The name's Ouettecunte: Jack Ouettecunte. Now, I know what you're thinking: that's kind of a cunty name for a guy, isn't it? I mean, how about something a bit more masculine, like "Jack Hammer", or "Jack Screw", or even "Jack McDickoff"?
Actually, I like to jack my dick off. But I hardly ever get a chance, because either Mum or Claire always does it for me. Tough, huh? The only time I get to stroke my own dick is when I'm at uni, where I'm studying for my "Higher National Diploma in Enlightenment Fuck Media Production Studies". Yeah, it's a bit of a mouthful: Mum tells me that in the Olden Days it was just called "porn" -- but that they didn't have uni courses in it then, so I need to just suck it up.
Anyway, so I spend all day watching fucking, filming fucking, directing fucking, editing fucking, even scripting fucking and storyboarding fucking -- which gives me plenty of opportunity to jack off. That's nice, because the moment I get home someone wants me to fuck them, or eat their cunt -- which gets kinda tedious. Actually, I lie: Claire's fucking brilliant at blowjobs. Mum's not too bad, but she just tends to stick to slow deepthroating, like Dad likes it. But Claire -- she does the whole brutal throat thing, you know, gagging and dry heaving and stuff, with spit and slime and snot and everything.
So, maybe life's not so bad after all.
Anyway, today me and Claire are at the RAF -- that's the Royal Academy of Fucking, in London -- and she's just done her first audition item, which was a blowjob with cake. Though I say so myself, it was amazing: she'd made this huge cream cake, which we brought up on the train with us. And she kept jamming my cock in it so it would get coated with cream and icing and shit; then she'd suck the stuff off, so her face was total mess, and all the sponge and jam and hundreds and thousands kept dripping down onto her tits. And then of course, bit by bit, all her spit and snot and stuff wasn't just her own slime but the cake's as well, and... well, it was just fucking amazing, that's all I can say: the sort of blowjob you just can't script.
OK, maybe I'm biased, because she's my sister, but really, if they don't accept her, well then, they're just a bunch of dickheads. I mean, I know Claire's throat isn't exactly natural: Mum and Dad GM'ed it for her
in vitro
. Mum always wished she could suck cock like that, but they didn't have Genetic Modification when she was
in vitro
, so I think she was determined Claire should have that opportunity. (Actually, now I think of it, was Mum ever
in vitro
? I wonder if in those days she got born the old-fashioned way, you know, out of someone's cunt... Creepy, huh? Waste of a good cunt, if you ask me...)
So, result: Dad and I get the best blowjobs in the world free of charge, whenever we like. We just have to put to put up with all the cake shit -- but hey, am I complaining? Small price to pay, I reckon. I mean, really, if you had the prettiest blond deepthroat slut in the world wanting to swallow your dick, and the only drawback was a bit of wet-and-messy, would you object?
I should say: we actually came up to London yesterday so we could see the sights and fuck around a bit. I mean, the fuck scene in the capital is so much more lively than down in Little Dicking. Like, everywhere you look, people are fucking. Our first tourist stop was the London Asshole, which is like this big wheel just by the river. It's got fucking pods and non-fucking pods: no prize for guessing which we went for. It was totally fucking squirting my cum into Claire's cunt 150 yards up in the air! Then we visited Wankminster Abbey, where they were singing Evenschlong: the fucking was good, but I thought the music was boring. And in the evening we went to see a show called
Wonka's Willy and the Chocolate Fucktory
-- not exactly my style, but Claire adored it of course: tons of chocolate, tons of fucking, and tons of fucking chocolate -- what more could a WAM slut like her want?
Anyway, back to the present. Before Claire's second audition item, it's interview time. I'm allowed to sit on a chair in the corner and watch, so long as I don't interrupt. So I use the opportunity to wipe all the cake off my dick and balls, while Claire answers their questions.
I must admit, I wouldn't like to have to go through this interview. I'm not great at making sense when I'm questioned about things and, to be honest, nor is Claire. She's always said, who cares about the theory of fucking if you're already a natural at actually fucking? Well, I kind of agree -- but at a place like
le Royale AcadΓ©mie de Feucquing
(OK, I know that's not proper French -- but you get my meaning: this place is
très très snob
) you can't really avoid all the philosophical Enlightenment bullshit. So... good luck, Claire!