How would you notch her? How would you liked to be notched?

[YESQUITE]

Scenario:

You're at a club of fairly ill repute... cops are there half the time, and you occasionally see blood and broken glass about - but eh... at this place the cover charge is half the price of a decent club, the drinks are cheap and the girls are even cheaper. The music isn't even half bad.


You buy a round... you drink another round... you dance - badly, you swear, you ogle some nice looking forms. A notice a bunch of stuck up chicks wallflowering in the corner dressed to the nines here tonight... dresses and expensive clutches... all smiling and giggling and murmuring amongst themselves - what's the deal? They must be fucking legal secretaries you whisper to a mate... what the fuck are they doing here? You don't really give it much thought. In any case you need to take a slash (a piss for people not from oz). Time to break the seal. You wade through the crowd to the toilets... which are unisex... not because it's a funky new club with trendy unisex toilets... but because the owner is too cheap to front for two separate sets of stalls. The stalls themselves are dingy as... the light is not much to speak of... you generally have to piss straight by using the force... and the walls for some reason are spray painted silver... because... fucked if you know why because...

You open the first stall... it's two fairly poncy blokes in flannel shirts and tight jeans doing lines of blow off the top toilet paper dispenser. Fucking wankers...

You try the second stall... but the door is locked and clearly someone is repainting the walls with a technicolour yawn. Some bottle blonde slapper in a flourescent tube top is asking "Tanya" if she's ok... of course she's not ok... no girl drinks three hip flask bottles of Stolychniya and is OK. Twat.

You try the third stall... but there's not even a fucking toilet there... just a hole where it used to be and some goth dude trying to be hardcore in front of his two other lamely dressed goth friends by doing zippo lighter tricks... great, I hope your PVC trenchcoats catch on fire.

Fourth... locked.

Fifth... locked.

You walk past two of those snooty lawyer chicks... who are still murmuring and laughing amongst themselves... fucking hell.

By this stage you think to yourself you may as well have had a piss on the dance floor. If you had it probably would haven't have put so much as a dint in the classiness of the premises...

You get to the sixth stall... it's in the corner and the door is slightly ajar. This one better be free.

You push it open... you see a figure seated on your toilet... dammit. You're about to walk out when you noticed the figure isn't so much seated... as well... splayed.

It's one of those snooty lawyer chicks... Except she's not in a snooty mood anymore... far from it... possibly this has something to do with the fact that she's tied up in a lavatory, spread eagled and tripping balls.

You take a moment to step back and absorb the scene. This is something that needs absorbing.

You stare at the floor... there are shreads of sheer black fabric on the grimy piss soaked concrete, judging by a small black label embroidered in fine gold thread... an overdone French jobby - she seems to have gone and had her fairly expensive Givenchy black dinner dress ripped open... possibly by her snickering friends that walked past you earlier... It had to be... a guy would have just ripped the whole dress off... this was ripped up at the bottom and at the top... deliberately... the rips were done in such a poserly fashion that only chicks could have done that... for maximum "effect".

You mentally note that she's still wearing her black fuck-me boots, the kind with that buttery sort of leather... the type which costs a more money than you earn in a month. Her stay up stockings seem equally dear... except for the large rips in them now.

The girl seems to be in her mid to late twenties... fit... one of those chicks whose stomachs you could eat sushi off of. Jet black hair and a very petite build with an almost improbably amount upholstery in the rack area. You think about this... she must be eastern european. The last betty you saw with a body like that was the stunning Czech cocktail waitress at that bar who literally forced you eat and drink your wages in lunch and dinners during a summer in 2005, to cover up for the fact that you were perving on her every time she bent over to clean the tables. Adriana her names was. Unfortunately for Adriana, her residency didn't come through and she got shipped back home and vanished with so much as a note tip jar in early 2006.

But yeah... you look at this girl arms upstreched and her boobs are pendulously heaving under her breath. Instinctively you reach out to touch them... they're just as smooth and soft as you thought they'd be. You thumb her nipples... shit even those feel expensive. Not only that.. .but you're engulfed by an aroma... not of piss or shit... but by her perfume. It's strong... but it doesn't choke you like that cheap retail counter shit. It's fucking lovely is what it is... you spend a minute just savouring her scent wafting in your face while you mindlessly fondle her tits.

She stirs... but she doesn't so much move, so much as slumps groggily backward... she's tied up with what used to be the elegant strappy bits of her evening gown. Under the dim glow of a failing flourscent you see that her cunt is glistening... not from piss... but she's gotten so fucking amped from whatever shit she's been hi-balling from that her peach is pretty much self saucing now.

You slip a finger against her gash... you take it out and hold it to the light.. your right index finger glistens slick with thick sticky nectar of this slut.

You look at the cardboard sign tied above her head next to her hands... written on a the back of a torn beer carton. You notice that the message the stupid girly cursive that only chicks write in... "She's drugged and tied! HAVE FUN!!"

The girl stirs again... and manages to slur something this time before her cogent thought escapes back into space again... "Jen.. Jennneee... puh.... pulleaase take me home now.... I gotta ga... go to the the Wed.. ing re-hearse tomorrow." Go--od Siimon's gonna be sooo an-gr..."

You put two and two together. Clearly she's on her hen's night out and her "friends" have put her in this situation... thinking that the next person who walks in here is going to freak out and untie her and get the management to escort her humiliated, buzzing out of her pop-socks self plus her snickering entourage outside the premises. Fun was had by all. Off to go marry her fuckwit solicitor of a boyfriend and pop out three kids...

You see the permanent marker left on top of the toilet paper dispenser. You look at this bitch... she's ridiculously perfect... a fucking mary poppins... even in this shithole with her dress ripped to shreds she's still primped and posey - smelling like a bed of summer frangiapanis...

Now a good person... well a good person would untie her... give her a coat... a glass of water and try to track down her friends... so as her friends can snicker and chatter amongst themselves at how fucking clever they are... and how Simon will be so fucking embarrassed when he sees his the state his girlfriend was in on Jenny's digital camera.

But the thing is... well... you're not a good person. This isn't a wrong to be righted... it's an opportunity waiting for the right guy... the type of guy that uses opportunities... rather than letting them pass him buy like a fucking gump.

Alright.

You reach for the permanent marker... You carefully uncap it and slowly make a notch just above the toilet paper dispenser, recap the marker and put it down.

You put your hand above the girl's chin and pull it up to your face... her makeup is a little smudged... but it's hard to ruin makeup on a face with such pretty features...

She wakes up a little... almost catches your eye as her own eyes loll about her head looking for a point to concentrate on.

"Hullo" you whisper.

"Hu... Hey..." she says.

"Are... are you here to take care of me...?" she blurts.

"Oh very much so" you say.

You stand up... her head lolls forward and into your stomach.

You grin to yourself... carefully thinking and planning where to start eating at this bitch buffet. You start to unzip your fly... she can clearly see what's going on... as your hands are right in front her head... she watches you wrestle out a throbbing hardon from out of your boxers and smack bang into her pretty face. She nuzzles it without thinking or even knowing.

"But first... I've got to use the toilet"





Let me know if you want to hear more... or if you have any ideas.

Till then,

Charlie, for now.

[Conrad]

1) Shysnale has some competition in the elabourate and slightly wierd post stakes.
2) Can I buy some blow from those two poncy blokes in flannel shirts?

[justmetoo]

Sure - I'll go for more. After I call my buddies up on their cells and let them know what I've found Way too good to keep her to myself. But I get first shot and that is what matters.

[internettufguy]

Wow that pic is hot, and the story you wrote to go with it is even better. Great post man

[doggystylethatgirl]

Originally Posted by Conrad

1) Shysnale has some competition in the elabourate and slightly wierd post stakes.
2) Can I buy some blow from those two poncy blokes in flannel shirts?

3) colector has some competition with cartoons or has a new friend.