Ever since my college graduation, I’d worked in daily newspapers, mostly in England, in the daily news, covering scandals, arrests, press conferences, political debates and the like. I had a pretty impressive resume after six years.
Then, one day, after finally settling for a prominent London newspaper, I did a special about domestic gardening, “The English Suburban Landscape” they called it. They, yes, they. I wrote it. They named it.
It almost seemed as a set-up.
Nah, I’m kidding.
Anyway, my publisher, a big boobed, brunette thirty-something, five years my senior, named Penny Porter, a real power-vixen with a larger sized rural garden of her own, her knockers as big as her home-grown sunflowers, was so impressed with my article that she made me the chief editor of domestic issues. That meant that, from now on, I would be specializing on local cooking events, gardening tips, Tupperware parties, kindergarten festivals and family stories.
At first, it was fun. Every day was a journey to some out-of-town-occasion where some aging mother of three told me about her new self published vegan cook book or a review of a school play in Southampton.
The kids loved it.
I had a column of my own and loads of housewives wrote me on a daily basis. I even received a marriage proposal from a single Mom in Whitechapel, who called me “the most wholesome man in Britain”.
Oh, God, I thought.
And I was right.
That name stuck.
From then on, they called me “Mr. Wholesome”, just because I wrote about the letter in my column, and TV-informercials would regularly invite me, Mr. Wholesome, to sell some spectacular new frying pan and I would have to say how much I loved preparing my meals in it.
One female BBC-TV-presenter, also a dishy married MILF I ended up fucking in the back room, said: “Britain’s favourite domestic journalist, our wholesome Mr. Bill Barnes, every housewife’s dream come true … is HERE!”
What a nightmare.
It was all a show. In reality, at that moment in time, anyway, I was a self-confessed bachelor who loved bringing some lusty chick home for a quick shag. Me, cooking? No, more like: me ordering take-out!
I remember interviewing George Michael in the beginning of my career. He told me in nauseating detail how the incident in the loo in L.A. had turned his life upside down. It was his coming out as a gay man but it had been the total set-up.
That, I feared, would happen to me.
Not a gay coming out, I wasn’t, but a horny coming out.
I must confess that I now knew a great deal about cooking, gardening, domestic issues and the sort. In secret I enjoyed visiting all these housewives, pretending to like their cooking, but just actually peeking at their bums and boobs. My sexy brunette publisher made me the highest paid editor of our daily mag. I really had a great life. But bringing home some lusty babe from the corner for a quick blowjob? No way. No more cruising in bars, no more hot foursomes.
I was damn happy the yellow press had not found out about my frivolous past.
George Michael’s L.A. incident would have seemed like a visit at St. Paul’s Cathedral in comparison.
What does a horny British bloke do when he is not allowed to shag whoever he fancies? You got it. He starts jerking off. I had done it before, in my teens, plucking out my dick and squirting on photos of Busty Dusty and Nikki Knockers.
Once I got my own flat, though, no more prickbeating. I fucked and licked more pussy than Warren Beatty.
Nowadays? Forget it!
Celebrities watch their step.
Okay, maybe they don’t.
If you’re Mr. Wholesome, though, fucking around might be a bad choice.
Anyway, that was the reason I went back to the five finger quickstep.
I worked most of the time, no time even for a girlfriend, so whenever I came home to my flat in Kensington, I would lay out every single smut mag I owned, literally covering the whole floor with big boobed paper chicks, print out a photo of some babe and squirt my sperm on her pic.
That went well for a while.
I had little orgies my own, even taking out my blow-up-doll, Saucy Samantha, turning every night into a row of orgasms and washing my rubber girlfriend in the tub every night.
No one knew about my double-life.
The day it all changed was a sunny Friday. I knew I had that weekend off, that had been due to my editor in chief Penny Porter, who had needed me for three consecutive weeks.
“Take three days off,” she sang. “You’ve earned it, love.”
Well, that Friday, I had bought pop corn and chips and a six pack of Guinness, planning to watch all of the Harry Potter flicks in one night.
Four articles had been finished that day, they were all going to be published that following week and Miss Porter had told me “how utterly pleased she was with my astonishing work”. She even asked me if I wanted to join her for a glass of Dom Perignon in her back garden.
Now, you might ask why I did not accept the invitation. Well, first of all, I assumed she was married. I had seen her with a bloke a few years back. Extra-marital affairs, getting caught in the closet, running out naked with a gun firing on me arse? No, thanks. Besides, I had gotten so used to my orgy nights, Saucy Samantha doing all I demanded, that everything else faded in comparison.
Sad, huh? Maybe.
I came back home that early evening, late afternoon, around ten to six, threw all of my snacks in the kitchen, planning to order a pizza, throwing the six-pack in the fridge, planning to wank for a 30 minute round, a hard fast-finger tree-trunk-rub samba-jump, before joining Harry and his friends.
Saucy Samantha was on the bed, BangBros was filling some sexy blonde’s mouth with cum on my PC and thirty issues of Big Ones lay on the floor. The worst thing was: I had printed out a photo of my boss so that I could eventually squirt on her A4-paper face.
I had been walking about the flat wanking like a silly man, looking at Kirsten Imrie rubbing her clit on the beach of Tenerife, Chloe Vevrier fondling her boobies on silk sheets, Julie Hart showing me her bum in her Oxfordshire house doorway and Sophie Fernandez opening herself up to show me the sweet oyster pink inside of her “Fromage de Meaux”. All the while I wandered back to Saucy Samantha to get a round of tongue twisting, only to walk towards Penny Porter’s pic to tell her how much I craved her.
A man can be so darned immersed inside his testosterone levels that he does not realise that the front door to the apartment house is open and that his own door to his penthouse flat at the recluse end of the hallway … was ajar.
So here I stood, stark naked, Mr. Happy pointing toward Penny Porter’s slight cleavage, a pic from the magazine’s website, me whispering as I looked at her photo on the paper:
“I wanna fuck aaahhhlll of your holes, Penny!”
Who was in the doorway, out of the blue, or in the blue, as the case might have been, holding a bottle of champagne in her left hand and two glasses in other, dressed in a superb looking blue outfit, tight asshugging skirt, sexy jacket and white boobembracing blouse, made up and reeking of Yves Saint-Laurent?
Penny Fucking Pussydream Porter.
I don’t think I have ever been so embarrassed. Not when my kindergarten pals caught me naked in my playroom, not when I had been foulmouthing my teacher in high school and he stood right behind me, not even when my college enemy saw me dropping my breakfast on the canteen floor and subsequently slipping on the banana … to his laughing glory.
Erect penis, naked me and fully clothed her, Mr. Wholesome caught in Sodom and Gomorrah.
My heart raced, I shrieked like a little girl, dropped her picture on the white carpet.
Penny Porter looked at her own printed photo, gazed at it with an open mouth, what I thought was no open mind, gazed at all my smut mags, walked in, looked at Saucy Samantha lying on the bed.
She stood there, well, how do I put it? In shock. I saw my career ending, me sliding down an endless tunnel toward hell, my life as Britain’s journalistic answer to Donny Osmond turning into a pile of dog excrements.
I grabbed my trousers, nervously, with shaking hands, covering my trembling crotch, a dick shrinking like an ice cream in the sun, me, unable to utter a word.
“Holy fuck,” Penny Porter moaned, ever so softly, turning her back on me, leaving and running away faster than she had come, champagne and glasses with her.
“Bugger,” I spat. “Shit, buggar, fuck, darned, heck, bleeding hell.”
I think my smut mags disappeared into the backroom faster than back when the postman arrived unannounced. Saucy Samantha? I stuffed her into a corner, shoved Penny Porter’s pic into a drawer, put on my clothes and sat down on my balcony chair for an infuriating moment, rocking back and forth, expecting to find my face on the first page of The Sun the next morning. Heck. Might even drop dead.
I could see the headlines.
Not “Zip Me Up Before You Go-Go”, as in poor George Michael’s case, but “Mr. Wholesome’s Hole of Sin” or something rather.
I then ran the entire length of my flat up and down forty times, contemplating moving to Ecuador and starting work as a Coffee farmer, where no one knew me or ever would.
The forty-first time I did that, Penny Porter was back, leaning against the doorframe, still holding the champagne and glasses.
She’d changed her mind.
She grinned insecurely, chuckled a few times, cleared her throat and looked at me.
“Sorry … uhm … that I intruded … on your private …”
There was a long pause.
Okay, was she going to say “orgy” or “perversion” or “disgusting habits”?
I shook my head. “I am totally embarrassed, Miss Porter,” I whispered.
She put up her hands in protest, closing her eyes. “Please, I just heard you tell my photo you wanted to insert your hard gender into every opening in my body, so …”
Oh, Lawdy. A possibility I wasn’t going to slip into hell arose.
“… call me Penny.”
My cold sweat transformed into warm pre-cum.
“Co-… come in.”
I laughed a nervous shutter, waving.
“I mean, if you are not disgusted.”
Penny smiled, her eyes swiftly surfing over my crotch-area.
She grew red in the face, shaking her head.
“Oh, gosh,” she giggled.
I looked at her, her tits bouncing with her laughter.
“How … awkward.”
She put down the glasses on the dining room table, gently handing me the Dom Perignon.
I took it, smiling, not feeling like I was sliding down a tube, but feeling like this was taking me to Cloud Nine.
Okay, I’ll admit it.
My cock was growing again.
I think Penny noticed.
I tried to uncork the champagne as elegantly as possible. When I did, it foamed, dripping cumlike drops onto the floor. I poured the liquid into the glasses, handed one to Penny. She did not look me in the eye. She just looked at the massive erection I sported underneath my Boss shorts.
Her gaze grew bigger and bigger until she simply let out a high squeak.
“Whoa,” she whimpered. “It’s huge!”
That was the moment this awkward tension turned randy.
She looked at me with pleading eyes.
I nodded. “Be my guest!”
Glasses gone, blowjob on.
I cannot tell you how amazing it felt to have this sexy power vixen going down on her knees like an obedient prostitute, opening my zipper with her red long nails, dropping my shorts to the ground, reaching into my Calvin Kleins and seeing her amazed grin as my nine inch rod bobbed joyfully into her face.
“Will it fit?”
I chuckled and shrugged as she massaged my balls ever so tenderly, still fully clothed, looking like a Queen, acting like a submissive whore.
“Oh, my Lord,” I sighed as Penny Porter slowly opened her mouth and stuck my large dong into her mouth.
She elegantly embraced my penis with her lips, her head bobbing back and forth, her earrings rattling, her hair flying, spit running down her cheek, her hands grabbing my ass, her voice making little happy whimpering noises.
“I do believe you are endeavouring to take all of my nine inches of penis into your mouth, you dirty little slut,” I said and waved my eyebrows at her.
I couldn’t believe I had said that but it awoken something in her.
Something really randy.
As she sucked on me humungous schlong-dong, she made little breaks in her lecture, occasionally talking while sucking, turning into a real randy little whore. This chick, who I had only known as totally in control, a boss, a dragon, she became a dickhungry little tart.
“Man,” she spat on my prick and masturbated it, “you’re all man. Such a big, big, … moooahh .. yum yum yum … big fine dick … so salty … I’ve sucked a lot of dick in my day, but … mmmh … mmmh … yeah … this penis is the best. Gosh, this cock tastes good. When I saw you standing there naked, looking so fine, your … mmh … your dick erect and you telling my photo you wanted to fuck all of my holes … mmh, yeah … tastes fine … I felt my pussy getting all wet … mmmh … hard cockie … chickie-sluttie love hard penis … I feared my own horniness … God, I love your big dick … I sat in my car, you know, and I said to myself: you’re divorced, living on your own in that big house, your ex getting blowjobs from that young bitch in Spain, go and give that nice man a blowjob … and so I did … mmmh … love … yum yum yum … sucking dick.”
She really went at it now, her mouth so fast, her tongue so exciting, her throat endless, Iiterally saw stars.
Then, all of a sudden, she sprang up, almost in a rage, throwing off her clothes, literally scattering them all across the floor, her jacket, her skirt, her blouse, her garters, her stockings, her undies, her bra.
At once, this sex object was stark naked, ripping off my clothes, as well, amazing me with the sight of her on my bed on all fours, bare bum stretched towards me. She smelled of coconut shower gel and sexy perfume, her C-cup titties and buttcheeks bouncing in my face as she begged me: “I want your dick in my asshole, Bill. Do to me what no one has done before. Please fuck me in my butt with your long hard cock!”
Well, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. I walked up to her, happily grabbing her buttcheeks, my dick pointing at what obviously was a newly showered body. Had she anticipated fucking me?
Mmh, all woman.
As things go, I reached into my nighttime drawer and fished out some of the strawberry cream I had used on Samantha.
“Oh, Bill,” Penny moaned submissively, “you’re not gonna hurt me, are you?”
I gave my publisher a knowing grin, understanding her game of hide and seek. This hard business woman, always calling the shots, always feared by everyone, she finally could lean back and be controlled, and her willing employer now telling her what to do.
“Just shut up and let me cream your butt in before I shag your ass, baby!”
I rubbed in my cock and balls with this sex lotion before I took a bigger dose of it on my hand, rubbing in her showered rosebud arsehole with love cream.
Impatient, I threw the tube on the floor, letting my cock taste her butt, my penis looking like the EuroStar entering the famed tunnel.
It was a slow and very intense work of thrusting, but, bit by bit, I saw my Long Dong Silver vanish into her tightest hole. I will never forget the expression on her face. Agony and pleasure, fear and joy and the ecstasy as we found a nice thumping rhythm of mutual respect. Okay, a really good fuck. What also was fabulous was how beautifully her buttcheeks wobbled as I thrust my dick into her arse. Every thrust had her bum shaking thrice. Her buttwobble was poetry in motion.
“You have a beautiful ass, Penny,” I said, shagging her butthole.
“You are the hottest fuck I’ve had in years, Bill,” Penny moaned.
Quite extraordinary, I told myself, she managed to be so submissive and yet when she wanted to, she pulled it away and called the shots.
She pulled herself out of my cockie, not vice versa, laying down in spread eagle and commanding me to lick her pussy. And, oh, how I licked. What I liked most, I will admit, is that her pussy wasn’t shaved. Nice hair to lick through on the way to the pink and salty cunt. At the end of my five minute clit meal, my face was dripping with oestrogen.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I simply pulled out my tongue and jumped in between her legs and fucked her like a maniac, her jugs bouncing, her eyes closed shut, oh-oh-oh’s exchanged by ah-ah-ah’s and eeh-eeh-eeh’s, gentle fuck me’s and deeper’s and let me be your whore, you sexcraved moron. Soon, I saw stars and as she came I really felt her pussy tingle, her nails digging into my back, her hairy and delicious furburger hugging my hard penis so tight, so tight, so tight, I felt like becoming an opera tenor.
Now it was time for me to come. And, oh, how I did.
I pulled out of her cunt, straddling up to her face, slapping my balls on her chinnie-chin-chin. The sexy bitch opened her mouth like the pricklusty slut she was, sticking out her tongue and demanding sperm and getting loads of it.
It landed everywhere: on her face, eyes, tongue, cheeks, forehead, nose and lips. I ended up inserting my giant Willie a few times into her hungry mouth before laying down next to her, cuddling up on her arm, waiting for her to get ready mopping up my sperm with her finger and licking it off with her mouth.
When she was ready and uncummed, she sighed:
“So much for Mr. Wholesome.”
I looked at her in my own knowing way and added:
“The only thing that’s true about that name is that I do satisfy some good holes. Hole-Some? Some holes!”
She nodded, smiling: “You fill ’em up fine.”
We ended up laughing and getting ready for another round.
I can only describe that weekend as the best of my life. There were very little questions asked and yet we revealed most of what was near and dear to us. I gave her my spare toothbrush and an extra T-shirt of mine, which she filled up well, I might add. We finished off the champagne and the six-pack, we ordered pizzas and watched all of the Harry Potter flicks. And we fucked so much at one time Penny complained that her pussy ached. During the fourth Potter flick, Penny pushed pause to ask me if I had the ingredients for Caipirinha in the kitchen. I answered that, indeed, I did. She came back, five minutes later, with two lucious cocktails. What really blew me away was when she told me that in order to make it a real cocktail, I would have to masturbate my cum into her glass. At first, I thought she was kidding. Lo and behold, she wasn’t. I began to adore this chick.
Imagine my surprise when she sat back, treating my wank as a dinner show, watching my cock grow from small to huge, her eyes growing and glowing as my cock grew bigger and bigger – “Woah, does it ever stop growing? Yay! Go, Billy, go!” – penislover Penny cheering like a go-go-girl as the orgasm slowly came to its close. I did squirt my sperm into her Caipirinha, she clapped her hands like a happy school girl, she stirred the glass and drank it up. “Now that’s a real cocktail!”
This was incredible.
Talk about Mr. Hole-Some.
Monday morning came too soon. Much too soon.
I do know that Penny Porter woke me up, fully clothed and sexy at 8 o’clock, having showered and used some of my eau de parfume and shampoo. She woke me up in the sexiest way possible. I felt her mouth embrace my cock. And yes, I squirted into her mouth. And yes, she swallowed it all. And no, her lipstick was not a mess afterwards.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she swooned. “Thanks for your protein breakfast. There’s nothing like sperm to fill the stomach.”
I sighed. “You are a fabulous woman, Penny Porter!”
She caressed my cheek with the back of her hand.
“I’m going to work, babe, but I will see you tomorrow, okay?”
I nodded, smiling.
“You have a nice day off,” she said, “we have to chat tomorrow.”
I raised my eyebrows. “About what?”
She gave my nose a peck.
And that was that.
I lay there for the next two hours, realising I was in love.
I felt like I was flying on cloud nine, not getting up, eating my scones in bed, watching the last Potter flick, wanking again. It was blissful. At least until the phone rang at two o’clock that afternoon. Someone from the marketing department called me and announced that five major magazines had an appointment in Miss Porter’s office at ten tomorrow morning. I should be there at 9:45. I was free until then. This was important, it was added.
You can imagine what I was thinking.
Was Penny really such a hardliner? A cocksucking usurper? Was she going to sell me out?
No, that couldn’t be.
I went back and forth in my head about what was going on.
I reviewed the weekend in my head. I had taken nude pics of her. Otherwise, no surveillance or photos on her part.
What was I thinking?
Of course there was no foul play.
She said she wanted to talk about us, right?
That was good, wasn’t it?
I almost sent her a message, but managed to control myself.
She was busy.
But why the press conference?
Five major London magazines coming to Penny Porter’s office?
To hear what?
About Mr. Wholesome caught wanking his cock?
No. At 7:11, Penny sent me a WhatsApp, thanking me for a wonderful weekend. Had I received the message? Yes, I had. It’s a nice surprise, she added. Was that a joke?
I chose to send her a heart. She returned one, saying she was attending a conference and would be home at midnight.
She longed to suck my dick again.
I fell asleep, dreaming weird dreams.
I got ready for my appointment that next morning with an eerie feeling of living in a Kafkaesque book of sorts.
“Josef K. fucked the girl of his dreams yesterday and is now walking the streets …”
Yeah, to do what?
Get unemployment money?
My breakfast tasted like paper, the sun was too hot and traffic was just too darned loud.
My colleagues greeted me, like they knew something I didn’t.
In any case, I went through any possibility in my head.
Split for Ecuador?
Seek emergency care?
Get a lawyer?
Become a porn star?
Hey, it worked for Mr. Bobbitt and he lost his dick at first.
“Mr. Wholesome Caught Wanking!” – that might even sound great in the porn industry.
Every step seemed like a visit in hell.
And I loved this babe!
Heck, she was the hottest fuck in the universe.
Was she going to eat me alive?
Three secretaries greeted me, asking me to wait outside the office with the plaque, Penny Porter, Editor in Chief, hammered on its honourable dark wood.
When I came in, Penny Porter was on the phone, speaking to God knows who. It sounded like someone from the House of Lords. She waved me into her huge office with her large dark desk, the Persian carpet, the leather chair she sat on studded with brass knuckles. I felt like walking the green mile. I closed the door behind me, walking up to her desk. Sitting down on the chair opposite of her’s.
Without further adieu, Penny handed me a document, three or four pages long. Me expecting a sapena or threat or some kind of weird compromise to never wank again, it had me shaking like a leaf in November.
Penny kept talking, shrugging and eyeing heavenward, pointing at the phone.
That was when I saw what the document read.
I saw my name, I saw the sum of money on the paper and I saw the length of the contract. My chin nearly dropped to the floor.
When the sexiest publisher on the planet hung up on her wooer, she smiled.
“You like it?”
I stuttered. “Is my cock that good?”
“I’ve had you in mind for some time, you hot rod!”
Penny Porter came up to me that day, setting her cute ass down on my lap, causing us to morph into the deepest and most lucious tongue-kiss the soul had ever seen.
The news spread like wildfire around the capital.
To be honest, I felt like royalty.
If the London Gazette was turning into the best daily mag in the city, Penny’s move to turn Mr. Wholesome, or Hole-Some, Master of Holes, and herself into a shared leadership-deal signed, sealed and delivered that success.
Of course there were critical voices, especially from our rivals, but as far as I was concerned I had the best girlfriend in the galaxy and I shared a gorgeous office with her, an office we could lock any time we wanted to shag ourselves silly. This divorced nympho was the finest cocksucker around and I was going to share my life with her.
Nowadays, I live in her big house in the outskirts of London. We’re married and have two children. We get to the office at ten, so she has time to give me a blowjob lesson after the kids go to school. Sometimes, I make a business call while she sucks me off just to save time. She doesn’t eat breakfast. Cum is enough for her, so she says.
I am still Mr. Wholesome to the public. If they only knew.
At times, Penny commands me around in the kitchen, but that is another story. I get to fuck her asshole while she stands by the stove making food. She makes me say that she is my sex object.
Our leadership-deal is approaching its tenth anniversary, so we are planning to send the kids to grandma. Penny tells me she found a really sex-crazed couple that want to celebrate with us by swinging and swapping pussies and cocks.
What can I say?
Foursome is back.
A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, especially if he has a nine inch dick.