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Celebrityville Episode 7

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Episode 7 

Perry Homer, theatrical impresario, multi Olivier Award winner and philanthropist hugged his panting wife Emma, as they hid amongst the rails of colourful costumes that lined the wardrobe department at The Lake Theatre in London’s West End.
Emma giggled as the tiara she was wearing slipped off and fell into her naked lap.
‘Shhh.’ Perry hushed. ‘I think someone’s coming.’
The naughty couple sat still, listening out for any approaching footsteps, not wanting to get caught.
‘I can’t hear anything,’ Emma said.
‘Wait a minute,’ Perry put his finger on her lips as if to quieten her, but it proved the opposite effect.
Emma opened her mouth and licked his finger.
‘Stop it,’ Perry joked. ‘Someone may hear us.’
Emma looked at her husband with her naughty blue eyes.
‘I don’t care,’ she said. Let them look.’
‘Not here. It’s too risky.’
‘Well you didn’t say that the last time we went dogging, did you?’
‘That was different.’
‘Because, that’s why.’
Perry carefully stood up and peered over a rail of suits of armour costumes.
‘I can’t see anything,’ he scanned the dark room.
‘I can!’ A big grin grew on Emma’s face.
‘What? Where?’ Perry looked around the cluttered room again as Emma opened her mouth and engulfed Perry’s hard cock. ‘Emma,’ Perry purred as he gripped the clothing rail, knocking the clunky costumes back and forth. ‘Stop that. No don’t stop. Yes stop!’ he protested as he shot his load in her mouth. ‘One of these day’s you’re going to get me into trouble.’
‘If only.’
Perry bent down and kissed his wife on her cum sodden lips. The naked couple embraced on the floor, tangled within a mountain of fake fur and bales of crushed velvet, unaware that a pair of snooping eyes had watched their sexy show on CCTV.

Theatre Masks

Loaded down with a large assortment of heavy, glossy Chi-Chi designer bags after having completed a successful morning’s worth of essential clothes shopping, Phyllis Harrison-Smythe rummaged through her precious purchases in the back of a London black taxi and smiled with delight.
Oblivious for the passing traffic and the noisy London streets, Phyllis tenderly caressed one of her new outfits from Prada, chaperoned with a matching hand bag and an exquisite pair of handmade Italian shoes. Well, she couldn’t buy one without completing the set, could she?
As her heart fluttered like a butterfly trapped within a gilded cage, she then flicked through her Gucci wallet, slowly running her glossy red talons over her exclusive gold store cards, enjoying the sound as they clicked under her nylon nails until they reached her new passport to paradise, the black Centurion credit card from American Express.
Not wanting to damage her invitation only prized possession, she carefully slipped it out from its protective leather home and lovingly caressed it, imagining the endless fun that she could have with this piece of black plastic. A similar feeling that reminded her of another piece of plastic, her monstrous 9 inch black dildo that she kept hidden in her wardrobe for special occasions.
Finally she had been deemed worthy of the honour by being given the golden ticket that she had craved for so long. And now that the trophy was rightfully hers, she could hold her head up even higher than before as this sexually desired, powerful credit card symbolized her wealth, stature and worth within the high bred community. At last she had the key she needed to unlock the infinite bounds of the imagination. This unique card gave her the freedom and the ultimate thrill of entering an invited world of the privileged social elite and become a member of an exclusive club where the wondrous Universe of Shopping was hers to conquer and divide.
Catching the taxi driver as he watched her through his rear view mirror, intrigued by her salacious movements, Phyllis switched in to auto pilot and teased the perving driver with one of her controlling freak games.
‘Is it me or is it hot in here?’ she breathed, fanning herself with the card as she undid the top button of her beaded vintage Escada jacket, revealing a momentary view of her black lacy Wonder bra.
‘Yeah luv. It’s hot alright,’ coughed the driver, excited with the private peep show from the posh totty in the back of his cab.
Smiling to herself as she enjoyed his undivided voyeuristic attention, Phyllis slid the card over her face, down her neck, across her two mounds of lace encased flesh and down to her sculptured legs.
Licking her Christian Dior painted lips, she rested her head back against the head rest, arched her back and parted her legs to let her tight skirt rise up over her stocking clad legs. Fingering the card suggestively, she slowly slithered it gracefully up the inside of her thigh, making sure that the driver caught a fleeting glimpse of her black stocking tops and her knickerless muff.
‘I hate being sticky,’ she said, looking into the back of his head through her long Elizabeth Arden covered lashes.’
‘Sticky’s not good. I like comfort myself.’
‘Yes I do enjoy a comfortable ride, don’t you?’
‘It’s all about the comfort, luv,’ he grinned.
‘I agree. Comfort all the way up to the hilt.’
Slipping her card suggestively back into her wallet and bringing the impromptu porno show to an abrupt end, the taxi turned the corner and pulled up outside one of her infamous nightclubs.
‘Thank you driver for the smooth ride,’ Phyllis said as she paid for her fare.
‘Anytime luv. Here’s my card. Call me if you want to sit on my thick leather seat again.’
‘Oh I can’t wait,’ she smiled as she dropped his card into one of her bags and stepped onto the pavement.
‘I bet you can’t,’ he laughed as the taxi disappeared within the heavy traffic.
Phyllis loved toying with men and their egos. This was the kind of power trip she enjoyed, indulged and wallowed in. Only one vital ingredient made this possible and Phyllis relished in it most of all.
And that was money.

Black American Express Card



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Celebrityville Episode 5

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Episode 5

Tapping her glossy red finger tips impatiently on the plush arm of a large sofa in the lounge of The B Bar, a members only bar that belonged to a sophisticated and expensive hotel hidden in a secluded court yard near Piccadilly Circus, Susie, a thirty five year old working mother with two gorgeous children kept her sharp brown eyes on the antique revolving door.
‘She’s late again,’ remarked Flick, a redheaded wonder who was vibrantly decked out in a green tartan Vivienne Westward dress.
‘I don’t know how you put up with her, I really don’t’ pouted Bebe as she tapped her perfect domed afro with her long slender £10,000 worth of jewellery gold encased hand.
‘Nor do I ladies but business is business.’ Susie agitatedly sipped her glass of Clicquot champagne and glanced down at her watch. She hated people being late. Especially when it was costing her money.
‘Oh look, here she comes,’ said Flick, noticing a harassed looking woman clacking across the marble floor in her Christian Louboutin six inch stilettos.
‘You’re late,’ hissed Susie. ‘When I say 3pm I mean 3pm, not a quarter past three.’
‘Sorry Susie but the taxi was stuck in traffic,’ gasped Sasha, a fresh looking blonde beauty as she slumped down in an empty chair.
‘No excuses Sacha. You have been warned about your lateness on many occasions. I cannot have people working for me who are constantly late. I have a reputation to maintain. Do you understand?’
‘Yes Susie. Sorry. It won’t happen again.’
‘No it won’t happen again. Now, do you have something for me?’
Sacha reached into her Prada handbag and pulled out a thick, long white envelope. Without looking at its contents, Susie placed it in her sleek black clutch bag along with two other full envelopes and then lifted her champagne flute.
‘Well ladies. Here’s to another successful week,’ she smiled at the three, groomed goddesses. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers,’ they all said in unison, clinking their sparkling filled glasses over the vintage table that they sat around.
‘Now to business. Please make sure that your mobiles are switched on at all times so that I can get in touch with you,’ she looked at Flick, who sheepishly brushed a red bang away from her face. ‘Unfortunately we had an incident where we lost a considerable amount of money and I don’t like turning customers away. Also check your calendars as I’ve booked a weekend away next month for training and for you to have new photos taken for the website. No one’s replied back yet. I need to confirm with the hotel, the photographer and our little guinea pigs.’
All three ladies flicked through their mobiles.
‘Sorry I can’t make it,’ said Bebe. ‘I will be in Dubai that week on business.’
‘Ah yes I remember now. That’s ok. Anyone else can’t make it?’ Susie asked. Flick and Sacha shook their heads. ‘Good. That’s sorted.’ Susie knocked back the rest of her champagne and smoothed away a stray brown hair back into her pleat. ‘I know I may come across as a heartless bitch at times and don’t always show my appreciation, but I’m really impressed with you all. Even you Sacha who drives me mad. Keep up the good work.’
‘Thank you,’ they all said.
‘Now any other business?’
‘Are we still meeting up with the other girls here next week for the fittings?’ Bebe asked.
‘Yes. I have arranged Michel to bring over a selection of ball gowns and cocktail dresses for you all to try on. It should only last about an hour or so. We need to get in early before anyone else takes the best gowns. I don’t want those grubby little East End paws getting first pickings,’ reluctantly acknowledging her so called competition. ‘My girls deserve the best as you are the best.’
The ladies smiled.
‘Right. I’m going to have to leave you lovely ladies to finish off your drinks. If you want a snack then add it to our bill at the bar. I will send you a text reminding you about the fittings and I will see you here same time next week and on time. I believe we’re going to have a busy week ahead.’
Flick, Bebe and Sacha got up and kissed Susie goodbye.
Scooping up her glossy designer shopping bags that sat patiently next to her, Susie left the hotel bar and slipped into her silver Porsche.
Mission one done. Tick. Mission two was now under way. And that was to bank her weekly takings in one of her many secret security boxes that she used across London where she could safely hide away her true earnings. By using this system for storing her cash, Susie knew it was the perfect way from any paper trails. Only she knew exactly how much money she earnt. And by scraping off her twenty percent commission, she would deposit a certain amount of money into her legitimate business account just to keep the Tax Man happy.
And she certainly knew how to keep the Tax Man happy. Especially in other ways!

Christian Louboutin Shoes.jpg

Crimson Lake closed her eyes tightly underneath her tatty blindfold and listened to the hushed voices that circled her. Unable to move her hands as were tied to the back of her chair, Crimson silently prayed for her freedom.


Releasing all the day’s dirty negativity, tension and stress, Melody Starr gently reclined her precious pampered body onto a bundle of fluffy white towels that were sprawled out across the hot damp pine bench in one the hotel’s large private sauna cubicles, reserved only for VIP’s.
Still groggy from the mass intake of the brain numbing neat vodka that she drunk earlier that day, which helped her to block out the loneliness and bitterness that gnawed away inside of her, Melody closed her contact free weary eyes, took a deep breath through her parched mouth and began to unwind as the lavender fragrance steam gently pummelled and delved deep into her clogged pores, sucking out the hidden dirt, the grime and gunge as it carefully evaporated the impurities from her young, delicate skin.
Enjoying the deep detoxifying treatment, which was pure hell but someone had to do it, Melody wrapped her black lank hair up in a towel turban and gently lowered her vodka laced head on a pile of towels, trying not to make the room spin even more.
Desperately trying to calm herself down from a stream of incubating ideas that spun about in her hazy head like a top loaded washing machine whipping its contents around on its spin cycle, Melody allowed to set those thoughts free for now and just relax for a few precious minutes.
With the lavender essence performing its calming job, at last she had control over the situation and finally allowed herself to relax and let her spirit run free within the confines of the large sauna. Within minutes she felt at ease. Totally relaxed and one with the World.
But this didn’t last long.
Just as she was declining into a state of liberation, easing her tensions away from the harsh realities of her hectic life, the warm bubble suddenly burst. The protective atmosphere she had just got accustomed to suddenly changed.
Instead of the sensual, caressing fragrant mist twisting its silky slithers of cleansing clouds around her aching lithe sweaty body, she suddenly felt a cold breeze creeping up on her, enveloping her and pawing her with its icy fingers. An uneasy feeling engulfed her still body. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end as the sinister glacial prankster played with her soul, selfishly ripping away the warm blanket of steam and replacing it with a chilly coat of ice. It disturbed her peace and she didn’t like it at all. Not one bit.
Still half asleep and not taking any chances, she immediately sat bolt upright and peeled opened her misty brown eyes. Clutching the soggy towel, which just covered her glistening ebony body, she grappled with the task of peering through the burning aromatic steam.
Melody sat still, her breath heavy with fear. Her acute hearing picked up every sound as she thought that she could hear footsteps creeping about, gradually getting closer and closer, louder and louder. She was right. Managing to decipher her fuzzy gaze, she saw a large silhouetted figure obstructing the rays coming from the gymnasium’s harsh white lights as they poured in through the open door.
Transfixed to the spot, she watched in horror as the menacing shadowy figure advanced through the cleansing mist, disturbing the tranquil atmosphere.
‘Who’s there?’” she croaked to the mysterious figure as she clung onto her towel enwrapped body.
The figure didn’t answer.
He just stepped closer and closer.
Letting her imagination run riot as she grappled for her glasses, she thought that her crazed stalker had tracked her down and was going to kidnap her and kill her. Realizing that this was about to come true, her heart leapt up to her throat, pounded her vocal cords and strangled her perfect voice. She tried to scream but nothing came out of her dry mouth. Only silence.
Instead of lashing out at her attacker and going for the jugular, just as she would have normally done, the once tough little cookie Melody Starr, unexpectedly shed the thick outer layer of her psyche and let the presence of the little girl that was locked within her suddenly burst through and eclipse her, over shadowing her strong personality.
Screwing up her brown eyes, Melody tucked her towel wrapped head between her slender hunched up legs to protect herself like a tortoise popping back into his shell, hoping that her actions would magically make the monster vanish, as if any action like that would help.
Curled up on the bench, she felt a strong dark presence bearing down over her terrified body. Her moist flesh crawled as the sour smell of death hovered above her, ready to take away her young life. A life that was just blossoming and starting to grow.
Melody gasped as she felt the shadowy figure’s Herculean hands encase her sodden shoulders, tightening its powerful grip. Terror flowed through her as the shadowy figure violently shook her lithe body as if to wake her up from some terrible nightmare.
But this wasn’t a nightmare. This was real.
She knew this was the end. She knew she was going to die. If only she’d been good in the past. If only. But ‘if only’ wasn’t going to help her now.
No one could help her.
No one would!
She had been a bitch to everyone and no one would be prepared to save her or even raise their little finger to help. She was alone. Alone to face the scales of judgment and only she could tip the balance in her favour and make amends.
Melody was sorry. Truly sorry. If she could turn back the time right now, she would. But her life would soon to be over. To be murdered in a public sauna with no one wanting to save her, that summed up her pitiful life.
‘It’s time to go,’ the shadowy figure’s low husky voice boomed as its deep melodic tones bounced against the wooden walls of the sauna, beckoning her to follow his commands.
Facing death head on was not what she had planned to be doing at such her early age, though realizing that her time was up, Melody undertook an enormous amount of courage, lifted up her tired, heavy head and peered at her murderer, taking one last look before she made her journey to the eternal recording studio in the sky.
Slowly she opened her petrified eyes and froze her glare in disbelief. She instantly recognized the shadowy figure.
‘It’s you!’ she croaked with relief.
Then darkness fell upon her.

White Towels


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Celebrityville Episode 4

Celebrityville LogoEpisode 4

Royanna Parks sat behind her large glass desk and carefully bit into her new crunchy breakfast bar from her Park Life natural food range. The 51 year old exotic beauty, in mid flow of designing her refurbished Chelsea gym in her head, glanced over her shoulder and out of her ceiling to floor office window that looked over the lush and busy Berkley Square and watched in amusement as a neon clad plump jogger plodded across the green.
Tapping her chocolate coated pointed talons on the glass top, Royanna quickly turned around, tossed the finished wrapper in her recycle bin and pressed the intercom.
‘Darcy, can you get Melture and Briggs on the phone. I need to confirm the completion date on the new Surrey gym as we’re a week behind schedule. Also can you tell the new intern to bring up the contracts now so that I can sign off the equipment for our Chelsea gym.’
‘Yes Royanna,’ her personal assistant dutifully answered.
The health and fitness guru brushed her long black glossy hair away from her flawless face, stood up and pulled down the cream gossamer blind, blocking out the harsh sunlight and prying eyes.
Her attention then moved towards the door as she heard muffled voices from the other side.
Knock knock.
Royanna walked back into position and sat back down behind her vast desk.
‘Come in,’ she barked.
Brendon, the 18 year old geeky intern shuffled into the room.
‘Here are the contracts Miss Park,’ he said nervously, placing a red folder on her desk.
‘Thank you Brendon. Close the door. I want a chat. And please call me Royanna.’ She looked him up and down, scanning his scrawny body with her green eyes and he closed the door. ‘Are you enjoying your time with us?’
‘Yes I am. I’ve learnt such a lot in a short time. Thank you, Royanna.’
‘That’s good. I’m glad to hear that. How long have you been with us now?’ she asked, already knowing the answer as she leant back in her plush chair and crossed her legs to show him a glimpse of her black stockings top.
‘About a month,’ he spluttered. His eyes peered through his tortoise shell glasses and glanced down to see her hand provocatively pull down her red dress.
‘A month? Is that all? Well, time does fly by when you’re having fun, doesn’t it Brendon?’
‘Yes it does.’
‘And what do you do for fun?’
‘Oh, I like gaming.’
‘Gaming? I like games too. Games are fun aren’t they Brendon? Her eyes now transfixed on his bulge that had started to grow through his tight checked trousers. Making sure that he knew what she was looking at, she continued her heavy gaze, ‘So what kind of games do you like playing?’
‘Mainly Dungeon and Dragon kind of games. Role playing games…’
‘Role playing?’ she interrupted his flow. Now looking into his eyes. ‘I love role playing too. What kind of role playing do you like?’
‘It’s the kind of role playing where I dress up as different characters at the weekend and act out fantasy situations. I belong to a club you see.’
‘I see. That sounds fascinating.’ Royanna uncrossed her legs, straightened her left leg under the table and pulled in her right leg, tenting her tight dress to reveal her hidden flesh underneath. ‘Is it just at the weekends that you like role playing?’
‘That’s when I meet my friends.’
‘How about now?’
‘Now? My friends live miles away. Plus most of them are at work.’
‘I’m not talking about your friends. Oh you silly little man. I’m talking about me. With you. Now.’
‘Now? He coughed, not sure where this inappropriate, yet compelling conversation was going.
‘Yes now. Bend down on the floor like a dog.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘If you like playing games, and you want this job, I said bend down on the floor like a dog.’
Brendon did as he was told. He always did what he was told.
‘Good boy. Are you now my doggy?’
Brendon nodded, not sure what he was supposed to do.
‘And is my doggy happy?’
Brendon nodded again, now getting the hang of the situation.
‘I can’t see. Turn around and show me your wagging tail.’
Brendon turned around and shook his pert bottom, as if he was wagging his tail.
‘Good boy. Nice arse you have there.’ Royanna remarked as she got up from her chair, walked around the table and stood behind Brendan. ‘There’s a good boy,’ she said bending down to stroke his arse cheeks then bringing her hand down underneath to cup his hard balls. ‘Mmm. Someone’s feeling naughty. Does the naughty doggy like to look at cats?
‘Woof. Yes,’ he said.
‘Good. I’m glad you like pussies. I have a pussy who love dogs. Would you like to see my pussy?
Brendan nodded.
‘Good. Now stay there and don’t move until I tell you.’
Brendan sat still as Royanna walked back to her chair.
‘Now turn around.’
Brendan turned back and couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Royanna had sat back in her chair and had lifted up her skirt and spread her legs apart to reveal her hairless vagina, perfectly framed within two black suspender belt straps.
‘Do you like my pussy?’
Again, Brendan nodded.
‘Would you like to play with my pussy, you naughty dog?’
Brendon eyes widened and nodded eagerly. He barked softly, as not to let Royanna’s personal assistant hear what was going on in the office.
‘Good boy. Now come here.’
Brendon crawled under the table and sat in front of her. His tongue hung from his mouth and he panted like an eager puppy.
‘As you can see, my pussy is very, very wet,’ she breathed as she ran her middle finger over her moist vagina lips. ‘My pussy needs lots of attention. Are you willing to give her lots of attention?’

Brendon nodded.
‘Good.’ Royanna lent back and opened her legs even wider. ‘Come closer my hungry doggy and drink from my pussy’s bowl.’
Champagne Burst


The twenty eight year old strawberry blonde day time television hunk who presented the top rated TV show, Daily Delights on Majestic Television was running late. As usual.
Bradley Walters, unkempt and flustered, with his crumpled shirt tail hanging out the back of his jeans, his flies buttons popping open, allowing a passing middle aged secretary to catch a glimpse of his mighty bulge that lurked within his white Calvin Klein’s underwear, the results from having a quick shag and a snort of cocaine in the broom cupboard with an eager to please make up girl, rushed down the busy corridor towards studio six, accompanied by his timeless good looks, his irresistible charm, his accident prone tendency and his Jack the Lad attitude.
With ten minutes to go before he was supposed to be live on air, Bradley Walters, suffering with a pounding hangover, the after effects from another exclusive party bash held in the Vanilla Lounge nightclub, burst into the bustling studio to the adoration from the waiting crew, though not from the director.
Having received a copy of the revised script and running order for that morning’s show from the floor manager’s glamourous assistant, who, as would most of the women in the production office, on the set, and as well as most of his loyal army of adoring female viewers in TV Land, longed to take Bradley home and do naughty things to him in the privacy of their bedroom or wherever their fantasies would allow, Bradley grabbed a cup of strong coffee from the studio’s gofer, the CEO’s nephew, thanked him with a nod whilst stuffing his face with a Danish pastry and sat down in his chair ready to be pampered and wired up, unaware that he was flying low.
‘Bradley, where the hell have you been?’ screamed the harassed director from the control box down to his earpiece.
‘Well man, you see…’ Bradley started to explain as he tried to lean over and put his coffee cup down onto the floor next to him, but accidentally tipped the contents all over the studio floor.
‘Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know,’ the director held up his hands to the small screen in front of him labelled camera five, which picked up the handsome presenter as one of the sound men attached a small microphone to his shirt. ‘We haven’t got time for any more excuses, the show is about to start.’
‘It won’t happen again,’ Bradley apologized, with a big innocent smile beaming across his boyish face, trying to discreetly mop up the puddle of coffee with the sole of his Reebok trainers.
‘It had better not!’ the director hissed.
‘Bradley, I want to see you in my office straight after the show,’ another voice bellowed down his ear piece. It was the voice of God, the producer.
‘Sure.’ He winked down the camera at her.
‘I mean it this time,’ Karen Singer, the producer added. ‘I don’t want any more fuck ups. This is your last warning. Do you understand?’
Yeah got it he thought, remembering the last time he had a fuck up with her. And that was in a plush hotel suite in New York on their last overseas filming trip a few weeks ago.
‘Yeah, I understand,’ he smiled, thinking how much of a right goer she was, and a kinky sod at that too!
He liked that in a woman. He liked his women to be strong and forceful. Especially the ones who were hard to chase and capture. They were the best. An equal who stimulated his brain as well as his loins.
Though the attraction of blonde, buxom air head starlets who wanted him for one thing only, and that was for him to be their trophy conquest, so that they could boast about him to their friends and earn a small packet from doing a kiss and tell story for the tabloid press in the process, were appealing as well.
Although occasionally, well more than occasionally these days, Bradley didn’t mind dipping his toe into the never ending candy floss making machine for a quick, no strings attached lick and a promise from the sweet, fluffy flock of nymphets that hung around him like flies to shit. Though he didn’t class himself that low, more like bees to the honey.
Caught in the net of self-indulgence, Katrina, the just shagged make up girl, along with her tray of cosmetics and other beauty paraphernalia, had appeared by his side and was just what he needed. A well timed diversion.
With the shrill of the director’s voice still swimming around his fuzzy head, Bradley closed his eyes tight with pain as he parted his legs allowing Katrina to sidle up close to him.
Carefully, she leant up against his crotch and felt his thick cock growing hard in his tight jeans. Smiling to herself, she gently applied dusting powder over Bradley’s freckles and bronzed cheeks, eliminating the shine for the TV cameras and making him more gorgeous than ever.
Enjoying the sensual stroking of the soft brush flowing over his face, Bradley’s shaky hands wandered inside the darkness of her warm denim mini skirt, brushing up past her firm thighs and hovered on her tight bottom. His hands then slid under her g string and toyed with the elastic, twanging it against her bottom cheeks.
‘Watchya doing tonight luv?’ he whipered, pulling her closer to him so that he could have a proper poke about, totally unaware of the prying eyes of the observant crew that lurked safely behind their cameras and monitors.
‘Nothing,’ she giggled, pretending to struggle under his manly grope.
‘Wanna come with me tonight?’
‘I’d cum with you anytime,’ she breathed, agreeing with his double entendre.
‘No luv,’ he said glancing around the heaving studio. ‘I’ve been invited to one of those boring showbiz parties. You know what I mean? D’ya wanna be my date for the evening?’
‘Oh, I’d love to,’ she squealed with delight, not just with the invitation but with the pleasure of his finger delving up her bottom hole.
‘Great. I’ll tell you the plans later, but for now, my audience awaits.’
Bradley slipped his finger out of her bottom and gently nudged the flushed make up girl aside, indicating that he was finished with her. He then wiped his stained finger on the empty chair next to him, followed by a furtive sniff of it.
Relishing in the sexual exhibition antics that had just happened, Bradley leered at Katrina’s swinging bottom encased in her denim skirt as she sashayed across the studio floor and disappeared behind a black curtain towards the make up room where the Daily Delights makeover team were in mid preparation to humiliate their next unsuspecting victim on live TV.
Bradley smiled to himself.
He felt good. Real good. And he bloody well ought to of had, after partaking in a quick fuck and snort in the darkness of a cupboard!
Enjoying the thrill of surfing the wave from the cocaine adrenaline rush and relishing in releasing his load into her hungry pussy, Bradley believed that he was the king of the world and could tackle anything.
Well, not everything.
There was one thing that eluded him. The bloody autocue.
Peering under the bright lights of the studio and the reflection of the sun pouring in from the large picture window behind him that looked out onto the monuments of London, Bradley tried to focus on the words scrawling up the tiny screen, but they kept moving about and bled together into one bundle of white blur.
Sod it he thought. I’ll just make it up as usual.
Just as the seed of a fart had started to grow and fester, Kerri-Anne Drew, his CO presenter, tottered over on her Jimmy Choo shoes from the kitchen area where she had been rehearsing the cookery slot with her boyfriend and Daily Delights resident chef Maxwell Ontell, smoothed down her Versace suit, sat down on the shit smeared chair and quickly looked at her script for one last time when Bradley laughed out loud.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Kerri-Anne.
‘Nothing luv,’ he smirked, trying to hold his laughter in, as well as a brewing fart.
‘Come on Bradley. I know you only too well.’
‘Let’s just say I’ve had a finger licking good time!’
‘Humph,’ she huffed, looking at him in a strange way, not wanting to know all his sordid details as she had gone down that road by mistake before and would never go back there again. Never!
‘OK everyone. Here we go again. Another day another dollar. And let’s have some fun!’ he heard the director’s assistant down his earpiece. Though the next snippet of conversation stayed within the confinements of the control box.
‘And if anything goes wrong with Bradley, which I’m sure it will, for Christ’s sake cut straight to Kerri-Anne a.s.a.p.’ the director hissed to the editor. ‘I don’t want another mistake like last week’s kerfuffle.’
Meaning that last week, Bradley had surpassed his usual outspoken self and had been unintentionally offensive during the daily phone in section of the programme. This time, it was all about the female menopause and he had shot his mouth open and had reduced one of the guest female panellists to tears, who happened to be a vicar’s wife as well as a doddery agony aunt for one of those dusty, old fashioned decrepit women’s weekly magazines, which were as gripping as watching an Olympic team of dithering old men having a Zimmer frame race on a wet Sunday afternoon around a urine fragrant common room in a musty old people’s home.
‘I hope he’s not high again?’
‘He’s always high.’
‘The coke head!’
‘Smack head you mean?’
‘I’d like to smack him ‘round the head,’ the editor and the assistant director bitched in the booth.
‘Ladies!’ screamed the director to the two back biting men. ‘Let’s have some decorum.’
The two men looked at each other and laughed.
‘Yeah right!’
‘Enough!’ the producer ordered.
The two men glanced at each other and begrudgingly continued with their work, stifling their acid sniggers.
As the director’s voice continued to bellow orders down his earpiece, and as the floor manager faffed about behind the cameras doing an charade effect coinciding with the countdown for the start of the show, Bradley adjusted his manhood in front of the waiting crew and winked to one of their guest’s, the celebrity West End sensation Tanya Phillips as she sat elegantly on one of the plush sofa’s on the adjacent pastel coloured living room set, awaiting her interview.
With the large red light indicating live on air, the Summery title music ringing around the studio and the countdown had reached number five, Bradley turned to his CO presenter, slapped and squeezed her delicate knee, accidentally snagging her Dior tights and finally released his pent up earth shaking smelly fart.
Now he was ready.
Now he was live on air.
Rolex Watch 1


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Celebrityville Episode 3

Celebrityville LogoEpisode 3

Struggling to fight back the torrid waves of emotions as the glint of a nervous breakdown loomed largely on the horizon, the devoted husband, family man and TV mogul of Majestic Television, David Normanski, paced around the vast master bedroom of his five million pound Surrey mansion in anticipation of the expected bad news.
Beside himself with a silver lined sack of showbiz worries, David, along with his two daughters Catherine and Emma and his newly acquired son in law, the West End impresario Perry Homer, all frantically awaited for the return of Crimson Normanski, wife number two of the self-made multi-millionaire.
Taking over the title role of Mrs. Normanski from David’s first wife, the man eating bitch and health guru Royanna Parks, Crimson Normanski, though mainly known as Crimson Lake, the thirty nine year old ex model now turned part-time TV presenter on Majestic Television’s top rated celebrity gossip show, VIP Live! was late. Eight hours late!
Known for her ditzy behaviour, as well as her impeccable time keeping, being late was somewhat out of character for Crimson. Being late was unheard of in David’s world. Unthinkable. No one ever dared to be late around him. No one. It was just plain rudeness in his eyes. It was a symbol of disrespect and a distinct lack of manners. A trait that was all too familiar in today’s society where a shortage of basic etiquette ethics and common courtesy beliefs ruled the roost.
And anyway, in some strange way under all of that candy floss of effervescence in which she surrounded herself with, deep down she was a highly organized woman. Never an hour passed without some kind of electronic bleep, ping and twang would fill the air as it squealed out from her iPhone, reminding her when her next appointment was or what she had to do next.
And now, wishing he could hear those awful sounds again, the distraught sixty five year old Russian continued to crush the precious fibres of the Persian rug with the soles of his Gucci shoes as he reaffirmed the details for the third time with Perry Homer regarding the security guard at the gate house, who was the last person to see Crimson that morning as he waved goodbye to her over a well fingered copy of Playboy magazine.
What if she’s dead? His mind battled against a chorus of nagging voices who repeatedly pierced their twisted tongues through his brain cells like a knife slicing through a cauliflower. No. That was too unthinkable. She was alive. She had to be. She needed to be.
But what if she had run off with another man?
Impossible. Crimson would never do such a thing. She loved David too much. And no one else. That thought was simply out of the question. A forbidden remark which shouldn’t have slivered out from the sludge of despair. But it did. And why? Did she play around behind his back? Wasn’t his eight inch cock enough for her? Was she happy? Sure. She must be happy? Or was she?
He gave her everything that any princess would dream of: clothes, jewels, money, cars, holidays, homes, companionship, love and great sex, really great sex. What more could she want? What else could he offer her?
A child!
Is that what she wanted after their eighteen years of marriage?
No. He knew she never wanted any children. That wasn’t her style. They had discussed that topic at considerable length and she refused point blank to go down that motherly road. No little ankle biter was going to spoil her size ten figure. And anyway, motherly feelings wasn’t her thing. Sure she cared greatly about David’s three siblings to his previously marriage. And she would do anything for them. It was easy. She could love them and leave them. They were adults and they weren’t hers.
So why was she missing? Why?
After months of endless preparations and meetings with party planners, caterers, florists and other so called PR people that leeched themselves to the celebration industry, why would she want to miss their glamorous wedding anniversary party?
Has she done this to him on purpose? No, of course not. It was only that morning Crimson declared her undying love for him.
‘Here’s to another year of wedded bliss, Mrs. Normanski,’ David winked as he chinked glasses with Crimson over their champagne breakfast. Well if you can call it breakfast at 11 a.m.
‘Chin chin, my darling,’ she smiled, flicking her shoulder length, freshly curled red hair, created and painted her pretty boy hair stylist Blaze. ‘To us.’
Crimson lifted the full Baccarat flute of Bollinger to her Elizabeth Arden’s coated lips and carefully sipped the champagne.
Having downed his drink, David then spread his six foot two solid body across his sumptuous satin encased Jacobean style four poster bed and gazed up in merriment at the red, gold and green striped canapé that swaged across the carved wooden beams.
Cupping his hands behind the nape of his pillow of golden curls, David crossed his legs, wiggled his size ten feet and smiled.
‘What are you smiling about?’ Crimson asked as she leant next to him, lovingly studying his deep brown eyes.
‘I was just wondering.’
‘What about?’
‘About how lucky I am.’
‘You fool!’
Crimson leant over and gently pecked him on the cheek, leaving behind a faint trace of lipstick, as if to say she gave him her seal of approval for being silly.
‘What was that for?’ Not worried about the answer as he perfectly knew what it was going to be.
‘That’s just for being you. Don’t ever change, my darling,’ she whispered in his ear as she carefully wiped away the lipstick mark from his cheek with the pads of her supple fingers, frightened in case a shaving of his bronzed skin would accidentally buried itself within the crevice of her shiny new nylon nails and ruin her £200 manicure.
‘What do you mean don’t ever change?’ he asked.
‘You know perfectly well what I mean.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes you do, my special clown.’
And he did.
‘Don’t ever change’ meant that living with David Normanski was never dull. ‘Expect the unexpected’ was one of his mottoes. And he certainly lived by that rule. On many occasions.
Like for instance, during one of her kill-to-be-invited charity lunches held on their extensive Venetian styled patio in the middle of a sizzling summer heat wave, David had not only surprised her, but also her clucking cronies when a naked troupe of Russian gymnasts spectacularly tumbled across their manicured lawn.
Or another ‘Surprise Surprise’ golden moment was on her 30th birthday when he organized a string quartet to serenade her in her private hair salon in the mansion whilst she sat, ‘oh so glamorously’ wrapped in an unflattering black cotton gown, curled up to the nines under the dryer and with her hands firmly plonked into two large bowls of hot moisturizing honey and beeswax preparations.
Along with a forest of red roses that was brought in by an army of hired help, David, beaming with love behind the blooming petals of passion, knelt beside her and presented her with a platinum and diamond necklace worth around £150,000. Crimson, unable to be furious with his generous tokens of love, relented her somewhat frosty gaze from under the hood of the dryer and melted under his charms. Once again. Well, who wouldn’t with a string of expensive bling dripping around one’s neck?
And now, with the day almost at an end and with two exotically decorated marquees full of expectant guests, all lathered up on alcohol and dancing merrily to the sight and sound of pop sensation Melody Starr, David slumped onto the bed and buried his head in his mighty hands.
‘I’m sure she’s alright,’ comforted Perry Homer.
‘Yeah dad. You know Crimson can be a bit forgetful at times,’ Catherine added.
‘I know that.’ Sodden with tears, David looked towards his youngest. ‘I know she can be somewhat vague at times, but she’s never been this bad, Cat. What if something bad has happened to her? She’s not answering her mobile.’
‘Perhaps the battery’s dead?’ The eldest and logical sister, Emma said.
‘No. She’d never forget anything like that. I know she can be a bit scatty at times, but her mobile’s her life line.’
‘Could she be with her hairdresser having a touch up?’ Emma continued.
‘No. I’ve looked in there and there’s no one about.’
‘Blaze is downstairs with his boyfriend,’ Catherine remarked as Perry nudged her in the ribs for seeing the funny side to Emma’s innocent question.
‘What about one of her girlfriends. Have you spoken to them yet?’ Emma said.
‘That’s useless. They’re all here.’
Emma glanced at Catherine, desperate for more excuses to fill the awkward atmosphere when suddenly, the telephone rang.
Everyone stood still to see who was going to answer the telephone. But David didn’t. He immediately jumped up from the bed and sprang over to the telephone.
‘Hello Crimson? Is that you?’ his shaking voice cried down the receiver.
She didn’t answer.
Someone else did. And the caller didn’t sound friendly.
David’s face turned white.
It was a sign.
A bad sign.
David continued to scream down the telephone, oblivious of the evil which lurked within the shadows of his scenery and were secretly directing his glittering life in order for him to take his final curtain.
Along with their spineless method acting skills and with their plot of destruction, only one thing remained on the caller’s agenda. There was only one thing that was so important in David’s life and by removing it, would bring the powerful oligarch crushing down with one simple swipe.
All they had to do was to kick him where it hurt and push him over the edge.
And now, as the crescendo of their despicable and destroying year-long plots and schemes were coming into fruition, this last action was going to be the deathly diamond dagger that would pierce his broken heart. This was the moment when the golden bullet was going to be shot in order to destroy David Normanski, his family and his business interests for once and for all.
The husky breath of the caller continued down the telephone, relishing in the fact that the perfect present had been given to them on a silver platter, gift wrapped from head to toe with a red bow nicely decorated on the top of the priceless package.
This was what they have been waiting for.
This was the time to finally reveal their ultimatum.
This was the time to reveal the kidnapping of Crimson Lake.

* * *

A crushed black rose was carefully placed inside a brown padded envelope with a note made from letters cut out from magazines stating, ‘Die bitch!’
It was addressed to Melody Starr.

* * *

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Doing A Carol 3

Doing A Carol 3
It started off as just another birthday celebration at the local Italian restaurant with a group of friends.

We were all there to celebrate Carol’s husband, Michael’s birthday. There must have been about ten of us all gathered around a large table laden with bowls of pastas, salads and overflowing glasses of wine that were all scattered in between brightly coloured bowls with candles in them.

The restaurant was busy that evening, especially as our loud group monopolised most of the staff. I felt sorry for the happy couples who looked as if they wanted a quiet night out, although on another table, a group of ladies seemed they were having fun too.

Michael, who owns a recruitment company, was clearly enjoying being the centre of attention, especially as the ladies on the next table were waving at him and wishing him a happy birthday.

As a people watcher, it was fun catching the young Italian stallion waiter glancing down at Carol’s breasts as he served the drinks. And it was obvious to me that Carol was flirting back at him as she looked as if she enjoyed the attention of him looking at her in her tight black dress which showed off her glittered dusted breasts.

Oh the poor waiter. Carol would eat him alive.

After a few more drinks, the lights went low and the staff brought out a large birthday cake in the shape of a Lamborghini for Michael and we all sang ‘Happy Birthday’. Michael stood up, thanked us for being there and then cut the cake to a cheering crowd. In the meantime, I looked around the table and caught Carol looking at the waiter’s bulge in his tight black trousers as he stood next to her.

It was such a fun evening as we all laughed and joked and shared stories about Michael. And not being a shy guy, Michael took the jokes on the chin then excused himself from the group. I saw him across the restaurant shake hands with all the staff as it looked like he was thanking them for looking after him.

Michael came back with a big smile on his face, sat down next to me and opened another bottle of champagne for all of us. He told me that he was really pleased to see all his friends and how much fun he was having.

On the other side of the table, Carol quietly got up from her chair without anyone noticing and slipped off to the washrooms, followed by the young waiter.

I tried to keep Michael’s attention on me, but I’m sure he noticed something was up. Luckily the group of ladies next to us were about to leave and came over to congratulate Michael again. Phew!

As the champagne flowed, Michael got up and worked the table, thanking each person for coming. Although I thought it was strange that he kept looking at his phone. I guess it must have something to do with work as I know how important it is to him as he has to keep up a nice house and a certain lifestyle.

Carol then came back and kissed Michael on the cheek which made him jump. He smiled back and gave her a hug. With her hand grabbing her husband’s bum cheek, she looked over his shoulder and gave me a knowing look. In the meantime, the wandering waiter looked rather flushed as he cleaned up the table next to us.

By now the guests were starting to leave and were saying their goodbyes. It was time for me to leave too. I said goodbye to the last few people sitting down and to Michael and Carol and thanked them for a great evening.

It was odd that Michael hugged me and thanked me for being there and for looking after him. I’m not sure what that meant, but I told him he was more than welcome.

Could it be that he knew what Carol had got up to whilst we were chatting? Does he know about her shenanigans? Who knows? Although it would be fun to find out, wouldn’t it?


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Doing A Carol 2

Doing A Carol 2


I’ve just found out that my friend Carol has been up to her old tricks again.

It was at our monthly dinner at Carol’s where another one of her discount derby sessions was blurted out over nibbles.

As we all flopped over her luxurious sofa stuffed from her delicious meal, Carol casually poured out a celebratory bottle of Bollinger and waved her hand around to show off her freshly decorated lounge.

I did notice the subtle changes as I came in but forgot to comment on this.

Anyway, Carol, who is more financially comfortable than my other friend Sarah and I, told us that her husband had a local decorating company revamp his office and he said to them that his wife was looking to have the lounge freshened up.

Nothing unusual about this.

She said that a few days later the owner of the decorating company, a silver haired man in his late fifties, popped by to discuss the colours, style and to leave off some samples to choose from.

I knew that she had a friend who was an interior designer and asked her why she didn’t ask her to decorate her lounge.

Carol gave me a wry smile as she sipped her favourite drink. Hmmm. I knew that twinkle. What had she been up to now?

She told us that she didn’t want to use her friend as the job would have been too simple for her. Yeah right!

‘Really?’ I asked.

She took another sip. Still saying nothing.

‘What have you done?’ I said, knowing that Carol has been up to something naughty.

Carol looked at my friend Sarah and and told us what had happened.

Having looked at the samples, Carol had contacted the decorating company and booked a second appointment with the owner. Unfortunately he was unavailable to visit so he had sent one of his team members to pop by.

Apparently a man in his early thirties knocked on the door. She let him in and noticed that his apprentice was left sitting in the van.

Carol continued her story and told us that she sat next to the man on the sofa and they looked through the samples, deciding what colour she wanted on the walls. As soon as she knew what she wanted, she got up to make some tea.

‘Tea?’ I butted in.

‘Yes,’ she said, trying to hold back a cheeky grin.

She then went on to say that she asked the man to invite the apprentice in for a cup of tea too as he looked bored sitting out there on his own. The man gestured to the eighteen year old lad to come in.

Here we go, I thought.

‘Not going in to too much detail,’ she said, ‘but I could see they were interested in me by what I could see growing in their overalls. So as they were having their tea, I quickly popped upstairs, slipped on some sexy black underwear and came down. They were surprised to see me like this, but it didn’t take them long to remove their overalls. And one thing led to another, it wasn’t long that I had them there and then. Both at the same time. And they took some naughty pics too.’

She went to get her phone out of her bag to show us, but we both declined to look at the pictures.

‘And your husband doesn’t know?’ Sarah gasped, though not shocked nor surprised.

‘Don’t be silly. Of course not! He’s far too busy at work. Anyway he gets his oats when he needs to. Though these days it’s not that often as he would like,’ she giggled, finishing off her drink.

We all laughed. Carol does keep us amused with what she gets up to, all because she wants to save a few pounds.

Her poor husband. If only he knew!


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Doing A Carol

Doing A Carol

My friend, who I shall call Carol, is stunning and a very naughty lady who always surprises me. For instance, we were having drinks at a barbeque the other night and Carol, with her third glass of rosé in one hand and a sausage in the other, spilled out a confession saying that she has met an older man in his mid 60’s who runs a small local garden centre.

qqq2Nothing unusual about. Carol is always meeting new people as she’s a social butterfly. After a gulp of wine, she then goes on and tells us about her antics with this large bellied gent.

Apparently, on her days off work she pops into his potting shed at the back of the garden centre and fools about with his thick tool just to get her hands on some freebies. From her greenhouse gropes over the months she has acquired an olive tree worth £80, various potting plants, garden furniture and several garden lights.

This is not the first time she has done that. A few months ago, she advertised for a painter and decorator to come and redecorate her lounge, with the intent of paying him in kind. Which she did!

She now tells me that her next venture is to sort out the junk in her garage and is looking for a man with a van.

Let’s see how she tackles this task!