Warning: The following text is DISGUSTINGLY erotic, and not suitable for those who are excited easily or faint of heart.
CHAPTER 1: CANDICIA GETS IT
“Eat me like a full English,” Candicia whispers in a seductively subtle way and her legs open wider than Shaun Wright-Phillips’ positioning. Her legs are as long as a tape measure extended to the length of 30 inches (29 for her left, everyone has one leg longer than the other. Everyone.)
Andy Gray grins at the sight of his personal assistant’s completely shaven vagina, it looks like Steve Kean yawning. “That’s a clear cut chance,” Andy remarks. He wasn’t worried that slipping his PA the length might sour their working relationship as he was going to fire her on Monday anyway for poor punctuation and sloppy dictation. Andy laughs out loud. He found the “dick” in “dictation” funny.
“Are you gonna lick my bush or what?” Candicia entices him like a forbidden temptress.
“I’m just too good to go down,” Andy scoffs as he whips off his belt, his trousers, which are a shade of Walter Smith grey, drop down faster than Derby County in 2007/08. “I’m going to enter you so hard,” Andy whispers caringly “that not even three Pepe Reinas could stop it.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” the words escape out of Candicia’s sly, femme fatale grin “why don’t we get right bloody kinky? Why don’t you use a toy on me?” Andy’s eyebrows rise with curiosity, as does his spam javelin. “...that bottle of Glenn’s vodka, a tin of oxtail soup, the sky remote – anything.”
Andy contemplates this tempting offer – he knows he’s been left with a real selection headache. He tentatively asks, “Can I go in two footed?”
“No.” Candicia replies as both their eyes fix on a mug half full (or half empty if you’re considering suicide) of cold coffee. Andy grabs the mug and opens his third floor bedroom window, which has a picture postcard-like romantic view of Isleworth High Street. He empties the contents of the mug onto the street below. The cold coffee drenches a passing toddler. Andy slams the window shut before the shocked cries from the child can mess with his boner.
Candicia’s legs open once again, like the automatic double doors to a large ASDA. Andy proceeds to hold the handle of the mug like he was a policeman in charge of battering ram, ready to break down the front door of a cannabis dealer who owns up to three dangerous dogs. He then slides it into her lady basin.
The pleasure Candicia feels is ten times more intense than an ice cream headache, but as half as intense as breaking your collar bone. Still, it felt awesome. Andy pushes the drink receptacle in and out faster than the speed of a fully fit Marc Overmars bursting down the flank.
She’s orgasming like a bastard in next to no time. She sprays all over the place, like a 1.5 litre bottle of Fanta opened straight after it’s been shot out of a cannon.
“W… w… what did you do? How? That was… that was just belting!” She doesn’t know if she’s coming or going. But, for the record, she’s coming. “That’s the magic of the cup!” Andy grins before heading off to the kitchen to put the mug in the dishwasher. He wasn’t going to throw it away after that, it was a perfectly good mug.
“I think we should talk about a raise on Monday.” Candicia winks. Andy smiles back. He’s still going to fire her.
If this was a movie this would be where the opening credits would happen. But it’s not, it’s a book.
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The Football Ramble team