Chronicles of a Cunt

Well fuck me hard with a thermos flask and collect and store my juices for scientific research this has been a tough old week and no mistake. I know you may all take a bit of convincing on this one but believe it or not their are folk out there who are even more fucked up then me. ‘Go Bollocks, you sick fuckpig!’ I can hear you cry but it’s true! Exhibit A for my evidence? Some daft twatbag has asked me to be his Best Man?! I mean how fucking insanely desperate would a fucker need to be that they’ve resorted to asking me?! I like desperate, I also like the title of BEST MAN and more importantly I love the idea of fucking  one of the bride-to-bes’ sisters (either would do) so I accepted his request courteously and set about plotting.

First off the bat and being new to this whole procedure I was at first overwhelmed by all the shit that was expected of me. Soon my intrinsic nature kicked in and I managed to dodge all of the boring bollocks which I have no interest in and get stuck into organising the stag night, which apart from the speech and boinking bridesmaids is the only aspect of this fucking circus that I’m willing to get involved in. Now because the only person I really know is the Groom, I’m a little unsure of what type of Stag Event people are expecting. This is easily solved by setting up something that I  would want to do and fuck what all these strangers are bleating about . I set up a  three dayer in Amsterdam amidst worried calls from strange men I’ve never even spoken to and looks of alarmed concern from the future Mrs Knobhead. Even the Groom-to-be is starting to realise he’s made a MASSIVE error of judgement.

Fast forward a few months to last weekend and I’m the City of Sin sat in a pungently smoke filled room with approx twenty unknown, vacantly grinning men. There’s more glassy eyed expressions going on then in an American anal porno. The Stag is nudging me,  he is worried that his father and uncle are not going to make it and insists that maybe me force feeding them two big space cakes each was not a good idea. I’m more worried about myself to be honest, the various mushrooms and weed based products i’ve consumed have left me under the impression that my mate is an actual stag.. and as a concerned, nervous looking stag is quite a comical looking fellow I can’t help but roar with laughter into his bemused, confused face. I pat the bag by my knees making sure that the full leather effect gimp suit I have just purchased is to hand.

I knew what would pick the timid fuckers up and I was bang on right but drinking in Amsterdam is expensive, luckily most of these fucking lightweights are smashed out of their faces after several pints with chasers so it doesn’t completely rob me of all my casheesh. Getting them into the swing of things we soon have the Stag dolled up in his brand new S&M suit, complete with collar and lead. Even Stag Dad and his Uncle Knobhead are perking up as we march him through the streets of Amsterdam, passed slut filled windows and into a Live Sex Show, where we are promised ‘Quality Sleaze and Filth’  The beer is kicking into these typically average British fuckers and their starting to get a bit rowdy in the show, being two feet away from birds having at each other with banana’s probably doesn’t help. Which gives me an even better idea, like a lightening bolt of miraculous epiphany thrown from the fist of  the God of Fucking. I move amongst the crowd, soliciting contributions from those who I feel are likely to be willing co-conspirators.

I’m speaking to a Russian Slut, who’s Bikini is a neon looking Star Trek number, she’s leaning  casually against the door frame letting me ogle her massive tits. Her English is very good and she grins at me nodding as I explain what is required from her, she tells me that she’ll need half an hour to prepare, but no problem. Thirty minutes later and my co-conspirators and I have dragged the Stag who is pretending to be an unwilling victim to his destiny. He sees Russian Titwhore and stops struggling.

We all stand around waiting for the Stag to emerge, like a butterfly from a neon spunk filled cocoon. Five minutes in we hear a startled whelp, I allow myself a grin and waggle my eyebrows at my new friends who chuckle sheepishly like a bunch of schoolgirls. About ten minutes later we are all treated to a horrified yell of shock, swearing and anger filled roars proceed the Stag bursting from the whores window.  He has not pulled his mask back on, tears are streaming down his face, hate fills his eyes as he swiftly scans the awaiting pack. They alight on me. He chases me through the street for at least half an hour, until I loose him. I even had to fucking rent a new hotel room for the night.

Apparently the plastic sheet spread over the bed had not triggered any concerns. The massive pair of milk bags and tight round arse had entranced him so much, that although shocked at the intruding butt plug being introduced into the proceedings, he allowed its’ continued presence. It was the swift removal of the intruder at the point of ejaculation forcing him to crap himself freely and uncontrollably that pushed him over the edge. It moved him to tears, the big bloody baby.

I spent the next two days alone. Apparently it was not appropriate for me to arrange this type of scenario. Apparently my services as Best Man are no longer required. Apparently I am sick for thinking of such a thing in the first place. Apparently I will not be fucking two Bridesmaid sisters in two months.                Bastard Cunt.