst they find their feet in the Outside World. Come, meet my friends John and Rosie, and their children Robbie…. and Eva.”

“Children…” Eddie muttered the word distractedly. “Oh God!” His face crumpled, and tears, which he had so far managed to bottle up, began to leak from his eyes. He turned away, muttering an embarrassed “I’m so sorry”. Ambrose did not understand what had so suddenly overcome his old acquaintance but did not pry.

“Eddie, I’m late,” Olive had intoned solemnly, as she crept quietly into his room, one midnight in December.

Eddie stood up from his desk, beaming with delight at his beloved’s arrival. “That’s all right, love: no such thing as too late for me!” He embraced her tightly, feeling her breasts squash against his chest, revelling in the fragrance of her skin and breath. His penis took seconds to rise in response, and he pressed his crotch against hers.

“No, no, Eddie,” remonstrated Olive, pushing him away and holding him at arm’s length so she could look directly into his eyes. “I mean… I’m late. Late.”

It took Eddie a few seconds to realise what she meant. “Oh!” he intoned blankly. His heart leapt, partly with joy and partly with dread, and for a few seconds, his mind swirled back and forth between these two poles. But the storm calmed rapidly, and then everything seemed so clear. “Are you sure? Have you tested?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Olive paused again, before nodding in the affirmative.

“You mean?”

“I got a baby.”

“And so do I then, no?” Eddie smiled.

“Yeah, it’s prob’ly yours. Yeah, I fink so…” Olive looked away, so as not to see his reaction.

Eddie was not deterred. “Oh, Olive, come, this is a sign, isn’t it? You, me, and a baby. That’s a family – that’s us. Even if I’m not the father, who else is going to look after you and the child? I’ll do it, love. Even King David made good on his mistakes, and took Bathsheba as his wife, didn’t he? I’ll love you as your husband, and the child as my own – our own. Come with me, my love, come. We could go to where I’ve got relatives in Africa, and start again, start afresh. There I’ll still be able to follow my vocation without all this Enlightenment nonsense ruining it all. Don’t you see? This was meant to be!”

Olive folded her arms. “Eddie,” she spoke cautiously, but firmly, “I’m not leavin’ this country. This ‘Enlightenment nonsense’, as you call it, is what I want. I’ve been the scum of society all my life, Eddie. Now they’re saying sex work is not just going to be legalised, it’s going to be promoted. ‘Filthy fuckin’ whores’ like me are goin’ to recognised as professionals. That woman Cuntslicker is setting up a Royal Academy of Fucking. Imagine! People like me will be able to get qualifications in fuckin’, be respected for what they are, for what they do! With the stigma removed, sex will be part and parcel of society – like it always shoulda been. Eddie, this is excitin’: I’m not gonna turn my back on this!”

“But have you heard what they’re saying, these Enlightenment people, Olive?” Eddie’s face contorted in pain. “This ‘Cuntslicker’ woman – she says, ‘The only solution is to completely separate the pleasure of sex from responsibility for family.’ How irresponsible can you get? And she says, ‘Love, like the state, must wither away!’ They’re talking about ‘refashioning the human being’ – and those who don’t want to be refashioned, thank you very much, are going to be expelled anyway! This isn’t sexual freedom, this is totalitarianism masquerading as liberalism. It’s so dangerous!”

“Oh Eddie, Eddie, they don’t really mean all that! OK, they say a lot of daft things – but they’re politicians. Politicians are always talking bullshit!”

“Yes, they are, darling – and that’s fine when, as is the case with most politicians, they’re total hypocrites in the first place. But these people, these ‘Fuckers’, they have convictions. People said before Hitler that he wouldn’t be so bad: if they had read Mein Kampf, they would have seen what was coming. I’m listening to what these ‘Fuckers’ are saying, and I think they mean it – and that will spell the end, not just of me and my life, but of civilisation as we know it!”

“Eddie. I’m not leaving. If you want me, then stay with me.”

“Olive. I can’t stay. If you want me, then please, I beg of you, come with me…”

“No,” she intoned blankly.

Eddie stood, jaw trembling, heart pounding, desperate, bereft.

“Will you keep the baby?” he muttered.

Olive paused, before replying quietly but firmly, “Yes. She’s mine.”

Eddie turned back to Ambrose and the Daniels family, wiping his eyes. “Sorry, Ambrose, it’s all just a bit much for me…”

“I know. I know, Eddie,” Ambrose sighed.

“Would you do me a favour, Ambrose?” asked Eddie, taking his envelope, heavy with its contents, out of his coat pocket, and handing it to the priest. “Could you deliver this by hand for me?”

Ambrose studied the name and address on the envelope. He raised his eyebrows with curiosity, but asked no questions. “Yes, certainly, Eddie.”

WOULD THE FINAL THREE PASSENGERS FOR TODAY’S EXPULSION FLIGHT MAKE THEIR WAY IMMEDIATELY TO THE GATE!!!

“Come, Rosie,” said John. “Time’s up. Here, Robbie, hold Father Ambrose’s hand. Rosie, now we have to let Father take Eva.”

Howling, Rosie handed over the bundle in her arms.

“Bye bye, Mummy. Bye bye, Daddy,” said Robbie.

“See you soon, darling,” Rosie blubbed.

“God bless you, John… Rosie… Eddie,” muttered Father Ambrose hoarsely. He turned and, with his two new charges, walked briskly out of the terminal building.

On the way, he glanced at Eddie’s envelope. On the front was a name in block capitals:

MISS O. THROSTLETHWAITE

and an address. He absent-mindedly turned it over and saw that on the back was written:

FOR YOUR DAUGHTER

Ambrose studied it. The “y” appeared to have been added later: unlike the rest of the letters, it had been scrawled more roughly – squeezed in, almost as an afterthought.

ACT FOUR, SCENE THREE

Twenty-seven and a half years later,
which means we’re back to the present day:
the evening of Friday 16th July 2060
but in the Outside World,
a long way away.

“How was Rosie today?” asked Alison, as she lay on her front on the bed.

Rob answered, but Alison couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, as his face was buried deep in the crack between her buttocks, nuzzling affectionately against her anus.

“Sorry?” she replied. “Take your tongue out of my asshole and say that again,” she giggled.

“My tongue is not in your asshole,” remonstrated Rob as he sat up, “well, not yet anyway. It’s just thinking about it, planning its attack, closing in,” he grinned. “And yeah, Mum was fine: not so lonely now Eva’s back living with her – but having to deal with all her angst at having broken up with Chad.” Rob leant forward again to resume sniffing the heavenly rich scent which wafted from Alison’s bottom.

“So sad, that, after all they’ve been through together,” said Alison.

“Mmm…” replied Rob in indistinct agreement. He did not try to say more, as he knew Alison wouldn’t understand him anyway, since his tongue was now beginning to delve into her ass-crack, probing up and down, gradually homing in on the beauteous puckered paradise which was its goal. Rob used both his hands to gently prise apart his wife’s buttocks, all the better to enable his tongue to finally make blessed contact with her tight brown hole. He began to lap gently, and Alison moaned with approval.

“I c’d do vis fowever!” exclaimed Rob in muffled intergluteal ecstasy – but sadly that was not to be, for at that moment the bedroom doorhandle rattled violently. “Muuum, Billy won’t let me sleep!” came a voice. The door was locked, however, so the interloper had to make do with banging on it in frustration.

“Shit,” whispered Alison under her breath, rolling her eyes, partly in frustration at the interruption, and partly in ecstasy – for now the fingers of Rob’s right hand were stroking gently up and down her back as he slurped, and the middle finger of his left was beginning to probe between her pussy-lips. “What’s he doing?” Alison called out loud. Rob giggled, his nose jiggling between Alison’s ass-crack.

“He keeps chucking things at me!” came the whining voice through the door.

“Well, tell him if he doesn’t stop, Dad will come and take away… er, whatever he’s chucking at you,” Alison called back, before muttering another dual-purpose “shit” under her breath, as Rob’s nectar-soaked middle finger began caressing her clit and his spit-moistened thumb slid deftly between her cunt-lips.

“BILLYYY!” The voice was loud, though retreating along with its caller’s footsteps down the corridor. “Mum says stop it, or Dad’ll come and take away your tool kit!”

“Fuck,” whispered Alison, as she raised her buttocks so she could kneel on the bed and Rob could begin to tease her now dripping cunt-lips with the head of his stiff black cock. “Oh, that feels so good!” she continued in her well-practised fucked-mum-whisper. “Go on, love, fuck me with that monster!”

Rob did, sliding his thick shaft deep into her depths, glorying in the exquisite pleasure of her slimy flesh caressing and squeezing him all the way in. “Oh fuck,” squeaked Alison surreptitiously into her pillow, “That’s so fucking good! Fuckfuckfuckfuckf–”

“MUUUUM!” A new voice shouted through the bedroom door. “Janey’s lying. I wasn’t throwing my tools at her, only some of the nuts and bolts!”

Rob paused his fucking, his big black cock half-in, and half-out, the shaft glistening in the half-light. “Shit…” groaned Alison into her pillow, before calling out, “All right, Billy. Just stop it now and go to sleep – or you’ll wake the others! It’s late, and you’ve got sch–”

“Yeah, but now Janey’s throwing everything back at me! She’s –”

“BILLY AND JANEY, BED NOW!” bellowed Rob, in his frustration withdrawing his cock completely and making his way towards the locked bedroom door, cock glistening and waggling before him as he reached for his dressing gown. There was the sound of two pairs of feet scurrying away down the corridor, followed by a door slamming, then silence.

“Fuck,” muttered Rob, before joining in with Alison’s giggling.

“Aw, your cock’s gone all soft,” chuckled Alison in her best whisper. “Here, I know what’ll make you feel better,” she added, turning herself onto her back, lifting her buttocks, and spreading them so that her asshole could wink invitingly at her husband.

“Ooh, to what do I owe this rare privilege?” Rob’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.

“Well, piles not too bad this week, maybe?” smirked Alison. “And besides, you’ve slobbered all over them really nicely, it would seem a shame not to take advantage of the natural lubricant!” added Alison, probing the squelchy folds of her external haemorrhoids invitingly with one slender finger. Rob gazed at her body with undimmed delight, as his cock regained its full stiffness. Her asshole was indeed puffier and flappier than it had been ten years prior, and her pussy was slacker and less symmetrical than when they had first met, even sporting a barely-noticeable scar from a near-decade-old perineal tear – and, of course, she had not had stretch marks then. But now her body was richly curved, her breasts larger and fuller than ever, gleaming and flowing with experience and purpose.

“Say no more!” Rob skipped gleefully back to the bed and knelt in front of Alison’s buttocks, poising his hard cockhead just in front of Alison’s winking rosebud.

“You don’t mean that, do you?” replied his wife. “Surely you want me to say a lot more?”

“Oh Jesus, of course I do, baby. Go on, give me some of that good ol’ Bates Butts fuck-talk!”

“Like on the train?” She winked her asshole again, three times in succession and with perfect control: little, medium and wide – demonstrating that the past ten years had not diminished her superlative anal technique.

“Oh fuck,” moaned Rob in admiration and desire, “yes, just like on the train!” He leant in to kiss his wife full on the lips, pushing his glans gently against Alison’s puffy brown hole, which parted welcomingly with the same ease it always had.

“Fuck,” moaned Alison, before whispering: “OK, fuck-talk perv, come on, put that fucking black dick right where I shit! What are you waiting for?”

Rob laughed – and Alison laughed with him: a pair of happy loving fucking spouses who knew each other’s history and foibles so well that everything was a joy. Rob felt Alison’s asshole smooching and squelching against his dickhead as he leant into it, his cock sliding slow but deep into her hot rectum. Alison’s genetically modified anus was still slick as cunt, clean and lubed as ever, and a groan of ecstasy escaped from Rob as his balls slapped against Alison’s buttocks. Alison continued her signature fuck-talk, giggling into his shoulder: “Oh yeah, Mister Daniels, you wanna assfuck your white MILF with that huge black dick of yours? You –”

But there was another knock at the door. “Mummy,” came a quiet squeaky voice. “Why are you making so much noise?”

Husband and wife froze, Rob’s cock buried to the hilt in Alison’s ass, before Alison called out: “Sorry, darling, Mummy and Daddy love each other very much; we’ll try to be quieter now. Go back to bed, Claire darling…” They listened as another pair of small feet shuffled back along the corridor, and another bedroom door creaked shut in the distance.

“Fuck,” muttered Rob. “Three down, one to go.”

“Yeah, and it’s about time for him to start mithering soon: we’d better get on with it!”

“Well, what can you do to persuade me?” whispered Rob, as he began again to slide his cock in and out of Alison’s squelchy ass.

“Do I need to persuade you?” giggled Alison, before whispering in the quietest mum-voice she could muster, “I thought Mister Daniels liked pile-driving my fucking shithole? Don’t you wanna clean out my fuck-stables with that horse-cock of yours, Mister fucking Daniels?”

“Oh fuck,” whispered Rob, as he revelled, not only in Alison’s verbal overload but also in the glorious sensation of his cock pounding in and out of his beloved’s rectal depths. He fucked his wife’s asshole with more joyous desire than ever. He fucked it because it was hot and slimy as a cunt on heat. He fucked it because he adored its owner, adored her curvy body, adored her tits squidging against his chest, adored her wet cunt smooching and flaring against his crotch. And he adored her for all that she had given him: ten years, and counting, of love, and life, and purpose, and hope. He gazed in wonder at her pretty face, those keen brown eyes, those soft pink lips – now mischievously whispering a torrent of barely-audible verbal filth into his ear: “You like fucking your anal-slut wife, Mister Daniels? Here, let me come on top where I belong; I wanna ride that fucking cock till you come in my shit-chute, baby!”

Deftly – without detaching cock from asshole – they switched positions, Alison now squatting upright facing her husband, one hand propping herself up so she could bounce her gape up and down on Rob’s huge black prong, her other hand frantically rubbing her pussy, squelching five happy fingers into and around her slack cunt-folds. The rhythmic sound of anal cock-squelch, and the slap of buttocks against balls, now joined Alison’s carefully whispered fuck-talk: “You gonna squirt your cum in my shitcunt, Mister Daniels? Swill out my asshole with that dick-slime of yours? Fill my brown hole with all your fucking cock-cream? You come and bust up my fucking chifforobe, boy, and I’ll give you a fucking… oh no… oh s h i t!”

The last “oh shit” was not part of Alison’s script. It was whispered sharply, in frustration at the new sound she heard, coming from the room next door. Rob did not hear it at first, of course: his mind was on his cock, throbbing and twitching at his impending orgasm, and on the smooth lubricated anal tunnel pounding up and down on it. But Alison, after years of training, instinctively knew the significance of that little squeak. She froze. “Oh fuck, here he goes, Rob; do we interrupt, or go for it?”

But Rob was past the interrupting stage. His cum was already rising through his shaft, his glans growing stiffer and harder in anticipation of the ecstatic release already on its way. “Can’t stop now oh oh oh,” he moaned, fucking his cock desperately upwards into Alison’s ass, “Sorry is that all… all r– oh God… I’m f–”

Alison knew what his incoherent ramblings meant. She resumed and accelerated her ass-pounding, felt Rob’s cock scrape harder and faster against her rectal walls, felt her clit grow and throb, and felt her own orgasm approaching. But then there was another high-pitched squeak from the next room and, a few seconds later, another, and she began to feel – “oh shit” – that tell-tale tingling in her breasts, as milk began to drip from her nipples. It was too late to stop now and impossible to control, so Alison went for the sprint, her hand a blur on her desperate clit, her asshole pounding harder and faster onto Rob’s now-exploding cock.

As Rob’s cum flooded joyously into her rectum, she felt her cunt spasm, felt her breasts squirt, releasing little hissing fountains down onto her husband’s face. Rob was past caring, pulling his beloved wife closer so he could slobber all over her nipples, tasting the sweetness, glorying in the wet, milky, sweaty goodness all over his face, feeling his cock continue to twitch and jerk deep in Alison’s cream-filled rectum. Alison wanted to scream, wanted to shout “OH YEAH FUUUUUUUCK!” to the world like the true Enlightenment slut she was, but, still mother-mindful of the need to be silent, she bit her lip, imprisoning her orgasmic screech within as her cunt and ass continued to spasm and she felt her husband’s shaft probe and swash within her cum-filled rectum.

Under her breath Alison squealed a silent series of “fuck fuck fuck”s as she came down from her peak. But by now the intermittent squeaking from next door had become a full-throated wail, and milk was dripping insistently down Alison’s chest. “Shit,” she giggled. “Back soon!” She lifted her asshole off Rob’s cock and unceremoniously farted her assful of man-cum onto his cock and balls, before dancing to the bedroom door, throwing a sarong around her waist, unlocking the door, and letting herself out. A trickle of cum ran down her thigh, leaving little spots of semen on the tiled floor in her wake.

Insistent wailing filled the house for some ten seconds, before being dampened by the presentation of a full breast; then silence fell again.

To be continued…