The name is Ouettecunte: Jane Ouettecunte. A highly distinguished old Saxon name, I am told by my husband. Mine was Bloggs; so you could say I have married into pedigree – and it suits me. Ouettecunte is, of course, the Norman bastardisation: the Wettkunts were a noble Wessex family who curried favour with the invaders and were granted a bishopric in perpetuity in what was then called Wiltshire. So they are terribly respe...

Fuck it, I'm videotaping it. Something I should've thought of before I coated my hands in custard, but impulse knows no such thing as good timing. Nor was it good timing that the urge overtook me while my partner, lovely as they are, teaches online lessons to bored college students in the adjacent room. Being quiet was never my forte. Tripod set, I can't believe I'm actually doing this. If my partner finds out what I've d...

Once upon a time there was a beautiful gurl named Goldilocks. Hair spun of gold, eyes the color of sapphires, she loved the way women's panties squeezed her balls tight against her body. Clitty tucked snuggly in the silky white gusset, she let the wind rustle the frills of her frock—the same sky-blue as her eyes. Merrily through the woods she skipped, platform Mary Janes in hand as she enjoyed the sensation of the soft gr...

Silk. That's what encrusted Talia while she drifted. Long wavy locks of soft charcoal hair were both a cushion and a stream on her pale cheeks and over her High Holiday best. Two piercing eyes carved from jade peered over the crest as she got on hands and knees and crawled towards them over the infinite carpet, heels thrown off to the side, her top cardigan button undone. Olive skin and full lips greeted her over the nose...

Captured in your lens, you watch. I squirm. The raw first impact shot my synapses. My eyes blanked. I hate how disgusting I am, how I lose control. There's nothing pretty about sticky, smelly natto. Humiliated, the shutter clicks. Already, my pussy drips. The more your gaze devours, the more it smears, the more I sink. 'Amateur Models Wanted. No nudity. No Sex.' Said I needed quick cash. My ruined image feeds your fetish....

Eva scooped squished pumpkin flesh and cum from her cleavage, slurping it from her palm as she surveyed the village hall. Naked bodies lay tangled in satiated sleep amongst a chaos of demolished cakes, broken jack-o’-lanterns, and abused prize-winning vegetables. Jingling bells drew her gaze back to the grey-haired lady between her legs being enthusiastically serviced from behind by a hairy Morris dancer. “Oh, Reverend!”...

CUNT IS A CONCEPT! proclaimed a banner, in gaudy capital letters. A WOMAN’S RIGHT TO COCK! demanded another. FUTA RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS! announced a third. And a fourth posed the existential question: ASSIGNED CUNT AT BIRTH…? “God, look at them,” sneered Gaia, as she stood by her window watching the crowds demonstrating up and down the length of Harley Street. “always thinking they’re entitled to more! Do you know, I ha...

Vincent, a hot young Caucasian teenager with blonde hair and green eyes, didn't plan on winning the contest. But he did. He was just having a little trip to his local candy store, chose a chocolate bar, and 'BOOM' he won. While he had many different medals from a dozen different activities and, while he would deny it, loved the spotlight. He was currently going for the world record of chewing gum for the longest. Reading...

Alvin, a handsome Caucasian teenage male with chestnut hair and brown eyes, was so excited when he found the ticket. Considering he loved to eat, it was no surprise he won. Of course, he had taken a little bite out of the ticket itself since it was found inside the chocolate bar wrapper, but nonetheless he was the first to find it. TV reporters swarmed his house and his parents, who were very thrilled, took time to soak u...

Callum the Huntsman sits by his hearth, brooding. Through his cabin window, in the distance, the gilded towers and turrets of the Royal Palace rise gleaming, their flags fluttering in the warm spring breeze. From the stone walls and oak rafters of his cabin hang the tools of his trade: bows and arrows, axes and knives, skins and heads of deer and rabbits. Callum broods. And the object of his contemplation is Snow White. S...

“It’s getting late,” Naomi said, hoping Emmanuel would take the hint, stop playing with his new tablet, and notice the decreasingly subtle way she was invading his personal space, but just got a non-committal grunt. I really didn’t think his Christmas present through, did I? she thought, annoyed. She tried a different tack. “I think I might have digested enough dinner to have room for dessert. Are you ready for the puddin...

The sun has barely risen this wintry Sunday morning, and fog swirls across the path and canal outside the front door of Claire’s Cunt Kitchen. “Brad, shut the blinds, will you?” calls Claire from deep within the bowels of her kitchen. “And turn the screen on, it’s nearly nine!” Bradley is wiping tables in the front room of the café, scrubbing the last of yesterday’s semen stains off the pink Formica tops. Jill has arrived...

The Liège waffles dusted with cinnamon and drizzled honey wasn't the only reason that Paolo's became my favourite café. Mia contributed, all smiles and freckles on sun-kissed cheeks. She raises an eyebrow, pen poised, lid chewed. "The usual?" Bubbly, cheeky, and 90210 cute, those Mediterranean features and accent boost her allure. I pause. Not because I'm considering the answer but to lose myself a moment longer in eyes f...

“Close your eyes.” Jamie obeyed, fiddling with one of the silk bows at his waist. The tiles were cool through his knee-high socks, making him wish he hadn’t removed his shoes as he listened to the approaching glock, glock of Sunil’s Mary Janes on the dining room tiles. There was a rustle as the skirt of his boyfriend’s cornflower blue dress met his complementary pastel pink one—a gift that morning, so cute it would have d...