10 May 2021

Last night was the worstest night's sleep ever. No sooner had I burrowed my head down into the pillows and squirmed happily to make myself a cosy nest beneath the bedding than the remote control, vibrating, princess plug started buzzing in my bottom. Well, at first I thought it was broken and would soon stop, but on and on it went, buzzing and pulsing and throbbing and quivering in my tight, spasmy, anal passage. All of which turned the microclimate of my sodden-cuntedness into a tropical rainforest with Amazonian possibilities. Now I'm a bouncy, perky, pokie, sort of girl so I did the only thing I could think of and stuffed as many fingers as would fit into my sodden-cuntedness to stem the flow. 

That might have been a mistake because no sooner were they buried amongst the sopping wetness than they started wiggling and rubbing up against the vibrating princess in my bum like three anacondas trapped in the Amazon's mighty flow. Well, Mumsy had said that now I was a consuming adult and blessed with organisms that sometimes organisms would happen whether or not I wanted them to. What she hadn't said is that they would go on all night. 

If that wasn't enough, I was worried. Would Candy's Mumsy be okay with all the broken, remote control, vibrating thingys still filling her fuckety-holes? Was Mumsy having to tend and care for her as her body jerked, ravaged by supernova organisms? And what was I going to wear to school tomorrow because my scrummy cheerleader outfit wasn't anything like my dreary old school uniform? 

What an unnecessary worry-wart I'd been because when I bounced out of bed, a glowing, post-organismistic, vision of perky, pokie, sodden-cuntedness, and looked in my wardrobe there was my scrummy, new, constructionist adult, school uniform. And before you could say 'sexualised, cliché perpetuated by patrimonial figureheads for their own perverted gratification', I'd wiggled into my charcoal, pleated, flicky, micro-mini skirt and managed to secure the white, near-sheer, tie-fronted, cropped, blouse between my perky, pokie, breasticules, and pulled the over-knee socks to midway up my thighs, and pushed my toesies into the black, patent leather, ankle-strap, shoes with their five-inch, metal, stiletto heel. Which just left twirling provocatively in front of my full-length mirror, alternating between pressing my barely contained perky, pokies into a canyonesque vision of fleshy delight, and blowing kisses at my reflection with my stingy-bee lips. And with all that done I was ready for my Coco Pops. 

Now I'd never walked in five-inch, spiked, heels before and it's not as easy as it looks, but because I'm a flirty, bouncy, girl who is not easily put out of her stride, by the time I'd reached the school gate I'd mastered and mistressed it. And, even if I do say so myself, my hips were sultrily swaying, my gorgeously rounded and enticing buttocks were wiggling like springed jellies, my perky, pokie, titties were jiggling with every tottering step, and my shower-head cunny was throbbing and spurting and ensuring that my milky thighs were well-lubricated as they rubbed across each other. So it was a bit of a bummer that Miss Crossface was standing guard at the gate, tapping her foot and leering disapprovingly at the assorted pupils as they drifted in for another day of being educating. 

Well, she must have been pleased to see me because her face lit up and she beckoned me over with her ETesque index finger and I thought she was going to congratulate me on becoming a constable adult and compliment me on my wondrous, swayey, walking skills. Oh no, not at all. Not for a minute. All she was interested in was checking whether my uniform complied with the school's dress code. So I pouted my lipstick smeared stingy-bee lips and fluttered my mascara dipped eyelashes and closed my eyes so she could admire my copper glint eye-shadow and even tried lowering my gaze and clasping my hands together in front of my sodden-cuntedness whilst I rotated my body and my right foot back and forth in a display of pure, unadulterated teen-angel innocence. 

All of which might have worked if at that moment I hadn't taken a bit of a breath and my stiff, engorged, super-sensitive, pokie, teatlets of loveliness hadn't popped free of their fabric encumbrance. Now Miss Crossface couldn't really ignore such attention-seeking nublets of deliciousness and before you could say 'see me after class for some cunt-twinging, bottom-reddening, corporal punishment', she had both my pokies trapped between her fingertips and was twisting and pinching them as she explained how my uniform didn't comply with the school's dress code. And it was probably unfortunate that the remote control, vibrating, princess that had been nestling happily between my fleshy, well-rounded, tushy cheeks chose that moment to suddenly spring back into life and start buzzing like a super large bee trapped in an anal passageway. 

So I was a bit distracted and maybe not paying much attention to Miss Crossface as she went on and on and on about uniforms and propriety and rules and sluts and regulations and teen-whores with their titties and sodden-cuntedness exposed for all and sundry to use and abuse. And as each word or phrase spewed from her tight-lipped mouth, she dug her finger-claws into my heaving, blood-thickened, stingy, quivery, nips. All I could do was gasp and squeal and whimper as my head went all fuzzy, and my tummy tightened, and I could feel the pain from my abused pokies pounding through me going boombedy-boombedy-boom and my eyes teared and my mouth dribbled and my gash gushed. 

"Inappropriate" 

"Hooker heels" 

"Depraved" 

"Whore Skirt" 

"Slutwear" 

"Slag rags" 

"Rank skank" 

"Floozy, tramp, slapper, harlot" 

And I don't know who was the reddest redbreast by now, Miss Crossface or me, or who was breathing the heaviest, or shaking and trembling the mostest. And I was trying my best to say "Yes Miss, Yes Miss, Yes Miss" to her every word but all the blood had rushed to my head and I couldn't think and could barely stand and could hardly breathe and then my sodden-cuntedness just couldn't stand any more of the boomedy-boomedy-boom so started going boomedy-boomedy-boom too and the next thing I knew Miss Crossface was holding me upright by my perky, pokies and my sodden-cuntedness was having yet another unnecessary organism. 

This meant that I almost didn't hear Miss Crossface tell me that my school uniform didn't meet the school's dress code and I was to report to the Headmaster straight after assembly. Which sucks. 

Now I would normally say 'Nighty, night' here but so much more happened today that I'm going to have to write it on tomorrow's page.