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WARNING: This is adult reading material. If you aren't, don't!
(c) BronwenSM 1997. Not to be used without permission.

                              --- Kim Nice-but-Dim ---
                            Chapter 3: "Revelations"
                          (Mf, oral, fucking, humor, love)

                                        @---}---}----

Well, I went on seeing Greek Eddie - though I s'pose he saw more of me
than I saw of him. He saw the back of my head, and I saw
upholstery.....

He was wonderful for impressing my girlfriends - he must have been a
lot richer than some of the other polo players because he sent flowers
every day and once a whole bouquet of orchids, which luckily arrived
while a particularly bitchy friend of Mummy's was over for lunch. That
was a bit of a coup. Though I don't much like orchids. They look
spiteful to me.

He told me that he lived for our meetings, and naturally he expected
to "fuck the bum, yes?" every time we saw each other. I spent ages in
the kitchen every day with a little pack of frozen peas on my lip
trying to make it heal at record speed. I mean I adore sucking cock,
but this buggery lark was simply not my cup of tea. And also, though
this bit's rather embarrassing, I hated not being able to poo, and I
simply couldn't. It hurt too much.

By the evening of Saturday fortnight I was not only fully recovered
but we had an invite to the Cartier thrash to celebrate their polo
sponsorship. Happiness. Two delectable outfits and being able to go
back to blow jobs again. No more buggery. Praise the Lord.

It was one of those moveable feast nights you get in the country. I
had a new short dress for the drinks do beforehand at Lord Emsworth's
lovely old place, and my ball dress was already hanging up at the
house we were going for dinner so I could nip off at half-time, so to
speak, do my quick change act and turn up at the ball itself within 20
minutes. It should've gone like clockwork.

I felt wonderful. My hair was extra glossy, my eyes were shining. I
might not get the thrills other girls described out of sex (in fact
the whole business was beginning to seem a bit one-sided to me), but I
knew I looked ravishing and I felt sure that as soon as I'd displayed
my blow-job skills to Greek Eddie he'd never look a bum-fuck in the
face again. Or something like that. It was definitely my night.

                                        @---}---}----

At least it was my night until I went to the loo. I knew nearly
everyone at the drinks party and, as Lord Emsworth's butler said
wistfully, that night the blaze of lights, the smell of wines and
perfume brought back the old days. Days when the country house set
ruled the world.

Buffy and Margot Emsworth were genial and carefree. Their son and
heir, Jonty, was flushed, pop-eyed and jubilant. He looked as happy as
a moronic 22 year old with thinning hair can. With the dosh his
parents were making out of polo he had every right to be happy. Owning
a polo team is one of the ways whimsical billionaires make holes in
their fortunes. Supplying the whims of said billionaires, on the other
hand, can be unbelievably lucrative.

I left Eddie chatting polo with some team mates and nipped off for a
pee. I chatted to a couple of girls I knew, combed my hair and touched
up my lippy. On the way back I decided I'd circulate a bit and grab
the chance to chat to various old school enemies I'd spotted on the
way in. Nothing like looking your best to bring out a mean desire to
re-introduce yourself to girls who used to look down on you.

So I swanned about feeling gorgeous until disaster struck. You see
Eddie didn't spot me coming back to join him because I went back a
different way. I was just in the alcove leading to the billiard room
where I'd left him when I heard Eddie's voice, clear and happy.

"Yes, I know she's a silly leetle tart, my friend -- not two brain
sticks to rub together. She believes any bloody thing you tell her.
When I hear all that about She still thinks I am called Greek Eddie
because I am Greek. Everyone else knows I am French.  But Oliver, you
must admit she has the face of an angel. For that and for her tiny
tight little arsehole alone she is worth a sea of red roses."

As I stood there, stunned, a dear, familiar voice replied. "Yes,
Eddie, you've got me there. Even if Kim thinks a long sentence is
something you can appeal against, she's still the sexiest toy on two
legs. A living Barbie doll -- and so desperate to please. I've never
known a piece of totty so undemanding. I don't think she's even heard
of foreplay -- let alone the female orgasm. " Oliver was laughing.
Eddie was laughing. I wasn't laughing.

All I could think of was escaping. I staggered around the corner into
a cool corridor and collapsed. It was suddenly clear to me why people
talk about feelings being hurt. I hurt so much I felt something
cracking in my chest.

Ever since I was little people've teased me about what a fool I am. I
mean I've always been the first to admit that I'm a bit of a dipstick,
so them thinking I was a mug wasn't the worst of it. No, the worst
thing was that I'd been pootling along thinking they liked me, and
they didn't, they didn't give a shit and I'd never noticed. They liked
what I did, but who I was didn't really matter at all. I wished I was
dead -- or at least invisible...

I was slumped on this stupid little gilt chair, wailing my heart out
as quietly as I could, when I felt the satin lining of a d.j. warm
from someone's back being wrapped gently around my bare shoulders.

"It's my little Kim. I've been looking for you, and what do I find?
Crying again, sausage? Surely you've stopped at some point during the
past decade? A bit more serious than a grazed knee this time, eh? Come
on, poor old girl. I'll take you home and you can tell your uncle
Barnaby all about it." It was Barny. I hadn't seen him for ages, but
here he was when I was in the pits.

I sobbed even harder now someone was being nice to me. Have you ever
noticed that? It's bad enough having something full tilt horrible
happen but then if someone comes along and is sympathetic that's just
too much to bear. I really howled. So he came round in front of me,
wrapped his big chunky arms round me like a father (not like *my*
father. He's no one's fantasy Daddy. No, I mean like a *real* daddy)
and lifted me up. We were near the hall already, and it only took a
second for him to slip into the cloakroom and find his overcoat.

So with me wrapped in his dj and then tucked up under his huge coat he
made our farewells "Poor little thing... only a migraine... family
friend... safely home..." Muttering reassuring platitudes, Uncle Barn
shepherded me invisibly out through the press of people without an
atom of fuss, across the rain-swept courtyard and into his battered
four-wheel drive.

Just like Uncle Barn -- turn up at a party, after years in the Middle
East, wearing a bespoke dinner jacket and driving a filthy farm
vehicle. Not that he is my uncle really. He's an old university mate
of Daddy's from Oxford. He's known me since I was little and I've had
a hopeless crush on him since I was eight. He was right too. Last time
he saw me I *was* crying and it *was* a grazed knee. Man must have a
memory like an elephant.

I felt so safe in his car as we drove away through the village. It was
a proper country Range Rover -- muddy and smelling of dogs, and it
felt so homely. Horses and dogs and kind men who loved me. And of
course that made me think about Greek Eddie and Oliver again and I
started blubbering louder than ever. Because nobody loved me and it
wasn't worth being so beautiful I could piss off all the girls I knew
if I was still so stupid that everyone was laughing at me.

Barn stopped the car in a lay by. "Hold hard, old lady," he said.
"Save the tears until we get to my place. You tell me all about it and
if you've got a good reason I'll let you cry as hard as you like. You
can flood the bloody cottage as long as you give me time to put the
furniture up on milk crates. But no more howling until you've spilt
the beans."  That made me giggle, and he gave a little nod of approval
as we drove off through the rain.

His farm wasn't far away, and he must've left the lights on to put off
burglars. It was probably rented -- Uncle Barn's constantly in debt
and, as Daddy so sweetly puts it, "hasn't got a pot to piss in".
Rented or not, it looked ever so cosy on that wet night. He jumped out
and strode round to the passenger door. I was too busy mournfully
comparing the rain on the windscreen to the deluge in my heart to
notice the huge puddle in the yard between the car and his front door.
But he thought of me and my lovely expensive shoes. He's that sort of
man. Hard to see what he and Daddy ever had in common, really.

Barnaby scooped me out of my seat and carted me over the puddle. He
unlocked the front door and set me down gently just inside. He looked
down at me under the lamp and smiled. "Kim you're the eighth wonder of
the world. You're the only girl I've ever known who can wail like a
banshee and end up looking no worse than a bit dew-drenched. You were
like that as a baby, too. Whatever happens to all the snot? It's got
to be some form of genius, like autism."

"I don't know why you're saying that," I sobbed. "I can't even drive.
It's just waterproof mascara." Looking at Uncle Barn's coat, I could
see where some of the snot had gone, but I wasn't about to tell him.

His front door opened straight into a huge low-ceilinged kitchen with
a real fireplace and some easy chairs. He plonked me down in one of
these, built up the fire again, and set about making coffee. He
brought a tray over with the coffee and two huge glasses of malt and
sat down in the chair opposite, looking kind and scuffed and
concerned.

Well, Daddy would just go mad, and Mummy would say something light and
tinkling and God's honest truth was I'd lost nearly all my girlfriends
through showing off. I'd been a bit of bitch since I suddenly turned
into a swan. It had to be faced that there simply weren't a lot of
people I could talk to any more. And I had to talk to someone, even if
the whole thing was so dreadfully shaming.

So I took a huge gulp of the malt and told Barn all about Greek Eddie
and the buggery and Oliver and the sucking. The only bit I left out
was the bit about it hurting to poo. I couldn't tell even Barn about
that.

It took me a while to explain everything. At first he stood up and
just sort of screwed up his mouth and went a funny colour. And then he
started strolling about and making little snorty noises. I could see
he was trying to control his disgust, and my eyes filled with tears.
Then his did as well, real tears in his shattering blue eyes in his
rather weather-beaten face.

Then, just as my heart was breaking, he flung himself down on the sofa
and started howling. But he wasn't angry or disillusioned. He was
laughing. Laughing incredibly loudly, pounding his fist into a
cushion. He roared with laughter, he rolled on his back and held his
stomach. His voice went all squeaky... "Kim! Oh Kim, you holy
innocent! You mean to say... Oh, darling..." he whooped, and he didn't
finish his sentence but went off into another gale of giggles.

"So what happened tonight, Kimmy-kitten?" he asked tenderly, when he'd
stopped laughing. He used to call me that silly name when I was tiny,
and he was still using it even though he knew all these terrible
things about me. So I told him the rest. He didn't laugh at this bit.
"Miserable little shits!" he growled. "Heaven preserve teenage girls
from teenage boys, that's all I can say."

God, I was relieved. In fact I was so relieved that when he kneeled
before me and took my face between his hands I still thought of him as
a relative. But then he kissed me. The only way I can describe that
kiss is that it was very concentrated. Like cordial.

The words "Uncle Barn" teetered in my brain. There was a sort of short
anquished struggle between how long I'd known him and the fact that he
wasn't any sort of relative, and what Daddy would say and how much I'd
always fancied him and the overall effect of that kiss. And I opened
my eyes and looked at Barn. He was the same, but he was different. Or
maybe I was different. And I kissed him back.

When we paused for breath he looked at me and struck an actory sort of
pose.

"How dare these little pricks mess with my best girl?" he declaimed in
a school play voice. " In fact what I'd like to know," and Barn took a
deep breath, "is how dare the bloody bugger bugger my battered baby?"

And then he was hugging me and we were slipping down on the rug in a
pile of sofa cushions and I was laughing so hard my tummy hurt.

All the pain was fading away. Barn gazed deep into my eyes and set me
off again when he said "Holy cow, Kim, how did you ever get to be so
totally gormless?"

When he rolled over again and buried his face in my lap I didn't think
much about it. I was wearing that lace cocktail dress that stops just
below my bum. Weren't you with me when I bought that? Oh, maybe not.
Anyway, just that -- no tights, just brown legs and cream Janet Reger
knicks.

And I was so screwed up -- what with having my heart broken and then
worrying about how this old family friend would take my dreadful
confession and then pissing ourselves laughing and so on -- that I
suppose my guard was down. Because in no time Barnaby wasn't laughing,
he was kissing my forearm, and running his tongue up the skin against
the grain. It made all the hairs on my arms stand on end and it made
my eyes sort of dither. I felt hypnotised with pleasure. Slowly he
moved on, and soon he was licking my thighs just under the hem of my
dress and taking deep sniffs under there while did so. I remembered
him doing that just inside restaurant doors to make me laugh when I
was little, so I knew it was a compliment.

The licks were lovely. My thighs were looking particularly nice, all
pale tan with tiny golden hairs, so I didn't have to worry about that.
Besides which, Barnaby's ancient, at least 45, so I knew he had all
sorts of lumps and bumps himself. He wouldn't be expecting me to be
perfect. All of a sudden, for the first time in my life, I stopped
fretting. I was inside my skin instead of watching it from the
outside.

Anyway, what with one thing and another, I just sort of relaxed and
Barnaby went on kissing my legs and licking me, little cat licks,
inside my thighs and even down towards my knees. I'm used to stopping
men going too far but not to men sliding away from my naughty bits
without being asked so this kissing and nibbling down towards my knees
was a bit of a novelty.

I leant right back and closed my eyes. He never stopped moving. His
tongue or his lips were sending shivers through me while one of his
hands constantly stroked or very, very gently tickled me using the
tips of his nails. God, it was delicious. I made a sort of
half-hearted move for his trouser button but he whispered "Forget it,
sweetheart. It's your turn tonight."

I went into a sort of blissed-out coma and then I felt his nails
grazing my ankles. He very delicately undid the straps on my party
sandals and bent to take them carefully off and put them to one side.
Then, as I lay there with the fire making my skin glow, he sucked each
toe in turn, running his tongue between each one and even taking a
tiny playful bite at one big toenail. I felt cherished, like a little
baby, and excited at the same time. All this was new to me. Time was
stretching out like chewing gum. It was all for me, and there was no
rush, we were weightless and time vanished...

Tenderly his big, safe-feeling hands moved up my thighs again. He
leant up to kiss me thoughtfully, as if he planned to take an exam in
me, and the very tips of his fingers just grazed against the crotch of
my knickers. Christ, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Wow. What was
going on? I'd never felt like this - nothing even vaguely like this.
Ripples were coming from inside me, I was in a trance but I couldn't
be passive any longer. I needed something urgently. But what did I
need?

"Why don't you let me take these wet clothes off for you?" Barn
whispered, and that seemed a good idea. A wonderful idea. I was about
to say they weren't wet when I realised some of them were. Very. I
just nodded. So he peeled off my soaking panties and very delicately
planted a single kiss on my pussy. He kissed a place no one else had
come across. It took my breath away.

I was shy for a moment but then I started wondering if I hadn't
completely missed the point before. With sex I mean. I mean I used to
get tingles, and I used to get damp. But I never had my whole body
threaten to fly off in different directions before. Everything was
fizzing gently.

"If you'd just turn round I could unzip your dress," Barn pointed out
tenderly. I knelt up and obediently offered him my back. He unzipped a
few inches and started kissing the back of my neck. If it was heavenly
delight before, now it felt even nicer. He blew and nuzzled along my
hairline, he whispered in my ears, and when he started gently biting
the nape of my neck I felt something I didn't recognise at all. My
tummy filled up with hot syrup, my inner thighs just sort of gave way
and my pussy started to throb and shudder as if it was trying to say
something. I couldn't help but gasp with the sheer blissful shock.

"Wow," breathed Barn when I'd stopped shaking. "That was a lovely
surprise. How come no one ever noticed before, poor baby?"

"Never noticed what?" I asked, in sudden fear of some unnoticed
failure.

"Just how easy to turn on you are. Christ, youth is wasted on the
young." His head came over my shoulder. "Look at your chest, Kim."

I thought he meant my tits, but when I looked down he said "Look at
that red flush. Left over from your first orgasm of the night, baby
girl."

And he was right, I could see it. "That was an orgasm, Barny?" I
asked.

"Only a little tiny one, Kim" he replied mischievously. "Just a
taster. Now where was I...?"

He leant forward and licked my neck again. I shivered. Then he backed
off a little, but only to get at a better angle so he could run his
tongue slowly down the groove in my back. He unzipped me with one hand
at the same time so his tongue sort of followed the zipper. My whole
body was melting.

He slid the dress off me and snuggled up behind me with his hard cock
pressing into my back through his trousers. He was still wearing all
his clothes... I ought to be doing something for him, I thought
guiltily, but his touch kept saying 'relax'.....

Barny slid his hands slowly up the front of me from my waist to my
collar bones. His big warm hands gradually took the weight of my tits
from the underside, then cupped them, his palms pressed against the
pebbles of my nipples and slowly moved onwards letting my breasts
slide back down into their natural place on my rib cage. There was
something good about the wholeness of his touch. Most of the boys I'd
got to know grasped my huge high tits as if they were being asked to
field them. I thought feeling like an assortment of body parts was
normal until I made love with Barny.

"Why don't you lie down, sweetheart?" Barny suggested. "Nothing so
exhausting as high emotion. Let me take care of you now."

And I did, simple as that. Not like me at all. He fussed about
arranging the rug and the cushions to make me really comfy and then I
stretched out, bare as bare and relaxed. I felt free for the first
time in my life. Being clever or stupid wasn't what mattered here.
Barny loved me, every inch. He'd loved me when I was an ugly duckling
and now he knew my nastiest secrets not only did he still like me but
he was really enjoying being nice to me.

But I was still a bit worried about the whacking great tent in his
trousers. "It's not going to kill me, Kim, you daft bat" said Barny
gently. "It's not even going to inconvenience me. My erection is not,
repeat not, your responsibility. If you want to suck it, or just look
at it, later I'll be delighted but you can just as well tell me to
fuck off and have a wank. It's my cock and I can look after it
myself."

I had my doubts, but I put them to the back of my mind. He knelt over
me, smiling down in the firelight, and took off his shirt and tie.
Then he took off his shoes. Then he leant forward with his weight on
his hands and started kissing my mouth.

I'd never been kissed before. That was the only conclusion I could
manage. The velvety softness and intensity of this experience was a
whole new world. Somehow I found my mouth and my tongue doing things I
hadn't thought of myself. He ran the tip of his tongue along the
inside of my bottom lip. It made me screw up my eyes while stars spun
round my head. Our mouths met and melted and explored. It was like sea
anemones dancing. It was just so good, so warm. I felt that syrupy
feeling start to build up all over again. He was tickling my cheek
from the inside. Even my teeth liked him.

But then his kisses moved away down my neck. For a moment my mouth
felt lonely but when he took one of my nipples in his mouth the shock
of excitement that shot straight to my pussy made me leap like a
salmon. "Like that, do you?" he murmured. "And what about this?"

Instead of moving really slowly down my tummy he darted straight
between my legs. His tongue snaked inside me without hesitation as his
face came down. For a tiny moment I was too impressed by the sheer
excellence of his aim to react. How many pussies must he have kissed
to get that good? His tongue was inside my labia as if drawn by
magnetism. He licked up and then flicked his tongue over the top of my
clit. Saliva was pouring out of his mouth -- and I was already
dripping juices.... He was using his tongue, his nose, his fingertips,
even his breath to give me pleasure....

I was so wet between my thighs it crossed my mind that there was a
real risk darling Barn might drown. With his whole face buried in
liquid pussy, anything might happen... A dippy image of him down there
with a snorkel on tickled me and I snorted with nervous laughter.

Barn slowly moved up and gazed down at me, his face glistening.
"Feeling a bit lonely up here?" he asked.

"No, of course not," I said. "Well, yes... I was."

"Poor old girl. You *have* been in the wars. I'm here, you know. I'm
here for you. You don't need to be nervous. If you feel better I'll
stay up close, face to face with you..." Feeling deeply wimpish, I
nodded and snuggled up to him.

He wrapped his arms around me and continued thoughtfully, kissing
along my jaw. "About that virginity business. It may not have occurred
to you, sweetheart, but some of us oldies have a secret weapon... It's
called a vasectomy."

Well, Barn explained it, and I wouldn't have believed it from any
other man -- not after what had happened -- but if you can't trust the
man who gave you a bicycle with trainer wheels who can you trust? And
I'd been dying of curiosity for so long and I suddenly thought how
miserable trying to hold on to my bloody virginity had made me, so I
said, very, very quietly, "Yes, please."

He heard me all right, because he slowly got up and took off the rest
of his clothes, grinning at me. His cock was a nice shape, but not
particularly ginormous though he was bigger everywhere else than
anyone else I'd been with and miles hairier in all sorts of places
(and some of the hairs were white). At first sight I was a bit
disappointed to see he didn't have a proper hard-on. I mean it was big
but it wasn't sticking straight up. Apparently that's how it works
when men get older. It may not get as huge as fast but, believe me, it
gets just as huge eventually and older men -- well Barny, anyway --
last for hours and hours.

It's a sort of hare and tortoise thing -- we did that at junior
school, did you? Well, then, it's like the difference between popcorn
and a proper roast dinner with vegetables. Far, far more satisfying.

And it was. He lay down beside me and showed me his vasectomy scars.
That got us giggling, because what with him being so hairy and the
scars being so small and the firelight it took us about five minutes
to find them. So I forget about being nervous, and he started all that
stroking again. But this time it was less comforting and more
exciting. He pressed harder and used his nail tips to stand my hairs
on end. He sucked my nipples, my ears and whispered all sorts of nice
things. Just nice things -- about what a sweet little girl I'd been
and how I'd make a wonderful grown-up and how I deserved better than
Eurotrash and... Well it shouldn't have been sexy, but it was. Because
he made me feel so good, so special... And then he bent his head to
the opposite side of my neck and moved himself over me. My moment had
come.

I screwed my eyes tight shut. He stopped dead. We both froze for a
moment. "Why doesn't he get it over with?" I was thinking. Slowly I
unscrewed one eye... He was grinning down at me like a fox.

"You're wondering why I don't get it over with, aren't you?" he said,
and winked.

Well, I burst out laughing, and his face sort of sparkled and then
with one long thrust he was inside me, like two hands creaming each
other. It didn't hurt, it felt totally fucking gorgeous and it took my
breath away. An orgasm was building in me like a thunder cloud before
he'd even started moving. I started to make strange little gasps. I
couldn't recognise the woman I was becoming, but she was definitely
me. This was the real stuff.

Everything that happened after that was deeply educational and lush.
It turns out the movie cliches we used to giggle about are all true.
The waves do pound on the beach, the pistons piston, fireworks go off,
rockets are launched. I recall strongly identifying with Liz Taylor
during the race in National Velvet, except I didn't have to cut my
hair off.

God, it was astonishing. We changed positions a couple of times, but
mostly we just shagged the arse off each other. We fucked to a
complete bloody standstill.

When we finally came down to earth for a glass of juice it was over
two hours later and my whole body was wet with sweat. My hair was
plastered to my head and my thigh muscles were trembling. At one point
I remember my whole body felt full of sequins, glittering and loose. I
lost count of how many times I came... It was amazing. Women don't
work like men at all, you know. Men often just climb up and up their
single steep hill and then fall off the cliff. Women have a whole
landscape to explore -- and we went over the hills and far away....

So now Barnaby and I're going to live happy ever after. We'll see you
on Saturday -- you are coming, aren't you? I've just had my final
fitting, and the wedding rehearsal's tomorrow night. No, of course I'm
not nervous. What's to be nervous of?

                                         @---}---}----

Let's take one last lingering glance at Kim among her guests, a very
English bride in the sunny courtyard. The chink of crystal and mutter
of voices, with the occasional peal of laughter, the sounds and scents
of a lavish garden party.

And Kim looks as Pamela Anderson might look were she as fresh as a
daisy and had breasts built of country air and good food. Her curved
golden shoulders and her long neck rise out of the low-cut lace of her
gown. Only the upper slopes of those magnificent tits can be seen. Her
thick, platinum-streaked tawny hair is piled up under a crown of
fresh flowers. Today she is wearing the first pearl necklace of her
life that won't wash off....

Further pearls stud her ears and a single carat solitaire winks on her
hand. Billows of vanilla satin make up the skirt that falls from her
unfeasibly small waist and trails on the centuries-old flagstones of
the Emsworth's ancestral hall.

The Emsworth's flagstones? Oh I see. Yes, of course she's marrying
Jonty Emsworth, Viscount Blandings.

You didn't really think she'd marry Barnaby did you? God, you're such
a hopeless romantic. After all, what's ground-breaking
emotionally-synchronised ecstasy and lifelong penury compared to a
multi-million pound town house and most of Berkshire? Remember, Kim's
her mother's daughter. And possibly her father's too.....

Sshh....! She's coming over... she wants to introduce us to someone.

Kim is smiling bewitchingly up at us. "Darling, how lovely to see you.
Have you met Barnaby Rufus? He's my trustee and a very old family
friend. It was so kind of your mother to remember Jonty and I like
Wedgwood."

Dear old penniless Uncle Barnaby. Nothing more natural than that he
should be invited. And nothing more natural than that a married woman
of property should need frequent private meetings with her trustee. To
discuss her position.... In some depth....

Kim winks at us over her shoulder as she takes centre stage again.
It's time for her and her groom to cut the cake. Goodbye,
sweetheart....

Dear Kim. She may be dim but she's no longer anybody's fool.....

                                        @---}---}----


If you enjoyed this, please let me know at bronwen@anon.nymserver.com.
Remember Celeste's blow-job principle! <grin>

Translations of English English supplied on request! <giggle>

All Bronwen's other stories, plus a wacky tour of the life of her
wicked slut-twin Bikini-Barbie-Bronwen, are at
http://www.cyber-mall.com/Bronwen, courtesy of Joe Parsons. Thanks,
Joe!

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