The Legend of The Toonidunzas: Pre-Title Opening Scene

Right, listen I get that none of my other pitches have yet been made into movies (probably due to the pandemic or something) but this one has it all – Romance, Suspense, Horror, Dark Comedy, Myths, Legends. Everything.

Throw in a few songs and probably could legit call it a musical. See what that Lin-Manuel Miranda fella is up to. Everyone is banging on about “We Don’t Talk About Bruno” wait till they hear “The Testicle Song”.

Anyway so we open in a modern day eating establishment – it’s bright, clean, happy atmosphere; basically the opposite of a Wetherspoons.

We follow a a young attractive couple as they happily and very much lovingly walk through the door and towards a table. She’s all lovely and pretty and he is all chiselled and hunky.

One of the seats at their table is already occupied but a heavy set elderly lady wearing a smart outfit and a nice hat. They all exchange pleasantries and we learn this woman is Auntie Pat.

A brief fade and we rejoin them tucking into their main course (for those who demand detail and back story they ordered from the set menu cos Auntie Pat had a Groupon voucher)

It’s during the meal we experience the first moment of unbearable tension. If you need it sooner then the hunky guy…. Let’s call him Peter Collingwood … tried to order from the main menu and not the set menu and Auntie Pat weren’t having any of it.

Nevertheless here’s how we build tension with dialogue :-

PETER: Well it’s great to finally meet the infamous Auntie Pat. Sarah has told me so much about you

AUNTIE PAT: Has she? She has told me nothing about you Mr Collingwood

PETER: Really? [To Sarah] have you been keeping me a secret? [To Auntie Pat] Well ask me anything you want to know

AUNTIE PAT: Oh I don’t need to ask you anything. I know everything about you. I make it my business to find out who seeks to steal the heart of my delightful niece. I care about her. I care about all my nieces you see Mr Collingwood.

PETER (laughing nervously): Really? What do you know

AUNTIE PAT: I know you are one of three siblings . The middle child born to a Mother who was a teacher and a Father who was an accountant. You were educated privately yet obtained disappointing results in any exam you have taken but fortunately for you your father’s connections has secured you a very well paid role in a merchant bank.

You met my niece on August 13th in a sports bar. She was minding her own business and you were there for leaving drinks. Two weeks prior to that date a woman named Francesca posted an eight tweet thread on what a horrible experience she had with you. I have the entire transcript in my handbag if you care for me to read it out loud.

SARAH: Auntie Pat…. Enough…. You’re embarrassing him

PETER: It’s quite alright. I admire someone who cares about someone so much. (coughs) If you will excuse me for a moment

We follow Peter as he goes to the restroom. He is muttering “Fucking crazy woman!” as he enters the furthest cubicle. Whilst relieving himself he says “What you doing Peter? Yeh Sarah is hot but not hot enough to put up with that fucking psycho woman”

He finishes, zips himself up, pulls the chain and opens the cubicle door to be confronted by Auntie Pat (cue sneaky jump scare incidental music)

PETER: What the hell are you doing in here?

AUNTIE PAT: We didn’t finish our conversation Mr Collingwood. Shall we? [Pushing him back into the cubicle]

As I was saying you met my niece on August 13th and within a few weeks can be described as officially dating or whatever term one uses for that nowadays.

Yet despite this clear confirmation of your desire to be with my niece all your dating profiles remained active. A total of 78 messages sent to other women despite your oath to date my niece

PETER: Oath? What the….

AUNTIE PAT: This unpleasant behaviour culminated in you, under the appallingly named pseudonym Big Dog seven four zero six, sending some unsuspecting lady a message on social media explaining in rather clumsy detail what you would like to do to her. That is not the sort of behaviour one would expect from someone who is dating my niece

PETER: Well it has nothing to do with you

AUNTIE PAT: Oh but you see it does Mr Collingwood. The happiness and well-being of all my nieces is my main priority. It troubles me when I learn of such behaviour that may bring harm to one of them

PETER: FINE! I’m sorry okay. It won’t happen again. I just got a little … you know… with waiting

AUNTIE PAT: I’m afraid I don’t know Mr Collingwood and we are beyond empty apologies

PETER: What do you want me to do?!!

AUNTIE PAT: We are a proud family Mr Collingwood. Steeped in tradition. We live by a code that we and generations before us have followed. You swore and oath to my niece. You have broken that oath and therefore breached the code and as such there are reparations to pay.

PETER: Oath? Code? Reparations? You’re fucking crazy! Fuck this. This ain’t worth it. Fine! You win! I will leave her alone. I will not bother her again.

(Auntie Pat turns to face the door, her hand on the handle. Behind her Peter is still mumbling obscenities. She closes her eyes and we glimpse a knife as she begins to pull it out from her jacket. She begins to chant)

AUNTIE PAT: Mare Ree Bare Rees Vikt Ore Ria Spun Jer

It’s gets louder

Mare Ree Bare Rees Vikt Ore Ria Spun Jer


Mare Ree Bare Rees Vikt Ore Ria Spun Jer

She spins round to face Peter who sees the knife. There is fear in his eyes

The chanting gets louder and it seems others have joined in

Mare Ree Bare Rees Vikt Ore Ria Spun Jet

And… we cut back to the restaurant where Sarah is there sipping her wine. Auntie Pat rejoins her and sits down

SARAH: Everything okay?

AUNTIE PAT: Yes dear. I’m afraid Peter won’t be returning to join us. I’m sorry my dear but he breached the code and reparations were due.

We see Auntie Pat place two bloody testicles on the side plate

AUNTIE PAT: Now., now did you want dessert?

SARAH: No thank you Auntie Pat

(Optional Dialogue- AUNTIE PAT: Good cos the sticky toffee pudding was not on the set menu)

We cut to a small island. Proper drone shot swooping in to a field where stands a giant wicker Squirrel. We watch as we see a group of hooded people load a covered dead body up the wicker back side of the squirrel and proceed to set it alight

As it burns a number of women emerge from a large tent dressed in brilliant white dresses and link hands as they watch the structure burn while chanting. We see Auntie Pat and Sarah join the group as they chant:-

Mare Ree Bare Rees Vikt Ore Ria Spun Jer

Cue Opening Titles

Now if we got that Lin-Manuel on board this would be his first song . Don’t go with ‘The Testicle Song’ save that . Get him to knock up a catchy little number based on the chant. Job done.

Super Sentient Sex Dolls From Saturn: Part Seven

In Part Six we were introduced to the other four Sentient Sex Dolls, the ease of which they dispatched some friendly Bikers does indeed indicate they are also Super.

We also learnt more about Gina, the Sentient Sex Doll who has ended up in the possession of Spencer.

You have to feel sorry for Spencer who, in a short period of time, has learnt his Dad was shagging a Sex Doll when he should have been piloting a spacecraft and now it turns out this curious Sex Doll may in fact be evil.

This is being pitched as a movie but were it a TV show then the last episode would have ended with Gina’s evil glowing red eye.

This cliffhanger would have many on social media with very little etiquette rush to spoil the episode for everyone else. Just imagine all the ‘Fans React To Gina’s Evil Eye’ YouTube videos promoted with the hashtag #HornyGlowyRedEye.

Also the merch. Always got to be thinking about the merch. Simply by having Gina’s eye glows red rather than her usual white means there would be a demand for a Glowy Red Eye Gina Pop Vinyl.

However it will quickly be revealed Gina has not turned evil;

“Danger. They are here. You are in Danger” she says

“Who are they?” Spencer asks. We can hear Paul’s voice on the phone asking what is happening and not so subtlety enquire if Spencer is about to have sex with Gina.

Spencer disconnects the call to Paul so he can concentrate on speaking with Gina.

“Who are they? What danger? What is happening?” Spencer asks confused and, because he is speaking to a sex doll, a little horny.

Now we could take this opportunity to basically explain and sum up the entire plot of the movie.

You know, the inventor of the Sex Dolls, in order to secure funding made a deal with a shady organisation to weaponise these Artificial Intelligence Fucking Machines. The first generation of sex dolls being the trial run but a clash in the operating system basically turned them into lusty assassins.

This inevitably caused the Space Sex Doll Program to collapse and the Inventor was disgraced. He is, of course, the menacing character who keeps popping up throughout the movie. He has dedicated years and his remaining resources to locating the missing Sex Dolls, bring them back to earth, utilise their murderous power and take over the world.

But we don’t have to really get in to all that so in answer to Spencer’s question of “What is Happening?” Gina simply looks at him and answers with infuriating vagueness


We do have to deal with the fact that Spencer has found out that Gina kind of killed his Dad in a cruel cold blooded way. The consequence of this was for Spencer to grow up with the shame that his father was just banging a sex doll that caused the deaths of many. The truth was that even though he had totally been boning an android on many occasions that wasn’t the reason the spacecraft crashed into the space station. It was because he was dead.

So we have an opportunity to really deal with some wider issues that will become more relevant in the future society. To what degree can we hold the creation responsible for the wrongs of the creator? If we are to give these tools power are we to be surprised if they are used? Gina was, after all, only following her program. Can we expect a level of morality from what is effectively just a piece of code when many humans themselves fail to care for the lives of their own species? In the search for perfection do we instead pass on our own flaws, making the same mistakes because we fail to recognise our own? Why do we blame toasters for not toasting the bread properly?

It’s deep stuff but also a little wordy to convey in a movie so let’s just deal with all that with expressions. Besides, how can Spencer be mad at Gina for killing his Dad, she has great tits.

But the actor playing Spencer will need to convey these complex issues and contradictory emotions by the way he looks and stares. He needs to show confusion, anger, upset, fear and also being a tad horny. I’d recommend Tucker Carlson doing his monologues as reference.

We cut from this highly emotive staring to see what the other Sex Dolls are up to. They are busy on their motorcycle road trip. And because they are the evil killer sex dolls it’s a murderous road trip.

A hitchhiker, a birdwatcher, a police patrol officer and some guy who randomly stopped on the highway to knock one out behind a bush all succumb to the Sex Doll’s deadly rampage.

Sure, the birdwatcher was a loving father and grandfather who did a lot of charity work and was a pillar of the community. His death was a tragic waste but just look at how great the sex doll’s arse looked and she ripped his head off.

The question many would have is where are they going? Well that’s pretty obvious but in case it isn’t we are back to the menacing man still doing everything menacingly.

We see him staring at a screen, four red dots signifying the murderous troupe of sex dolls as it moves towards a solitary green dot being Gina.

“Ready the transport” says the menacing man who is so obviously the disgraced inventor that we don’t have to explain it with words.

“I do not want to miss this reunion” he says, menacingly.

See Me Now?

Sophie woke up late, although as this was the normal time she had woken up for months one could make the argument that Sophie woke up at the usual time.

For that extra thirty minutes of sleep she was required to sacrifice a more relaxed morning routine. She would still do all the things that she would normally do, just a lot quicker.

On waking up Sophie would slowly pad to her kitchen to make her first coffee of the morning. It was the most important cup of coffee of the entire day. When she had contemplated eliminating parts of her morning routine for more time in bed this first coffee would not even be in consideration for elimination; it was an immovable necessity.

As she waited impatiently for the kettle to boil she would distract herself by opening her Twitter app. Normally there would only be a handful of notifications for Sophie to navigate but last night she did something rather impulsively silly. She posted a selfie.

Her motivation for doing so was because she felt good. She was happy and rather than describe her happiness in 280 characters or less she thought it would just be easier to post a picture of her smiling. Look… there’s me… happy.

Her closest followers all reacted with likes and compliments which increased Sophie’s elated mood. Yet that quickly diminished as she read some of the other comments which had taken a rather different approach to being complimentary.

She had ignored the more leering responses but in doing so this had been taken by the unknown contributor as painful rejection who now eloquently dissected Sophie’s entire character by calling her a “thirsty teasing bitch”.

Reading the word ‘thirsty’ caused Sophie to stare at her kettle that was still obstinately boiling. She tutted at the kettle, quickly realising the futility of showing disapproval to an inanimate object in the ridiculous hope that this criticism would make it want to work quicker next time.

Returning to her phone she noted that she had quite a few Direct Messages. Amongst those inexplicably just wanting to say ‘Hi’ there were some more colourful contributions.

Some had seen Sophie’s fully clothed selfie as the perfect opportunity to become some low budget DH Lawrence and seduce Sophie with well trodden erotica.

“Why’s your cock angry, dude?”

Others, however, despite being allured by Sophie’s smiley face felt it was simply necessary to get to the point. “I want to fuck you” stated one response. Concerned that Sophie may have further questions there was a follow up message that read “With this?” Should Sophie also have the slightest curiosity what ‘this’ was he sent a picture of his penis, helpfully next to a drinks can should Sophie need a size comparison.

It wasn’t really the thing she needed to be seeing first thing in the morning, especially on an empty stomach.

It prompted Sophie to briefly ponder what he was hoping to achieve by sending a picture of his penis. Should the sight of some flaccid meat laying mournfully across an aluminium can have aroused burning feelings of lust inside her? Was he hoping his penis was the passport not only to her heart but to between her legs? That she would respond with;

“Well I did have a busy day planned at work but seeing that your cock almost reaches halfway to a monster energy drink can I have called in sick and want you round here now big boy”

With her coffee finally made and despite only just having got out of bed Sophie sat down and turned on the TV. The morning news show she watched was only there for background noise, Sophie got her news by scrolling Twitter and reading people reacting to the news, that way she could know what the most important topics of the day were.

As her TV fizzed to life she caught the end of the local news bulletin. There had been another attack near the local park where Sophie lived. A young woman out jogging was the latest victim. However, this topic was not the focus of everyone’s attention this morning. Something else had happened. Someone had painted the words “See Me Now?” on Churchill’s statue and people were angry.

The dark pink hue of the tv presenter seemed to be a visual embodiment of the anger that was spreading on social media over this incident. For a full five minutes he spat out his condemnation of such an atrocity before interviewing another man who was equally as angry.

Sophie recognised this man. She thought he might be a politician but had never seen him in the House of Commons, yet he held very strong opinions on a lot of subjects. Whilst he ranted about Britain’s heritage being destroyed and history being erased Sophie searched Twitter to see if there was any update over the woman who was attacked.

With her coffee drunk she took a shower, brushing her teeth at the same time. Hurriedly she got dressed and was then clip clopping her way to the tube station. She slowed down as she walked past the park where the attack had happened the. Apart from a few extra police officers around everything was as it usually was.

Sophie grabbed a copy of the Metro as she walked through the entrance of the tube station. She knew she would not have the opportunity to read it as it would be too busy; she’d barely have enough room to breathe let alone turn the pages. She quickly glanced at the front page which led with the story of the defacing of Churchill’s statue (later in her mid morning coffee break she would read a small column on page 4 about the woman being attacked).

There had been an earlier signal failure on the Northern Line and so the platform was heaving with already weary commuters. She only had a few stops to travel and was well used to being crammed into a metal box with what seemed to be most of London.

Unsurprisingly all the seats were taken and she managed to find herself a small pocket where she stood clinging onto the pole. As the train stopped at different stations more people clambered on, jostling for whatever position they could find. Within a few stops Sophie found herself sandwiched between the pole and a tall man.

The man’s groin rhythmically rubbed up against Sophie’s behind as the carriage gently rocked to its next destination.

Maybe the gentleman felt as awkward as she did. Perhaps he was just as uncomfortable but whilst Sophie tried to move he seemed to be in no rush to adjust his stance, leaving Sophie just to hope that was his phone rubbing up against her.

She would soon be at her stop and tried not to give it any thought but she did muse on what perhaps he might be thinking. Was he frozen in awkwardness, his mind reminding him that he is rubbing his cock up against a woman he doesn’t know yet offering no solution to stop that from happening.

Or was he getting a thrill out of it? Was his brain fantasising that he was in some sordid club. The pole that Sophie clung to morphing into one of those dancing poles for her to twerk and gyrate against. She was no longer a stranger just travelling to work but a dancer that was happy to dry hump him to orgasm. She supposed she’d know the answer to that if she found £20 slid in between the waistband of her skirt.

Eventually Sophie arrived at her destination and was relieved to be away from her claustrophobic surroundings and into the spacious air of outdoors. It was a brief walk to where she worked and she passed a number of coffee shops.

As part of her ‘extra time in bed’ routine she had swopped breakfast at home to popping in to the shop nearest to her office to grab something quickly to eat at her desk.

The building next to it was having some renovations and scaffolding adorned the Victorian exterior.

“Way-Hey! Love. You’re alright”

Sophie instinctively looked up stupidly thinking it might have been someone she knew. There she saw a man she didn’t know in a hard hat and hi-vis jacket looking down at her.

“You fancy a real man, sweetheart” he said before turning to his colleagues and laughing.

Whilst Sophie was old enough to realise fairy tales do not exist and romance as depicted in movies were unrealistic she was also experienced enough to know this was not the most seductive of pick up lines.

Once again she found herself confused as to her expected response. Did he think she would say “Well I was going to just get a bagel but hey throw down a ladder and I’ll come up and ride you”

The workman was now joined by his colleagues who chipped in with comments about Sophie’s appearance making it clear to express how that made them feel. She simply put her head down and went into the shop.

Having avoided any further amorous advances from workmen Sophie was able to sit peacefully at her desk. She finished the final remnants of her bagel while flicking through the pages of a report she had compiled in readiness for the Strategy Meeting today.

Sophie had spent the evening reviewing it and had purposely not started to watch that show on Netflix everyone was talking about. Had she done so her desire to binge watch as many episodes as she could would have meant she was ill prepared for the meeting. This was an important meeting and she wanted to ensure that she was fully ready.

The meeting room was large with a glass oval desk prominent in the centre. Random Art Deco paintings made the walls seem less sparse and at the far end was a large LCD screen.

All Heads of Division were attending this meeting, in total seven people made themselves comfortable around the table. Sophie, the only female in this group, took the available seat furthest from where her Boss stood at the screen.

He introduced the meeting trying to say as many random letters as he could with enough confidence that those present in the meeting would nod along like they understood – “KPI, GDPR etc”.

His talk, accompanied by a 100 slide PowerPoint presentation, was littered with talking points for the rest of the ensemble to muse over. Every time Sophie went to offer a comment someone else would interject and begin making the point she was about to say. The meeting lasted for two hours and within that time Sophie reckoned she had spoke for about two minutes of it.

The rest of the work day went quickly and soon it was time for her to leave and go home. Sophie planned on getting a take away, open a bottle of wine and binge watch that Netflix show.

As she was putting on her coat her phone chimed. It was a message from her friend seeing if she wanted to go for a quick drink. Sophie pondered this request. She had sold herself on the idea of a relaxing evening but then imagined the crush of the tube as everyone also rushed back for their few hours of downtime. She could do without being rubbed up against twice in a day.

It was settled. She would have a quick drink with her friend and get the tube home when it was little less busy and still have time to settle down and watch that show.

Sophie enjoyed the company of her friend and they shared a bottle of wine as the gossiped and laughed. They even got a bite to eat which meant Sophie would not require that takeaway after all. Just Netflix and wine it will be.

The bar was quite busy as was usual but everyone kept themselves to themselves. A few men looked over but none chose to insert themselves into the spare seats next to Sophie and her friend. They were just allowed to have fun chatting in their own little bubble.

Such was their enjoyment they could have easily made an evening of it but it was mid week and Sophie did not want to be getting the late tube home. So after a few hours in the company of her friend they kissed each other goodbye. Sophie watched her friend walk off in the opposite direction before she turned to walk to the tube station.

“Oi luv… show us your tits” said a man who must have been in his twenties sitting on a table outside smoking a cigarette; he laughed and high fived his friend in celebration.

Sophie ignored him and carried on walking to the station. She mused upon the curiosity of the question. We live in a digital age where if you feel the urge to look at breasts you can. In fact there are so many different types of breasts you could feast your eyes on.

Pictures of breasts, videos of breasts, gifs of breasts, even animated breasts. Never in the entirety of human history has being able to look at breasts been so accessible. So what was so special about Sophie’s breasts that demanded such immediate attention?

She didn’t think they were that special, they were just your normal breasts. Men had seen them before and whilst they seemed excited at the sight had never complimented her on them being ‘The Greatest Breasts Ever”. Sophie stopped thinking about this as she made her way inside the station and down on to the platform.

There was only a handful of people in the carriage. It was that midway point of the evening where either people had already gone home or were still out for the night. Sophie sat down in an empty row of seats.

After one stop a man got on and despite the availability of other seats sat directly opposite Sophie. He leaned back, spread his legs and just stared at her. Sophie looked away but curious as to whether he was still looking led her to glance back. Each time she did she was met by his piercing stare. Although it was only for a few seconds each time made her feel more uncomfortable.

She scanned the carriage to see who would be around to help her if this guy suddenly pounced. She spied a couple making out and an old lady concentrating on crocheting what looked liked a deformed panda. Whilst Sophie didn’t think they would be much use their presence still brought a slight wave of comfort that she was not alone.

She contemplated getting off at the next stop and changing carriages but this unexpected fear that had grown in her seemed to glue her to the seat. Besides she did not know if there were more weird staring men in the other carriages.

Sophie spent the rest of the journey with her eyes down staring at her lap, inwardly flinching when the carriage lurched or rocked. Normally the journey home would go quite quickly but each station seemed to take an age to reach as if the driver was going as slow as he possibly could.

Finally she saw the welcoming sign of her home station. Sophie waited until the doors opened before she left her seat and exited just in case the man wanted to follow her. She paused on the platform, looking back at the carriage to see if he emerged.

The relief that he hadn’t was quickly replaced by the realisation that she was the only one on the platform. Walking to the exit her heels echoed off the tiled floor. A feeling of dread followed her and often Sophie looked around to make sure that was the only thing that was following her.

Eventually she emerged into the nighttime air only a mile away from her home. Away from the the hustle of Central London the streets were quieter and Sophie’s experience on the tube alerted to the eerie quietness of the night. It was dark but the row of street lights provided ample illumination.

She began her normal walk home but was alerted by the scuffing of footsteps behind her. She put her hand her pocket and made a fist round her keys as she tried to up the pace. But the footsteps became louder and closer.

Could she run? She was about half a mile away from home and doubted she would get so far. Her legs felt heavy. Was it that man? Had he followed her? She looked everywhere but behind her hoping that some glimmer of salvation would appear but she was alone. The streets were empty. Just her and whoever it was approaching behind her.

She instinctively stopped. Fear not allowing her to take one more step. Should she scream? Her throat was dry , her legs felt like they were going to give away. The street silent, not even a passing car just the footsteps that moved upon her and….

Went straight past her. She took a deep breath and waited for a man in a long coat to disappear up the road. She cursed herself for being silly but that did nothing to dispel the feeling of dread that still surrounded her. She just wanted to get home, open the wine and watch Netflix.

Sophie noticed that she had stopped just by the entrance to the park which is where the recent attack had taken place. The relevance of her geographical position did nothing to calm her mood.

“ ‘ere darlin’ you gotta light”

Sophie hadn’t heard the car pull up along side her. A young man of know more than 19 years old dressed in a hoodie leaned out of the passenger window.

“No sorry. I don’t smoke” Sophie replied as politely as possible

“We’re going to a party. Wanna come?” the young man persisted.

“No… thank you” Sophie replied as she began walking but the car slowly followed her.

“Where’d ya live? We can drop you home?”

“It’s literally just up there. Thanks”

Sophie could feel her heart pounding. It was literally not up there and she had at least 10 minutes more to go before she could finally get home and relax. The car continued to slowly follow her route.

She thought about her options and concluded the only thing she could do is cut through the park. They would not be able to follow and there was a small gate just on the right hand side that she could go through. Normally she wouldn’t go through the park at night but equally she could not have these guys escort her home.

Just as she was about to turn and walk back to entrance to the park the young man shouted “Oh fuck you. You cold bitch” and the car wheel spinned off and out of sight.

Sophie’s heart was beating even faster now. With her hand shaking she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She selected her sister’s number and pressed dial.

She had been meaning to call her sister who was due to give birth shortly and a baby shower had been planned for this weekend. Sophie would welcome the sound of her sister’s voice to accompany her the rest of the way home.

She put in her earphones and listened to the sound of the ringtone as she turned the corner.


Trevor woke up late but that was by design. It was his day off. He reached for the remote control and turned the small TV on his bedroom.

The news bulletin reported another attack near the park but he didn’t care about that. There was a far more important issue to be discussed.

Some woman historian had been trashing statues and he was looking forward to his favourite morning TV presenter absolutely tearing her and her woke views apart.

He grabbed his phone, there was bound to be some silly leftie already supporting her on Twitter and he wanted to get in quick with a reply.

Opening the app there was slight disappointment that none on the women he had messaged last night had responded. No worries, he’ll try again later.

Trevor peeked under his bedsheet to look at what he had woken up with and was impressed. He thought about taken a quick pic but a rudimentary look around the room he noted there was no drinks can so chose not to bother.

Shame that one definitely would have got a response.

He turned his attention back to the TV screen where a reporter was still discussing the latest attack.

“Who cares!” shouted Trevor “Get to the bit about the statues”.

Thrusting : Band Together

I took the first few steps as Labia Lefeure. Admittedly I would have preferred it to be at some gala event yet my new life was to begin walking along a dark foreboding corridor.

There was no gliding across a beautiful red carpet to the sound of applause rather it was to be a tentative walk along a soulless grey floor, the only noise were my heels clip clopping on the worn concrete.

I was not to be dazzled by the flashing bulbs as photographers jostled for position instead the intermittent flickering of the lights above were to be my only welcome to my new life.

Crowds did not marvel at my elegant attire as I strolled proudly across the lush carpet. The dress I wore for the debut of Labia Lefeure was poorly made, stained with mud and probably other dubious substances. I was tired, hungry, a tad hungover and as I followed the strange gentleman who I knew only as ‘The Manager’ the feeling of dread I had experienced in the field returned.

Whilst I had put aside any thought that he would kill me in the field the fact he had now taken me to some derelict building where no-one would either hear my final blood curdling scream nor ever find my body made me once again question his intentions.

My feet hurt and I was not prepared to go on a long walk to my demise. I called out to him in the hope that it would speed up the conclusion to all of this.

“So explain to me all this again” I asked

The Manager stopped walking and spun round. He looked irritated making me wonder if this is just an emotion I provoked or if it was his usual resting expression.

“What part would you like me to explain?” he sighed.

“All of it” I replied

He rolled his eyes and threw his head back staring at the overhead light that seemed to flicker in tune with his visible irritation of me.

“Very well but pay attention” he said with the same tone as my teacher who once lost patience trying to explain trigonometry to me.

“You will be working for MOIST, a specialist department of MI6. Our role is to disseminate secret coded messages, especially to the Agents we have inside SNATCH“

“Sorry? Inside what?”

“SNATCH – Special Network And Tactical Counter-intelligence Hierachy. They are a conglomerate of organised crime, despots and tyrants all with the goal of undermining democracy and destabilising governments for their own greed.”

“And my job to ensure they don’t destroy the world is to sing songs?” I enquired

“Yes over the years we have designed ways of encoding important messages into songs. You will perform at gigs, galas and parties where our inside SNATCH agents will be. Understood?” He said, not waiting for a response but spinning on his heels and walking off.

“One more thing” I shouted out. He turned around with that same look that did nothing to dispel the feeling he really wanted to kill me

“Do I get a change of clothing?” I asked pointing out the stains on my tatty dress.

He smiled, which was more unnerving than reassuring and pulled on a large metal handle, sliding open a rusty metal door to reveal a hidden room filled with all manner of clothing.

“Be my guest” he said “But hurry up you need to meet the band.”

An hour and multiple costume changes later I was standing in what would have been a hangar back in the day when this was used as an actual air base. I would like to have stayed longer trying on clothes. Admittedly, The Manager, grew impatient after I tried on the second outfit, muttering to himself about what was wrong with the first one I tried on.

I’d never seen such an array of clothing – dresses, mini-skirts, tops, boots and heels; and not cheap either, a lot of this stuff were from those expensive shops along Carnaby Street. Places I had stopped at and gazed into the window dreaming of what it would be like to be seen in their attire.

The Manager would look away each time I excitedly changed into whatever outfit caught my eye. When I asked him if an outfit looked okay he would offer a dismissive hand with a “Yes that looks fine, can we go please”.

I didn’t understand his coyness. Maybe he was just being a gentleman but working in The Blue King I was used to Jimmy barging in as I and the girls were getting changed.

Noting the growing frustration of The Manager I eventually settled on an outfit. A black high neck chiffon top, hot pants, white tights and matching knee high boots.

“What do you think?” I asked

“This was the first outfit you chose” The Manager sighed “Come on let’s go”

The walk to the main hangar was a more pleasant one. The Manager still seemed to want to kill me but I happily ignored him. I was not focused on what dangers may lay ahead in being part of a secret spy organisation, I was just happy I got to wear nice clothes.

I caught my reflection when passing a glass frame that probably once housed important war information. I looked different, I felt different. Fingering the expensive fabric I smiled; Molly was now truly gone and it was Labia from here on in.

It was clear the hangar was where I would be spending most of my time; albeit I resolved I would ensure I got back to the clothing room whenever I could.

At the far end an array of musical instruments rested on stands next to a makeshift sound booth that housed a solitary microphone.

Adjacent to this was what looked liked the set up for a mini photography studio. Lights, white umbrellas on stands all circled a black screen.

In the middle stood a large table adorned with a variety of snacks and drinks. My stomach roared a reminder of its growing hunger that had only been temporarily quietened by my enthusiasm of dressing up.

On the opposite side of the hangar was a leather sofa surrounded by a myriad of different chairs, none of them matching. Seated were four people, two men and two women. The females occupied the sofa. One had long dark hair and laid across the length of the sofa, her feet resting in the lap of a youthful Asian girl.

The two men sat on separate chairs either side of the sofa. The larger man straddled his chair, his dark muscular arms crossed over the back of it.

The other man was wiry with long hair and a poor excuse for a goatee. His sunken cheekbones were clearly visible even from a distance. He sat with his arms folded and legs arrogantly stretched out.

“Okay everyone” announced The Manager, clapping his hands “I would like you to meet the newest member of the band. Lead singer….Labia Lefeure.” There was a hint of him rolling his eyes as he pronounced my name.

The seated foursome all stood up and walked over to me as The Manager continued with introductions.

“This is Vanda” he said as the dark haired woman high fived me “She is rhythm guitar but also an expert in covert operations”

Next the Asian girl bounded over to give me a big hug “This is Kaku. Bass guitarist and a wonderful gymnast”

“Regis is the drummer” the Manager continued as the gentile hug of Kaku was replaced by a big bear hug “He’s also the muscle…should we ever require it.”

“And I’m Dick Splash” interrupted the thin man. I saw The Manager wince as he pronounced his name, clearly I wasn’t the only one who got to choose. “I should have been the lead singer but instead I’m lead guitar”

Whilst the others mocked Dick’s singing credentials I noticed over at the far end of the hangar was a piano.

“Who is that?” I enquired pointing at the solitary figure who was hunched over a table next to the piano.

“That is Stef. One of Bletchley’s finest. Her job is to write the songs which will contain the coded messages”

I walked over to introduce myself to her.

“Hi I’m Labia.” It felt a little weird announcing myself by my brand new name.

She looked up from scribbling away on paper. I could see random words in capitals, amongst lines of lyrics; some had been furiously scrubbed out.

Her eyes were perfectly framed behind thick heavy glasses. Stef seemed reluctant to return my greeting. She certainly was not as enthusiastic with her welcome as Regis or Kaku with their big hugs but equally she did not have the arrogance of Dick. There was clearly kindness in those eyes but she looked exhausted.

“Are you ok?” I whispered leaning in towards her.

“Yeh I’m just a…..” she began to reply before being interrupted by The Manager.

“Okay Mol….Labia…. that’s enough let Stef get on with her work. She needs to finish the song before the performance tonight”

“Tonight?!!” I exclaimed “But I’m tired”

The Manager rolled his eyes, a look I had become more than familiar with in just a short time “Oh I’m sorry that evil organisations hadn’t taken into consideration your sleeping pattern before planning their world domination! There is a concert tonight and we need to pass on an important message.”

I watched as he gestured for everyone to do something although everyone seemed unclear what they actually had to do.

“What are we called?” I asked

“Excuse me?” The Manager replied

“The name of the band. What’s it called?”

He waved a dismissive hand “Oh I don’t know maybe something like Labia and the LoveHearts.”

This title was not met with enthusiasm from any of the members of the band. Noting the lack of support he said “Well….what would you call it?”

A variety of names were shouted out by the likes of Vanda and Kaku. Dick wanted the band to be called The Dick Splash Orchestra.

Whilst everyone shouted out suggestions I glanced down at the notebook Stef had been writing in. She had split the page into two columns; one side were the lyrics to a song and the other side was a list of words that she crossed out. I was drawn to the remaining words still visible.

Precious. Comfort. Love. Thrust.

“What about Precious Comfort Love Thrust?” I offered, a suggestion which was met by that same, familiar look from The Manager.

It was Regis who broke the silence “Yeh I love that. Precious…Comfort..Love…Thrust”

Kaku and Vanda repeated the name with similar approval. Dick, on the other hand, still attempted to push his suggestion.

“Very well” said The Manager, raising his hands to quieten everyone down “Precious Comfort Love Thrust it is. Now everyone get to work!”

I gave Stef a brief smile before watching The Manager leave the hangar, probably regretting his decision he allowed us to choose our own names.

Giving a little wave to Stef I walked over to join my band mates. My stomach gurgled, unsure if it was just hunger or fear of the unknown. Apprehension for this mysterious new life I had signed up for.

All you got to do is sing I told myself, that’s what The Manager had said.

Twelve hours later I would realise he hadn’t told me everything.

Thrusting : Laa-Bye-Ahh

Four hours after agreeing to the bizarre proposal from a mysterious well groomed stranger I was standing in the middle of a field somewhere on the Kent/Sussex border.

I would have loved to have enjoyed the crisp, clean morning air that usually I am starved of in the smog ridden city. The feel of the fresh breeze bringing forth memories of family day trips to the coast,

However my thoughts at that present time were not to recall some pleasant time of building sandcastles with my dad. Any sweet recollections were barred by one pressing thought – this stranger is going to kill me.

I battled through the hazy pain in my mind caused by the alcohol I had consumed to piece together how, in the space of a few hours, I had gone from singing old standards in a sleazy little club to standing in a field. The only logical conclusion I arrived at was that the only reason someone would drive you out to the middle of nowhere was to kill you.

I had contemplated the possibility he wanted to have sex with me but discounted that on the basis that there were plenty of other places he could have chosen. Besides he struck me as the sort of guy who would require ordering room service after an orgasm not wiping dirt from his knees.

He had definitely told me he was a spy and from what I had read about spies in novels they took people to fields to kill them. If he had said he worked for the Environmental Department rather than the Ministry of Defence then I may have just assumed he wanted to discuss the migratory pattern of swallows or the importance of flood plains.

I looked around and all I could see was fields. It had rained overnight and the unkempt grass shone in the dawn sunlight that yawned across the horizon.

In addition to the usual thought of why did I drink too much there were two other particular considerations that occupied my mind; why he wanted me dead and whether I could make a run for it.

There was a futility in spending too much time contemplating either. I assumed he had lied about being a spy and actually worked for Mr Karpinsky and was just getting revenge for my role in the death of his boss. In any event, knowing the reason for my demise would provide little comfort; especially if I took the second option of attempting to run across a seemingly endless drenched field.

I had never given much thought to my eventual death preferring instead to just enjoy my existence as best as society would allow. However, it never occurred to me it may end in the middle of nowhere with my final moments being me screaming whilst looking like I’m wading in syrup. I had hoped it would be a tad more dignified than that.

Any belief I could overpower him sunk as fast as my heels into the sodden ground. One attempted leap and I would fall down, laying face first in the mud so he could conveniently put a bullet in the back of my head. I weren’t prepared to make it that easy for him.

I breathed deeply as I watched his hand slowly reach into the inside pocket of his immaculate tailored suit. Yet he didn’t pull out a gun but instead a silver case; the morning light briefly glistened off the shiny surface as he delicately opened the lid and took out a cigarette. Looking up at me he offered the case.

“Why do you want to kill me?” I asked, deciding my only option was to discuss my imminent murder.

He looked at me quizzically and then referring to the cigarette case said “Oh you’re one of them that thinks these are dangerous. Nonsense they’d put warnings on them if that was the case”

“No. I mean you want to shoot me in this field”

“Why would I want to do that?” He replied lighting his cigarette “Come on. This way”

I watched as he turned and walked up a steep incline. Although he hadn’t denied he was going to shoot me I nevertheless followed him, attempting to be as graceful as I could as the ground tried to swallow me up. I just hoped wherever we were going they had a Shoe Shop.

This mysterious man waited impatiently at the brow of the hill as I unceremoniously attempted my ascent. Each laboured step was met by a look of frustration from him.

Eventually I managed to reach him and he pointed out into the distance to what looked like a large metal shed. It was a curiosity amongst the lush green fields. Those who liked architecture might have marvelled at the impressive iron structure. I was just pleased that it sat on concrete and I wouldn’t be walking in a swamp for much longer. My favourite pair of heels were ruined.

“This base was used during the War” he explained “but since then has been the base of operations for MOIST”

“I’m sorry… for what?”

“MOIST…. Ministry of International Secret Transmissions. It is the Section I head up and who you will be working for” he explained.

“So I’m gonna be a spy?” I asked

“Something like that”

“Do I have to go to spy school?”

“No” he said bluntly before walking down the hill towards the imposing structure.

I followed him with the same grace that had accompanied me on the way up the hill. My arms stretched out to the side as if I were some cool surfer riding an awesome wave, although in reality I was just trying to stop myself from falling on my arse.

If I were to become a spy of sorts I wanted to make a good first impression and rolling down a muddy hill probably wasn’t the sort of thing MI6 would see as a positive attribute.

“So what is it I will be doing exactly?” I shouted out, my voice trailing off as my concentration went from talking to staying on my feet.

He stopped and turned to me, a look of impatience on his face as if he had already explained this to me, which, to be fair, he probably already had. I wondered if alcohol induced forgetfulness was also an attribute that MI6 were looking for.

“You will be singing” he replied bluntly, hints that my persistent questioning may be irritating him, yet I still continued.

“Do I do any actual spying?”


“Do I get a gun?”


“Will I have a secret identity?”

He turned toward me once again, even though he was some distance away I could tell he was making no effort to hide his growing frustration from me.

“No!” he replied, pausing for a moment before continuing “You will have a completely new identity. Once you walk into that building the life you knew as Molly Jones would be over”

I ignored the overly dramatic way he had expressed it and spent a brief moment reflecting on my life so far.

A singer in a club working for a slimy boss being paid just enough to avoid the wandering hands of a pervy landlord, all the while walking the streets concerned that one of my Dad’s enemies may use me to exact some revenge. There really was no desire for me to cling on to any of that.

“Do I get to choose my name?” I shouted out after him.


“Can I choose my new name?” I asked, hurrying to catch up with him.

He rolled his eyes at every stumble that I took before shrugging his shoulders and replying “Yes. I guess you can”.

I felt a little giddy at the thought of this new life starting. I contemplated my new name with all the care and consideration that parents with a new born child would take in naming their little bundle of joy.

I never got a say in being called ‘Molly’, it certainly was not a name I would have chosen. But now I had the opportunity to christen myself as I embarked on this mysterious life of a sort-of-spy.

Do I pick a super cool spy sounding name? Like, Veronica Voluptua. No. Too obvious and besides people would expect me to speak with a Russian accent.

I was to be a singer in a band so maybe something like Mandy MoonShadow. It was certainly memorable. Sounded cool and the sort of name the lead singer of a band would have.

“Ahh Good Evening Miss MoonShadow your normal table is waiting for you”

Then I recalled when I used to go to the hairdressers. Money had always been tight but I saved enough so each month I could get my hair done in whatever style was fashionable at that time. It was the one luxury I afforded myself to make me feel special. It made up for the secondhand or home made dresses I tried to pass off as decent.

On the table while I waited was a load of magazines that had pictures of these beautiful looking women on yachts or having fun in places like the French Riveria. Living amongst the grime of the East End it was like a different world. A world I envied. A world I so wanted to be a part of.

On the occasions I couldn’t afford my rent and my landlord suggested other means of payment I would escape to that world. His laboured grunts replaced by the clinking of champagne glasses as I attended some luxurious gala. Descending an expansive staircase in a full length dress with far more grace than I had descended that hill on the way to my new life.

I could be those women in the magazine. If nothing else at least by name. It needed to be something exotic. Something mysterious.

“I got it!” I exclaimed “Labia Lefeure”

“Sorry? What Lefeure?” He replied

“My new name …. Labia Lefeure”

“How we spelling that?”


“Labia?” He said raising his eyebrows

“It’s pronounced LAA-BYE-AHH” I corrected him with a sense of pride over my new identity.

He sighed, shaking his head “Very well. Come on let’s get inside”

“Wait!” I said “What do I call you? I mean who even are you?”

“Me?” He replied giving a wry smile “I’m The Manager. Come on…. It’s time to meet the band”

He opened a large metal door and gestured for me to go inside. I placed one muddy foot across the threshold.

Goodbye Molly Jones. Hello Labia Lefeure.

Fell8: The Part Where Everything Is Better Battered

“How can you think of eating at a time like this?” said Angie, trying not to sound too judgemental towards Lorna who, after all, had just saved her life.

Lorna stopped walking towards the Royal Chicken and turned to face Angie, her stomach rumbling, a timely reminder of how hungry she was and how many times she had thrown up since these strange events all started.

“Because I’m hungry” Lorna replied rather matter-of-factly “Besides what else is there to do?”

Angie’s patience towards her saviour began slipping

“What else is there to do?” she said, her tone increasing in volume and judgement “We find out what those things are. Stop them.”

Lorna sighed and glanced towards the direction that the horde had been heading. London would normally be bustling at this time of night yet it was eerily quiet. The silence occasionally broken by the blood curdling scream of yet another victim of these monsters.

“You wanna know what they are?” Lorna replied “They’re guys who have large killer dicks that can be killed by blowjobs. There you go. Case solved. Let’s eat”

Lorna’s stomach let out a roar of approval as she moved towards the Royal Chicken.

“But we need to find out why they are like that” pleaded Angie

Lorna swung round to face Angie “We don’t need to find out anything. Other people can do that. We just gotta not be killed!”

She turned back to the Royal Chicken, “And if I don’t eat something I’m gonna die of starvation.”

Angie watched as Lorna walked towards the entrance, promptly followed by Veronica and Elena, who gave Angie a disapproving glance as they passed.

Lorna paused as she reached the door, struck by how quiet it was. Normally this place would be packed with drunken revellers, alcohol having decided that they were now hungry while at the same time having no concern for the quality of the food they would be consuming.

She gazed at the corner of the building where she had once had a knee trembler with some complete stranger whilst she impressively kept hold of her kebab in one hand. Yet she dared look further down the road; a road she had stumbled along many times on her way home and back to her…..sister

Lorna closed her eyes and took a deep breath

Keep it together Lorna. She will be fine.

Her stomach interrupted any concern she may have had for the current welfare of her sister to remind Lorna why she was there.

Peering through the window she could see the place looked empty. No mega penis killing machines hanging around that would interrupt the feast she intended to have.

The lights were on but the lack of a window and smashed glass strongly indicated all had not gone well here. Blood stains covered the blue tiled floor but thankfully there was an absence of bodies. Whilst the scene looked like a massacre had taken place it could have easily been a normal Saturday night. Besides such was Lorna’s hunger she was willing to step over a few dead bodies to find food.

Confidently she strode into the Royal Chicken and immediately made her way behind the counter. Veronica and Elena followed and took a seat at a solitary table by the window. Veronica casually dabbed at small pool of blood with a serviette. A few seconds later Angie walked reluctantly in and lingered at the door way.

Lorna went to the glass fronted fridge and took out a few soft drinks which she threw to her companions. She’d wish there had been alcohol on offer but after what had been in her mouth recently she was happy to have anything that tasted sweet.

She held the can on her forehead and closed her eyes as she felt the coolness ease the headache that had accompanied her ever since these weird monsters began attacking.

It was a blissful moment of calm in the non stop chaos that had engulfed her. A calm that was suddenly and rather rudely interrupted by a figure emerging from the shadows.

Screaming the large set man headed straight towards Veronica and Elena who instinctively grabbed their can of soda and struck the attacker hard in the face causing him to tumble backwards and fall to the floor.

Elena was quick to react and moved to the legs of their attacker with a cry of ‘Kill Him!’ His cock was not as pronounced as the other monsters they had encountered and as Lorna watched Elena quickly place it in her mouth it seemed quite flaccid and small.

“Hey V” Lorna said to Veronica whose way of assisting was to timidly hit the man with a can of soda a few times “You may want to step back cos he’s gonna explode”

Veronica moved round to where Elena vigorously bobbed her head up and down. Grunts and moans could be heard from the man as his arms flailed desperately trying to grab at Elena’s head.

She stopped sucking and looked at Veronica “Why has he not exploded?”

“Maybe you’re doing it wrong” Veronica replied.

Unhappy to have her technique questioned she retorted “I’m doing what I did before. If you think you know better you do it!”


With a new found desire to be a useful member of the group Veronica swapped places with Elena and took the cock in her mouth. Yet after a few deep sucks she stopped disappointed that the receipent’s head had not exploded.

“Lorna why is it not working?” she enquired “Do you do something different? Like massage their balls?”

Lorna shrugged. She looked at the man on the floor who was still moaning. Her gaze moved to Angie who stood silently at the doorway transfixed on the figure who lay on the floor.

“Maybe it’s something you do.” Veronica continued “Like you have a special power or something.”

“Rubbish! You’ve killed some too.” Lorna sighed “Move out the way and let me try.”

Lorna moved to where the man lay and knelt down, she gripped his cock which although harder than before felt different to those that belonged to the monsters she had encountered. As she placed it in her mouth she had a feeling something was not right but it was hardly the time to dwell and discuss it.

As she began sucking Veronica provided her with commentary on her efforts. A cheerleader for her Monster Defeating Cock Sucking talents.

“That’s it Lorna I think it’s working”

The man let out a low groan, his arms reaching out for Lorna’s head.

“Yep this is definitely doing something. Keep going”

The moans of the man became more laboured. He rocked his head back.

“You’ve got this. A little more. Is eyes have gone funny. ”

Lorna could feel his cock stiffen which was something she hadn’t experienced before, with the monster dicks they just felt like metal which…….Wait!

“I think it’s gonna happen…Now!”

When Lorna realised what was happening it was too late. It was not an unfamiliar feeling and in normal times would not have been unexpected either, yet as the stream of hot liquid hit the back of her throat she was a little surprised.

“FUCK!” Lorna exclaimed as she spat out the startling deposit.

Addressing the man who had managed to sit up and adjust his glasses she said “Why the fuck did you not tell us you weren’t one of them?!”

“Oh wow! Wow!” replied the man “I was having the worst day ever…weird shit happening…people dying but you three have like just made it so much better. Wow!”

Lorna, Veronica and Elena looked at each other with an expression of surprise mixed with a little embarrassment.

“How did you not change into a monster?” asked Angie “This is interesting.”

“I dunno! I dunno what’s been happening” replied the man slightly hyper-ventilating “I…..Oh wow! I mean with everything I never expected this! Wow. Why did you do that again?”

Lorna got to her feet and walked back round the counter and started to look for the chicken nuggets.

“I’m Pete by the way” said the man “I thought you know seeing as we…ummm… I should tell you my name. And you are?”

“Shut the fuck up Pete” Lorna replied, turning on the deep fat fryer and pouring in an entire bag of nuggets. The popping sound as they entered brought a moment of peace to Lorna’s rising bad mood.

“If Pete is not one of them then he might be quite important” said Angie “He may be the key to all of this.”

“Is that why you ladies did that thing….cos I am special?” suggested Peter

“Shut the fuck up Pete” replied Lorna before addressing Angie “If you want to study the chubby special one then be my guest. I just want to eat.”

An awkward silence filled the room, the only sound was the glorious sizzling of the nuggets. The aroma of fried chicken blissfully replacing the stench of death that had followed the women ever since the mayhem started.

“Anyway” said Pete breaking the silence “I just wanted to say tha…”

“Shut the fuck up Pete” said Lorna, Veronica and Elena in unison.

“Oh Lorna” said Veronica to Lorna “I am vegetarian by the way so no chicken for me”

“Sweetie it’s a chicken shop….Well I think there’s some lettuce back here somewhere”

Whilst Veronica and Lorna discussed what the Royal Chicken passed off as vegetables and whether it was edible Angie was eager to know more about Pete, who was in the process of cleaning his glasses on his ‘Sonic The Hedgehog’ t-shirt while muttering happily to himself.

“What do you remember Pete?” She asked very gently hoping to placate the hostility the other women were showing towards him.

Pete stood up and animatedly paced up and down as he explained what happened

“Well everything was normal. I was playing some Call of Duty and was hungry. So I popped across the road to get some chips ….I live just round the corner if you girls need to stay. It’s only one bedroom but I guess we’re close now….”

“Shut the fuck up Pete” said the chorus.

“It’s okay Pete. What happened when you were in here?” asked Angie calmly.

“I dunno. Everything was fine. There was some concert or something playing on the TV and then suddenly the men who were here just changed”

“And did you feel anything?” Angie asked

“I felt scared. I might have even peed myself a little….”

“That’s okay” said Angie

“And then they just started killing.” Pete began to get a little tearful “Ripping arms and legs of people outside. I was able to hide but it was horrible!….Can I get a hug from one of you?”

Lorna wasn’t interested in what Pete had to say. She had given many regretful blowjobs before, probably way too many to remember. She didn’t dislike Pete and certainly didn’t want what was about to happen to him to have happened.

As Pete was mid sentence he walked across an open doorway and that’s when it got him. The unmistakable hard penis of these newly created monsters bursting through his expansive belly followed by two large hands gripping Pete’s head and twisting it. It was an horrific end and the only consolation one can say is that Pete was still talking about the blowjob he received before he was brutally killed.

This time there was no mistaking this thing as one of the monsters. Angie leapt back to the doorway, Elena stood up poised to attack.

The monster lurched round the counter to where Lorna and Veronica were. In futile defence Veronica began throwing the pieces of lettuce at the advancing marauder.

Who this man may have been before did not concern any of the women. He was dangerous and should he catch them death would be instant.

Although Lorna had shown some disappointment in Veronica’s decision to attack it with lettuce it proved to be a stroke of genius.

The lumbering monster began to slip and slide on the wet layer of suspect vegetables. Off balance this allowed Elena to shoulder barge it in the back causing it to stumble over the counter, its deadly cock hit the bubbling oil that hosted Lorna’s chicken nuggets.

“Noooooo!” She cried out instinctively before thoughts of her own preservation took over concern for her food.

The monster rocked back causing the pan of hot oil to spill on the floor along with the chicken nuggets.

Lorna slid on the floor, wincing slightly in pain as the hot oil hit her bare skin. She reached the monster’s killer penis when she noticed a problem.

“Ermmm….. it’s battered!” She exclaimed

“Well you like fried food. Might taste better” replied Elena rather matter of factly

Shrugging Lorna opened her mouth and wrapped her lips round the battered cock. As she started to suck she could feel it crumble inside her mouth .

She pulled away, spitting out pieces of the fried organ.

“It’s falling apart!! I’M EATING IT!!!” she screamed at the others.

“Hurry Lorna!” Veronica said

Lorna gripped the crispy penis one more time and it crumbled in her hand.

“Ermm his cock has fallen off” she said “He has no cock and he’s fucking still alive. RUN!!”

The women rushed out of the Royal Chicken as the castrated monster pursued them. It roared to let them know how close it was. The cries alerting other nearby fiends to fresh prey.

“Quick over here” Lorna said pointing to a building in the distance.

The building was a club that Lorna would frequent. She did not know in these time of absolute crisis why she had to go somewhere she was familiar with.

The large black doors to the club were open and all four rushed inside. They hurriedly closed the doors and took laboured deep breaths of gratitude for their safety.

Except they had just run into a building that was on fire and out of the smoke they could see a large penis advancing towards them.

The Wet Misadventures Of One Miss Tempani Jones : Episode 2

Tempani sat exhaustedly at her desk. She’d already had quite the day and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

The orgasms (and they are certainly orgasms…plural) that Tempani experiences are quite intense. Waves of pleasure flow through her, every fibre in her body alive to the heightened state of arousal.

They are not the sort of orgasm one has where they can simply go ‘that was nice’ before popping off to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

These orgasms exhaust Tempani and as she stared out of her office window at the rain she questioned whether she would have the strength to make it back home.

Despite her post-orgasmic fatigue she had coped remarkably well at the very important meeting. Indeed, the very important client and his entourage seemed pleasantly transfixed as Tempani delivered here presentation with professional aplomb.

The only time she slightly hesitated was when a raindrop still clinging to her damp hair fell. Like a horny harbinger of ecstasy it spied Tempani’s bare hand resting on the large glass conference room table.

This dirty little drop only had only one goal in mind. It could see Tempani’s finger just waiting. Were the lines in the knuckle smiling at it? Teasing it to descend faster, to fulfil its deviant destiny by sensually splashing down on to that smooth skin and bringing with it the mother of all climaxes.

Yet despite what promise this singular speck of satisfaction held it would fail in its true purpose. With Tempani’s skin in sight and pleasure only moments away she moved her hand to gesture at the screen. The raindrop splashed inconsequentially on the glass table.

Tempani turned to glance at the raindrop that lay lifeless on the table, it’s promise of pleasure unfulfilled. It was at that moment her brain decided to add some unhelpful commentary;

“Cor! Imagine what would have happened if that had hit you? Best of luck trying to show exponential growth in a line graph while having a full on orgasm”

This momentarily caused Tempani to lose her focus but she was able to regain her composure and complete the very important meeting without incident or interruption from any more perverted little raindrops.

When the meeting was over she exchanged final pleasantries with the very important client and returned to her office. Following a brief discussion with her assistant where she asked if she wouldn’t mind popping out and buying an umbrella and a new pair of tights, Tempani closed the door and collapsed in her chair thoroughly exhausted.

The company that Tempani worked for occupied the fifth floor of a modern building in Central London. The abundance of glass meant the architect was not a big fan of privacy and any passengers travelling on the train track that ran adjacent to the building would have a clear view of her.

She would often stare out across the impressive London skyline, it helped her focus but on this day her view was distorted by the rain that lashed against the glass.

The rain was heavy and the way it hit the window made Tempani believe that it was trying to break the glass to get to her. The sound of the rain splashing against the glass seemed to hiss ‘We are not finished with you’.

She moved closer to the window and stared at the droplets that formed on the glass with impatient haste. It was probably her exhaustion but Tempani thought the rain reacted to her. The rain found its journey blocked by a transparent obstacle it slipped and slithered across the pane desperate to reach her. Deciding that strength lay in numbers it grouped together forming a larger stream. Tempani dreamily traced their futile attempt with her finger.

She would write about the events of that morning when she got home in her ‘Rain Journal’. It was a book that Tempani had started when she first realised about this condition. The hope behind the journal was that it would provide some answers as to what was happening. Yet over ten years of entries and it was nothing more than an anthology of questions, frustrations and awkward encounters.

Her gift/curse/affliction (Tempani would delete as applicable depending on her mood) first revealed itself shortly after puberty. An unexpected downpour during a hockey game led to a thoroughly embarrassed Tempani, numerous raised eyebrows from her class mates and the strong suggestion to her parents from the ex-Nun head teacher that they should consider an exorcism.

Several other incidents are recorded in this journal before a two page acceptance that the rain does in fact cause orgasms (the word orgasm is underlined and highlighted).

What follows are a number of experiments and theories, some of which have proven to be useful. Perhaps the most notable is that it is just rain that causes this reaction and not water. Baths, showers, swimming pools have no sensual impact upon Tempani at all. However, a record of a day trip to Clacton-On-Sea establishes that the sea is very much a no go area. Tempani then spends a number of unnecessary pages theorising whether this means rivers as well and when she might end up in a river, concluding that this probably applies to lakes also and repeating the process.

In amongst the reminders of rain induced orgasms are pages entitled ‘Practical Tips’. Here Tempani bullets points in a variety of different coloured felt tips steps she could take to mitigate the consequence of coming into contact with rain.

Page 7 for instance is the reason why if you asked anyone who went to her school ‘Do you remember Tempani Jones?’ they would reply without hesitation ‘Oh you mean the girl who came to school wearing a poncho carrying an umbrella’.

A melancholic theme of this journal is the bleak look that a young Tempani has on living with this bizarre gift. An attractive and previously outgoing, happy-go-lucky girl slowly becomes more recluse. It is, should you require a reference, on Page 12 of her journal where she happens upon a semi-permanent solution to her troubles – Not go out.

Whilst she reluctantly accepts that her education requires leaving the house she justifies limiting social interaction with a graph, the accuracy of which may be suspect but one can at least admire the pretty colours she chose to use.

Effectively withdrawing from society has its consequence that Tempani painfully reflects upon. Her parents, still reeling from their daughter’s very public sexual awakening, may have been happy she was not sneaking off to see boys but very disappointed she would feign illness to escape a picnic arranged for Aunt Margaret’s 80th birthday.

Whilst she still maintained a core group of friends she had little desire to extend it, her theory was the less people she interacted with the less chance of witnesses of any storm based sauciness. However, even her closest friends would not often invite her to places citing the reason that they didn’t think she’d want to come, it nonetheless frustrated Tempani that she was deprived the opportunity to say no.

Withdrawn and isolated Tempani found the only suitable distraction was her education and with very little distraction she thrived. University beckoned and with it a set of new challenges.

The move from teenager to womanhood is marked in the journal with a declaration that she must live a normal life. It is a mission statement to herself that she would not hide away any longer. Despite this new found resolve she still maintained some of the usual precautions – avoiding large groups and where possible outdoor activities.

Her commitment to leading a more normal life extended to no longer resisting the advances of those who found her attractive. At school she had dismissed any possibility of having a boyfriend finding the notion to be ridiculous (with or without her affliction) but she could not deny her curiosity and desire to indulge ‘in that sort of thing’ (this is also highlighted and underlined).

Her first experience was with Tom after one boozy night at a local pub. His wish of how he wanted to end that evening was made clear before Tempani had even ordered her first rum and Coke. After a number of drinks they ended back in his room for an evening that Tempani would describe in her journal as ‘absolutely fucking terrible’.

To be fair it would be wrong to simply lay all blame at Tom’s drunken fumblings because as Tempani recognised this disappointing liaison led to a scientific discovery – Only the rain could arouse her.

Masturbation was something that Tempani never really considered doing. Why would she? Why put all that effort in if you could simply stick your head out the window and let the rain give you a mind blowing orgasm.

Despite all her ‘experiments’ Tempani had never tried out manual stimulation. Had she done so she would have quickly realised she felt no arousal whatsoever. Instead, this discovery was left to Tom.

Admittedly his technique of prodding at her like he was entering his PIN number at a cash point was not the most masterful way of doing it but it really wouldn’t have mattered. Tempani could feel nothing. She just lay there trying her best to encourage the increasingly frustrated Tom.

However no amount of rubbing would produce any sign of arousal and the faux deep breathing Tempina did to give the impression she was sexually excited started to make her seem like she was asthmatic.

“What’s a matter with you?” Tom said, the alcohol doing little to help control his emotions.

Tempani abruptly stopped that line of questioning by giving Tom a lack lustre handjob resulting in him unemotionally depositing himself over her belly. At least Tempani could put ‘Semen’ on her list of wet things that don’t cause orgasms.

After this non event Tempani spent perhaps too much time trying to make herself manually have an orgasm. Despite her technique being far more refined than Tom’s the result was the same – nothing, not the slightest hint of arousal.

She even tried sex toys but this just resulted in a one page, double sided rant in her journal that she was fifty pounds down and wasted loads of batteries.

Tempani later theorised that perhaps she was cured but the unfortunate consequence of that cure was that all sexual desire had been removed from her. Although she was only twenty she already felt she had a lifetime of orgasms and probably could live with that.

Her awkward experience with Tom happened as England entered a long spell of dry weather and the glorious sun matched her equally glorious mood. She felt free of this curse and threw herself fully back into life by attending many social events.

It was at an outdoor music festival (a previous no go event for Tempani) that she met Ethan. Their relationship blossomed slowly and whilst there was clear sexual chemistry between them Tempani was in no rush to take things to the next level.

No longer concerned with rain the journal entries changed to her theories on how she could possibly keep a man when he would not be able to sexually please her.

She mused on the possibility that a mix of blowjobs, handjobs and any other jobs she could think of would keep them more than satisfied but the problem would arise when they wished to reciprocate. Even the best lover in the world would not be able to make Tempani the slightest bit aroused and guys seem to take that personally.

Within the journal is a whole essay on the possibility of a platonic relationship. They certainly exist and Tempani was in no doubt that there were plenty of couples enjoying such companionship.

What she didn’t know is how does a relationship become platonic. Even at a young age she knew guys do not approach you in bars and say ‘Fancy coming back to my place for a nice platonic relationship’. How do you even raise it? When is it socially acceptable?

“Darling I just want you to know I am going to suck your cock but other than that our relationship is strictly platonic’.

Despite her insecure scribblings Tempani very much enjoyed the company of Ethan and they began to spend quite a lot of time together. Heavy petting on the sofa would not lead to anything more intimate than awkward silence. Ethan masking his erection wondering how to get her in the bedroom and Tempani wondering if now is the right time to say ‘Hey let’s go platonic’.

Despite the awkwardness they continued to see each other even indulging in such pursuits as jogs around the local park (something that Tempani would have normally avoided and not just because of the rain).

During these jogs there would be impromptu races which would lead to flirtatious attempts to trip each other up. As they lined up to start their next race Tempani kissed Ethan on the cheek and said ‘Catch me if you can.’ They both laughed as he chased her round the park, Tempani took a hard right into the wooded area where Ethan found her resting against a tree.

“You caught me” she said, smiling but clearly out of breath.

“What’s my prize?” Ethan replied advancing towards her.

“Come here and I’ll show you”.

Ethan approached Tempani, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her in close as they started to kiss. Above them storm clouds were forming and light drizzle fell hesitantly from the sky.

The leaves of the tree protected them from rainfall but the hissing sound it made alerted Tempani to its presence.

She looked up at the dark clouds that menacingly filled the sky. Normally she would be feeling a sense of panic at this sight, desperately looking to escape the rain or at the very least find somewhere to privately submit to the pleasure it would bring.

But now she was cured. She had no fear. As Ethan nuzzled at the nape of her neck she smirked at the clouds , a teasing smile to entice a jealous reaction from an ex-lover.

The clouds did react throwing down more rain at the kissing couple, ensuring this time it was harder so the weak barrier of leaves would provide no protection.

Drops landed on Tempani as she nibbled on Ethan’s earlobe. As the rain trickled down her cheek she began to experience something she thought lost forever. Within moments her body began to tingle, her heartbeat quickened and her breathing became shallow.

Tempani pulled Ethan into her, his arousal could be felt poking through his shorts. She grabbed his hand and put in between her legs, the dampness already seeping through her jogging bottoms.

She gripped the band of his shorts and tugged them down releasing his cock which she took in her hand and began to stroke.

“Fucking Hell Temps!” he moaned as he slightly pulled away to look at her.

She stared back at him. Tempani could feel the orgasm beginning to build, it was only a matter of time before she would be experiencing the full force. Drunk with arousal she had the presence of mind to bring Ethan along for this wild ride.

The reality, of course, was she didn’t need him. Nothing he would be doing aided her arousal, the rain had that totally covered.

Pulling down her jogging bottoms while Ethan hastily struggled with putting a condom on she purred impatiently ‘Hurry up and fuck me!’

Tempani did all she could to delay this inevitable orgasm. Ethan had to be inside when it happened otherwise she’d be experiencing the same sexual awkwardness as she did with Tom, albeit at the opposite end of the spectrum.

Tempani stifled a moan of pleasure, keeping it at the back of her throat which she only released as Ethan’s cock slid inside with ease.

Once he had entered her Tempani fully submitted to the pleasure that only the rain could provide. Pressed against the tree she wildly bucked and slammed down on Ethan’s hard cock.

Any intention for Ethan to be involved in this orgasm disappeared, Tempani was lost in the throes of it so much so that Ethan could have quite simply ejaculated followed by doing a few laps of the park and Tempani would not have even known he had gone.

When she later reflected on this liaison in her journal she would be unable to recall whether she felt Ethan’s cock inside her. She would remember from holding it in her hand that it was thick and certainly above average size but whatever it was doing as she welcomed wave after wave of blissful pleasure you would have to ask Ethan.

To be fair Tempani would make a particular point of complimenting Ethan on his athletic prowess. With her fingernails dug firmly in his shoulders and convulsing wildly in his manly grip, she was impressed he managed to stay standing throughout.

At some point when there was a small respite before the rain demanded another orgasm from Tempani, she heard Ethan moan, his buttocks thrust wildly before he nuzzled into her. She presumed this was his orgasm but any weakening of his grip was met by Tempani tightening hers. She hooked her legs round his, gripped his neck and welcomed yet another orgasm.

You see, as Tempani recognised at Page 52 of her journal, the rain controls her pleasure. It decides when it is enough and often it’s desire to cause Tempani pleasure was insatiable.

The final climatic wave dripped through her body, turning every nerve into pressure points of pleasure. Perhaps Ethan was of some use after all, she could feel his fingers on her side that caused her to roar out the final orgasm. Exhausted and spent she gently lowered herself down and rested wearily against the tree.

Despite her lack of concern throughout for Ethan he seemed to have enjoyed this unexpected frolic in the forest as he addressed his assessment to the exhausted Tempani

“Oh wow! Fuck! Wow! What the fuck just happened. Wow!”

Whilst Tempani would have loved to indulge in a debrief with Ethan she needed to get out of the rain and get dry. Another thing she had learned about the rain is she only has a post-orgasm immunity for a short period (Page 13 of the Journal – The Didn’t Towel Dry Your Hair Properly Incident)

“Let’s go” she said smiling before running back to the car as best she could with weak legs so she could get dry.

Tempani knew that after this any suggestion of a platonic relationship was off the table. Throughout her journal she would often reflect on the lessons learned with this liaison.

The first lesson was she could have a sexual relationship with a partner, it just needed to be raining when she did. What follows in the journal are a number of prints out showing the average rainfall in England as well as certain specific cities.

On average it rains 156 days and Tempani reckoned that was more than enough sex per year to keep anyone happy.

A flaw in this plan was that it never rained at a suitable frequency to make this viable. Firstly it can often rain for a full week and she did not know if her body could cope with a week’s worth of the orgasms that the rain provided.

Secondly, England had experienced more lengthier periods of dry weather. Often weather presenters would be eager to reveal a month being the driest ever on record. Whilst this suited Tempani’s health and prevented her just becoming a mess of liquid on the floor it was not great for sustaining a relationship.

For example, the storm that brought such a passionate encounter between Tempani and Ethan was a brief interlude before England was once again basked in hot dry weather.

One can forgive Ethan for wanting to experience as soon as possible what he did in those woods and Tempani could only keep him at bay for so long before a frost formed over their relationship.

This caused Tempani to revert back to the beginning of her journal and opting for a life of withdrawal and isolation.

Tempani often mused in her journal about Ethan and others. Wondering what their sex life is like with others. She questioned whether she is being fair to them. After all, a woman having wild multiple orgasms on their cock may give them a sense of achievement they have not strictly earned.

She imagined Ethan sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hands after some unsatisfying love making

“Seriously love it must be you cos I once had this girl literally explode on my cock”

Yet despite these misgivings Ethan would not be the last to experience Tempani’s rain induced sex sessions. Each one recorded for posterity in her journal with the conclusion ‘I never learn my lesson.’

Tempani broke her hypnotic gaze at the rain that still relentlessly tried to pursue her through the glass. She turned to her desk where her phone was vibrating. She picked it up and saw that Danny had messaged her.

Danny was the latest to show Tempani some affection. They had met a few months earlier at a rather dull conference she was forced to attend. She regretted that the conference took place on a particularly sunny day because a wet session with Danny would have livened things up. Nevertheless they stayed in contact and had been out for some perfectly platonic dates.

Fancy going out tonight the message read.

Tempani looked back out of the window at the storm clouds that showed no sign of relenting. She scrolled through the many Weather apps she had installed which confirmed rain was forecast all night.

Absolutely!!! She replied.

Some time later Tempani Jones would write in her journal that she never learns her lesson.

The Wet Misadventures of One Miss Tempani Jones

There is nothing unusual about a rainy day in London, especially in October.

The pavements full of workers on their way to the office, jostling for position with their tiny black umbrellas, grumpily making way for the one who ploughs through the bustling crowd with his oversized golfing umbrella.

The previous night’s takeaway boxes mangle into paper mache works of art against the side of the pavement. A solitary paper cup not wishing to be part of this impromptu abstract sculpture attempts to escape down the dirty stream, it’s journey disturbed by a black cab ferrying a passenger whose new haircut is worth paying the disproportionate fare to preserve.

The paper cup perseveres in its determination to reach the mystery of the drain it spies in the distance and the promise of a magical journey into the unknown.

In its haste the paper cup becomes entangled with a newspaper but it has little time to dwell on whatever horror is the main headline of the day.

Such is the determination of this adventurous little cup it fails to notice the oncoming bus with its large wipers that dismiss the raindrops with arrogant glee.

Yet fortune is on the side of this intrepid cup as the stream which carries it towards its final destination quickens with the increasing rainfall, pushing it safely past the advancing wheels of the bus. The cup spins to reflect upon this closest of calls as it watches the wheels of the bus brush up against the pavement.

The cup is now mere moments away from completing its journey, the wrought iron finishing line agonisingly close. Suddenly a gust of wind striving to reclaim the attention from the rain in this storm picks up the little cup, lifting it high up into the air. It’s goal that had been so close fades into the distance. Is it a raindrop that drips from the lid as it spins uncontrollably in the air or a tear of a dream unfulfilled?

Quickly bored with its newly found plaything the wind unceremoniously dumps the cup in a nearby alley. There it rests, defeated. It takes one final melancholic roll as it concedes to be forever forgotten. The hopes of what wonders lay beyond that drain disappear as it rests still.

Yet our broken cup was not alone in that alley on that particular morning. Had the cup just found the strength to roll one final time it would have hit a patent leather kitten heel shoe.

That shoe belonged to one Miss Tempani Jones. And she was about to have an orgasm.

Now a woman pleasuring herself down an alley is a relatively rare occurrence, even in London. Rarer still at 8.30 a.m. on a Thursday morning.

To be fair to Tempani she certainly had not intended on being down an alley pleasuring herself. It was not part of her normal morning routine, she was not some kinky exhibitionist getting a quick thrill. Nor was she filming a brief video to later upload to a porn site. This was very much an unplanned masturbatory pitstop on her way to work.

Equally it would be unfair of us to judge the location Tempani had chosen for this impromptu orgasm. We can all sit in moral judgement offering alternatives such as doing it at home before she left or the toilet cubicles at work, to even maybe not doing it at all. But this was all out of her control.

Tempani loved being in control. Her life was dictated by precise routines each specifically designed to ensure she would not find herself leaning up against a wall knuckle deep in her own pussy, especially before she has even been able to buy her usual Espresso Macchiato.

So what events conspired to make poor Tempani have no option but to satisfy herself on that stormy Thursday morning?

The previous evening had been beautifully mundane, the sort of day that isn’t even worth registering as a memory. Yet when Tempani reflects on her unusual start to her Thursday morning she would realise events of the previous day were more malevolent than she had assumed.

Firstly, her very important meeting that was scheduled for 9.30 a.m. with a very important client was moved forward to 8.30 a.m. This did not trouble Tempani who would simply get the earlier train to work. She would not wish to blame this very important client for why she was finger fucking herself in the alley, he was after all very important and this contract would see her with a nice bonus. She did however hope he had his worst performance on the golf course ever.

On her walk home from the train station that Wednesday the strap on her large leather tote bag snapped. Tempani loved this bag, it was just the right size to keep all the items she may require at any given time, including the small umbrella she always ensured she had on her person. You will see the relevance of that umbrella later.

Nevertheless given the stories she had read about how these fashion items are made she certainly would not be looking to blame her awkward Thursday on whatever poor soul made the tote bag.

Her Wednesday evening was spent drinking wine and preparing for her very important meeting. It was the pleading sound of the notification alert on her phone that interrupted her work to demand she upgrades to the latest operating system. Tempani was more than happy for her phone to be busy doing other things so not to disturb her further from her work.

Yet what Tempani did not know is that a minor glitch caused by an error in the code would mean all her alarms would be reset. The consequence of this is that on Thursday Tempani would wake up late. Waking up late was not part of Tempani’s routine and she was more than happy to throw shade at the software engineer in California that caused her to oversleep.

Rather than her relaxed morning routine Tempani found herself on that particular Thursday morning rushing around. There was to be no relaxing shower instead she found herself cleaning her teeth whilst rubbing shampoo in her hair; the hope was this newly discovered method of efficiency would claw back some lost time.

Instead of taking time to pick out her work outfit she instead hurriedly dressed in whatever she could find, laddering two pairs of tights before triumphantly hopping into the third pair without consequence.

There would be no time to sit and have that first cup of coffee in the morning while she watched the news, paying particular attention to the weather report. Instead she quickly grabbed her replacement bag, a smaller black handbag, rushing to check the contents before slipping on her heels and hurrying out the flat.

As she hurriedly clipped-clopped in comedic fashion towards the train station her focus was more on not breaking an ankle than the clouds that begun to form in the sky.

While waiting on the platform Tempani was more absorbed with telling her assistant on the phone all what she had to do than to the clouds that had now begun to turn sinisterly dark.

It was when she only a few stops away from Charing Cross that she happened to look up from her phone and see the first drops of rain hit the dirty train window.

Calmly, Tempani reached for her handbag to seek the reassurance she had her umbrella. Her relaxed searched became more and more frantic as the realisation dawned on her that her umbrella was still very much at home, housed as it always was inside her now broken tote bag. Yet even after it became obvious she did not possess an umbrella she continued the futile search, even rifling through the most smallest of pockets in the hope she might find it there.

Don’t panic Tempani it may just be a little drizzle she told herself. A rumble of thunder seemed to answer her back “Fuck you! I’m more than that”.

As the train slowly pulled into Charing Cross she hesitantly stood up. Her gaze was drawn to the gentleman who had been sitting opposite her who was in possession of an umbrella.

“Excuse me? I don’t suppose I could borrow your umbrella” she asked, ensuring she fluttered her eyelids as she pleaded to his chivalrous nature.

The gentleman just looked at her in absolute disgust before leaving the train (Tempani would later wish this gentleman experienced a disappointing sexual encounter for his refusal to give up his umbrella). She slowly followed the other commuters down the platform and onto the concourse.

There are a number of shops located within Charing Cross station purporting to cater for the needs of the weary worker, yet on this particular day not one had any umbrellas for sale.

Tempani stood in the archway and looked out on to The Strand. Normally there would be plenty of taxis waiting but the weather had meant these were in high demand. She opted to wait for either a taxi to come to her rescue or for there to be a miraculous break in the weather.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and noted the time. 8.15 a.m. It would take her at least ten minutes walk to get to work. She decided to wait a little longer, hopping on either foot in impatience.

Each minute that passed was agonising. She couldn’t be late for this very important meeting. Every time she checked her phone her brain would offer up an image of the very important client walking out of the office with his golf clubs in tow. Or her Boss disapprovingly shaking his head as she walked through the entrance before making her do the walk of shame to clear out her office.

Fuck it. Tempani decided she could wait no longer. Pulling the sleeve of her jacket over her hand she grabbed a free newspaper, held it over her head and made a run for it.

Now you may be wondering what Tempani’s deal is with rain. After all unless you happen to be the Wicked Witch of the West it really can’t hurt you. Indeed, the rain didn’t hurt Tempani – on the contrary, it made her horny.

When we say horny we are not talking just a little frisky. Whilst the mere presence of rain does heighten her senses it’s more what happens when one single raindrop touches her skin. Should that happen Tempani experiences waves of pleasure. The more rain that hits her the more intense the pleasure is. It’s like each raindrop is a mini vibrator specifically designed to create the most arousal possible.

So when Tempani decided to rush out into the rain with just a newspaper as protection she was not risking bodily harm, she was risking having a full blown orgasm in the middle of London during rush hour.

To be fair to Tempani she made a good effort of avoiding the rain. Perhaps she may have even been able to make it without incident were it not for the driver of the Audi (someone who she blamed unreservedly for the events of that Thursday morning) who decided driving at speed through a puddle was an appropriate way to confirm his masculinity.

In her attempt to dodge the mini tsunami she dropped the newspaper that had been protecting her exposing her forehead to the arousal inducing raindrops.

Tempani was able to quickly duck into a doorway for cover but she knew by now that it only took one raindrop to bring on the feelings of intense arousal. She could feel her nipples harden underneath her bra. Between her legs began to mimic the dampness of her forehead.

She couldn’t stay there in the doorway and allow the rain to do it’s thing. Not only were customers coming in and out of the shop and might say something about the smartly dressed woman having a loud orgasm but time was running out for her to get to the very important meeting.

Stifling a moan of pleasure she yanked her jacket over the head and continued her journey to work. The jacket was tight over her head making it difficult to see, plus the occasional pang of pleasure would make her legs suddenly go weak and with it an instinctive groan of arousal would follow.

To the passer by it would have looked as if Tempani was on her way to audition for the lead role in some porn parody of a horror movie. Eventually she made it to her office which was an attractive glass fronted building her firm shared with a number of other companies.

Now something else you need to know about Tempani’s ‘gift’ is that the pleasure she experiences will not subside until she has had a complete orgasm. Many times previously she has rushed indoors after getting caught in the rain, although drying herself manically with a towel did little to prevent her experiencing the complete climax.

Fortunately for Tempani there is a small alley which separates her more modern place of work with one of London’s many Victorian buildings. Avoiding meeting any work colleagues she rushed into the alley and no longer fought off the pleasure the rain was determined to bring.

Now you will recall when we first met Tempani in this alley her fingers were deep inside her. It is a legitimate question to ask why, if the rain does all the work, would she be needing to put in any effort of her own.

Well, she entered the alley at precisely 8.30 a.m. when her very important meeting was due to start. Even in the throes of pleasure Tempani had the presence of mind to believe that a bit of manual assistance would bring about this disruptive orgasm quicker.

Had she not done so and put her very important meeting ahead of her very real pleasure then she would have been in the midst of a complete and blissful orgasm before she even got to third slide of her PowerPoint presentation. She feared shouting at the very important client “Oh fuck! Yes! More” may come across as a tad over enthusiastic.

Within a few moments and with the assistance of her fingers Tempani welcomed the much needed orgasm. As this was an orgasm borne more out of necessity than want she was not willing to indulge in the full pleasure experience.

No sooner had she felt that wave of intense pleasure flow through her body and her vagina begin to contract as if it was trying to applaud happily, she was pulling up her tights and adjusting her skirt before running round to the entrance of the building.

Waiting in the foyer was her assistant who took one look at Tempani and asked “Did you get caught in the rain?”

“Yeh a little” replied Tempani, still experiencing the final throes of her orgasm.

“Anyway. The meeting is about to start” said her assistant moving towards where the lifts were located.

Tempani took a moment to collect her thoughts and ensure all the rain induced pleasure was firmly out of her system.

“You coming?” asked the assistant.

“Yeh I am.” replied Tempani “Just give me one more moment.”

Thrusting: Proposals & Disposals

I watched The Blue King disappear in the rear view mirror as my apparent saviour drove at speed down Old Street.

An uncomfortable silence filled the car. This mysterious man clearly wanted to say something to me and I had plenty of questions for him, such as

“Who are you?”

“Not important right now” he replied without disturbing his attention on the road.

“Okay. Where we are going?”

“Also not important” he said bluntly “Just relax you’re safe now.”

His tone was far from reassuring but I persisted in ensuring I got all my questions in at this early stage.

“Are you taking me home?”

He sighed “You shouldn’t go home” .

He added nothing more which led me to contemplate whether I had made the right decision getting into his car.

I gazed out the window and into the murkiness of the night. There was little illumination and what there was offered only a fleeting glimpse of revellers making their way home or seeking out a place to get another drink; I doubted The Blue King would be open to cater for that final indulgence.

I asked no more questions of my saviour and instead just stared into dark nothingness as I tried to process the events of the night. Did Mr Karpinsky die? Did I kill him? Will I still get paid my wages, rent was due after all. I shuddered at the thought of my Landlord’s alternative means of payment.

Lost in thought I had not realised that we had travelled all the way into central London. The car came to a gentle stop outside a grandiose building; the gloom of the night made it difficult to witness it in all its gothic splendour.

The mystery man, who still hadn’t told me his name, exited the car, took the time to do up the button of his impeccably tailored suit before walking briskly round to my side and opened the door. He offered his hand which I nervously took as he gently escorted me out the vehicle.

I followed him up a few stone steps to an imposing set of double wooden doors. He used the large wrought iron door knocker, one crashing knock seemed to cause the door to open magically.

As the door slowly opened I was presented with a long hallway, a regal red carpet stretched as far as I could see. Paintings of old men sporting different moustaches looked down at me, each with their own expression of disapproval that a woman dare walk these halls. Not just any woman, a working class girl of all things; as I walked further down the hall I half expected the paintings to shake and fall off with unrepentant fury.

Despite the unwelcoming interior I felt comfortable. The cold silence in the car had left me wondering if my apparent saviour had more sinister intentions. However seeing the splendour of this place made me realise he wouldn’t kill me here. No way would they allow the blood of a girl from the East End to stain these expensive carpets.

We turned right into a large room, red leather chairs were neatly positioned around large circular wooden tables, much more lavish than the ones in The Blue King.

Some of the chairs were occupied, all were men and all were dressed in tailored suits. An elderly gentleman was asleep in one chair, his drink precariously balanced in his hand.

Some acknowledged my saviour as he walked in with a nod of recognition which he politely returned. None acknowledged my presence; they chose not to see me although I had no doubt they were mentally drafting a letter to the management regarding that time they let a common woman into this place.

My mysterious companion escorted me to the far corner where he gestured for me to sit in one of the large leather seats. Catching the objecting glance of one of the older patrons I gently lowered myself into the seat, my hands sliding across the silky leather armrests. I half smiled wishing my family could see me in a place of such extravagance.

‘Look at our little Molly in such a posh place’ my Nan would have said before running to tell the neighbours. But the smile quickly faded as I reminded myself of the circumstances that led me here.

Lost in that daydream I hadn’t noticed that a man had approached our table, although he was quickly dismissed by my companion with an order of two scotches.

While waiting for the drinks he cocked his head to one side and looked me up and down, the awkwardness of this compounded by the realisation of how short my skirt was. I instinctively made the futile attempt to lower it below my thighs.

The silence was broken by the sound of two glasses of scotch being placed on the table. I picked up the glass and without any care that it’s content probably cost more than what I earned in a month at The Blue King swigged the whole thing down.

My companion smirked and ordered a replacement with a wave of his hand.

“Well you’ve had quite the evening, haven’t you Miss Jones” he said

Wiping the remnants of scotch from my lips with the back of my hand I replied “Is he dead?”

“Mr Karpinsky? Oh he is dead for sure”

“Did I kill him?” I asked

My companion smiled, “Intentionally? No. Seems Mr Karpinsky’s heart couldn’t take the thrill of being in your company Miss Jones”

I grabbed the glass from the table and holding it with both hands rested it on my lap. I watched as the amber liquid swirled in the expensive cut glass. With my head bowed I meekly said “So I’m not in trouble?”

“Oh you’re in big trouble Miss Jones”

I lifted my head up, the tears forming in my eyes were met with the outstretched hand of my companion, maybe partly to calm me down or perhaps this place had rules against ‘women making a scene’.

“You see Mr Karpinsky is not a nice man” he continued “His associates are not the sort that would be sitting around prepared to wait for the results of an autopsy that would show he died of natural causes. No, they’d be determined to find the young woman who ran away”.

“I was scared. I panicked”

“That may very well be the case but the associates of Mr Karpinsky aren’t the sort to listen”

I took a swig of my drink, the taste of the alcohol an antidote to the tears I was trying to fight back. “Why am I here?” I asked

“I told you Miss Jones. I can help you. I can keep you safe.”

“How?” Given that my companion was now in a talkative mood I wanted to get a response to all my unanswered questions I had raised in the car.

He didn’t respond promptly, instead he took a sip of his drink allowing the alcohol to swirl round his mouth before speaking.

“Come work for me.” he finally said, smiling.

“Why? Do you need a singer?” I asked.

“Something like that.” He paused to take another sip of his scotch before continuing “You ever hear of a band called The Konrads?”

“No. Should I have?”

“No Miss Jones and that is the point”

“Wait. You’re a manager of crap bands no one has ever heard of.” I said laughing “Cos I already have that gig with the worse manager you can think of”

“You really think you can return to Jimmy and The Blue King?” he said raising an eyebrow.

The boldness of my earlier statement quickly faded as I was suddenly reminded of the unnerving fact of apparently being hunted by the associates of Mr Karpinsky and the suffocating fear returned.

“But how does being in your band keep me safe?” I asked.

“The other people in the band are a very special bunch. They will keep you safe.”

He looked at me but all he was met with was my vacant expression. If he thought I was following what he was talking about then he was very much mistaken. Regardless of me not understanding what was going on he continued.

“What are you? Nineteen? Twenty? Certainly born after the war. You, like many of the population, believe the war is over. We live in peaceful times. But the war was never over. It merely evolved”

Still vacant.

“Those who would seek power realised there are other ways of achieving it besides guns and soldiers. And for years they have been working in the shadows attempting to take control without anyone noticing”

Still vacant.

“And those of us who would seek to stop them have to also work in these shadows. Secrecy is their weapon of choice. Information the silver bullet of success.”

I took a large swig of my drink hoping to mask the fact I had no clue what he was talking about. My only thought at that time was if this was to be a long story I may get another drink out of it.

“Miss Jones I work for the British Government. The others in this room all play a role in the national security of this country”

I spied the old man snoring away in the chair and my confidence of how secure the country might be quickly dropped.

“The Konrads were an early project of mine to pass on information to our allies without it falling into enemies hands. It was based on earlier work done by my mentor during the war. He devised a way of sending messages encoded within songs. To innocent ears they were just morale boosting songs about meeting again or blue birds over Dover, yet to those behind enemy lines they contained vital information”

“Wait?!” I interrupted “You saying Vera Lynn was a Secret Agent?”

“Something like that. I tried to emulate the same principle with The Konrads but it did not have the same effect. Something was missing. Then I realised in these times you not only needed to pass on information but gather information. And this brings me to you.”

I drained my glass but this time my companion was not quick to offer me a refill “Me? What about me? And should you be telling me all this. I might be an agent for whoever it is we are supposedly at war with. I mean you’re a pretty shit spy if you’re just randomly blurting all this out.”

He smiled “I have done my homework Miss Jones. I know all about you….and your Father. Sorry about what happened to him by the way”

I brushed away any concern I ought to have had that he knew everything about me and concentrated on why he thought I was so special.

“Why me?” I asked.

“Mr Karpinsky was quite a private man. Paranoid as well. Never let his security leave his side. He had good reason to be worried, there were many people after him. I certainly could not get anywhere close to him. Yet tonight he forgot all that just to be with you. So that’s why.”

I stared at my empty glass desperate for alcohol to aid me with processing all this information.

“So you want me to sing coded messages and shag enemies to death?”

He laughed, loud enough to disturb the old guy from his slumber “Miss Jones what happened to Mr Karpinsky was a freak coincidence. However I certainly could use a woman of your talents.”

Part of me doubted there was any truth to what he was telling me. Many guys had lied about who they were to try and sleep with me. James Bond was all the rage and for all I knew this was just some posh bloke indulging in some pretend Secret Agent seduction.

“And if I refuse?” I asked.

He shrugged and finished drink, although to my disappointment did not seek to get another round.

“Then Miss Jones I will simply take you home.” He paused, scanning the room before continuing “Of course what happens to you after that will neither be my responsibility or concern. Maybe Mr Karpinsky’s men will already be waiting for you. That might come tomorrow or the day after but eventually they will find you. And as for The Blue King I doubt that place will ever open again.”

For some reason I didn’t want him to think I was scared even though my heart was pounding and my mind chaotically tried to process the events of that night which had spiralled drastically out of control the moment I stepped off the stage at The Blue King.

This attempt to stay strong was betrayed by me looking away from him and down at my lap muttering to myself “You should have turned left Molly.”

“Sorry Miss Jones?” He said, leaning forward to try and catch my eye “What do you wish to do?”

My head roared in confusion. I wanted to ask more questions but it was clear whoever this mysterious man was he had run out of patience with me.

I still was unsure that he was telling the truth. I may be perfectly safe, that no one was after me and after a grovelling apology to Jimmy I could go back to my job at The Blue King.

The guy in front of me maybe well connected but he could also be an absolute psycho trapping me in a lie for his own nefarious reasons. Secret agents didn’t go round telling strangers they were secret agents. Did they?

I dug my nails into the arms of the leather chair. My instinct was to run, that’s always been my instinct. Just run as far away as I could. But I would eventually have to stop running and if he was right they’d catch up with me.

At that moment the only certainty was the uncertainty of whatever choice I made. What I desired then was simply control, to manage my own destiny; but when your life is swirling around in a chaotic mess control and clarity come in very short supply.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Time to make your choice Molly. I lifted my head and stared him straight in the eye.

“So Miss Jones, what are you going to do?” he asked again.

Exhaling I replied “Get us another drink and I’ll tell you.”