Memories of Upton Village (Just o\\\'er the Thames from Eton)

Ah! Eton! I hear my readers say, the ancient public school,
Famed bastion of entrenched upper class privilege and wealth.
But I refer not to that acme of scholastic excellence,
But rather to the charming village of Upton on the other side of the Thames,
In whose lovely banlieu a strangely brutal and horrifying amorous tale
Befell me which has since haunted me with its vile and cruel mystery.

In those dreamy days of my promiscuous past, I learned of an exotic singles bar
From the lips of my dwarf-like aristocratic secretary, Esmeralda,
In a post-coital chat after having slipped her one over the chaise longue
Which I kept in my office to facilitate interviews with prospective employees.
Ezzy told me that the "Fat Old Cow" was a posh watering hole in Knightsbridge
Where upper class birds went for quick one night stands. Just the place for me.

Thus I made this elegant yet louche meat market my pick-up place du choix
After a hard day's dozing at the office, and there I met the big-breasted Edwina,
A lady of uncertain years (minimum 40) and, after a couple of shared Bernkastelers
(medium-dry Riesling of preference in those unsophisticated days)
A pretty strong bet for a bit of casual yet ever-so-randy legover action
Judging from the way she shoved her quivering tongue in my shell-like earhole.

Once she found out that my own humble abode was hors de combat
(on account of the fact that my long-nosed neighbours would dump me in the
deepest of shite with my lady wife once the evil buzzard got released from jail
after serving her sentence for trying to decapitate me with a pickaxe upon finding
a veritable bird's nest of semen-permeated pubic hairs lurking in the gussets
of my designer silk boxer shorts) Edwina suggested a hot shag or two chez elle.

So, off we journeyed in a cab and I fearfully watched the fare mount up
(O sweet Jesus, how I prayed the journey would be worth the investment);
But I was reassured as she drooled saliva down my throat and her throbbing tongue
Caressed my uvula like a starving pig rooting out truffles in an apple orchard.
O how joyful was I when she insisted on paying the fare despite my token protests:
"After all," quoth she, "I am stinking rich and a no-holes-barred hardcore fuck."

When I saw Edwina's house I was (to say the least) gobsmacked:
We're talking a bloody great mansion here, worth in today's wonga
A minimum five million quid. I decided there and then I would overlook
Any minor negatives in the old slag's bed techniques which might be revealed
In return for the gilded gifts she could well feel obliged to cough up
To her new adoring admirer and youthful well-hung stud (me).

After a bottle of champagne the, by then, half-naked slut declared beddy-byes time
And I followed her upstairs, watching her ample arse-cheeks jiggle joyously,
Just like two rabid ferrets fighting in a sack. I must give old Edwina her due:
For a biddy of her age, pushing the menopause, she was in top class condition,
Being willing to go for it in any position you could imagine (as well as a few
I had hitherto not had the pleasure of sampling in the flesh).

However, you may imagine my horror when, after a couple of top-class shaggings
(my only real complaint being the occasional jolt to my knob when I prodded
her probably no longer needed inter-uterine device) the bedroom door burst open
And in came her twin sister Boadicea, brandishing a mighty lubricated black dildo
Which she shoved right up my freckle, badly bruising my haemorrhoids.
Oh, the shame, the shame! And the horrid noisome mess as well.

Those two dirty cows gave me the anal experience of my life (to date)
And I can honestly say I was constipated for a good three days in consequence.
As I limped carefully down the front steps to the mansion the next morning,
I reflected that if I ever saw either of those bitches again, I would be tempted
To give them the benefit of the sawn-off double-barrelled shotgun
I would be obliged to take with me on all future cruising missions.

I could hear those two filthy slags shrieking with joy out of the window,
So I thoughtfully pissed all over the front seats of the Rolls-Royce convertible
Rather unwisely left unlocked in the ample driveway, hopefully giving the leather
A fine and pungent alcoholic aroma which no amount of Johnson's Auto Wax
Would ever erase. Sadly, I was unable to manage a juicy turd as a further treat,
But that giant dildo's savage proddings had put that totally out of the question.