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The message from Gordon the Gopher was abundantly clear: sexually seduce Lorraine Kelly with your penis or face, or face the consequences with your face or penis. I wasn’t quite clear on what those consequences were, but I imagined it was a darn sight worse than licking the porridge-clad labia of a Scottish spinster who had a reputation as a most fearsome man eater. Marriage or not, I had to get this done.

Skulking around the house, I waded through the empty cans of Irn-Bru and deep-fried Mars bars to get to the stairs. The air had a distinct personality. Through my experience of training with special forces for an ITV wartime special, I knew exactly what that smell was: vagina, or kebab meat.

I reached the upstairs landing. Being careful not to creak the floral carpet, I grew conscious that I was being watched. Through the dark, gloomy hallway I could sense a portfolio of eyes pirouetting around me. A bead of sweat ran down my back into my anus as I reached slowly to click the light on… CLICK! There stood an army of cats. I was rooted to the spot as their preying eyes observed me like a meal. We stood in silence as they stared me down. Quick like a dog, I sprung into action, leaving my feline foes behind, flinging myself inside the open bedroom door; closing it behind me in one swift motion. It was really cool.

Gathering my breath, I sat with my back to the door, and smugly embraced the thudding vibrations as the cats failed with their attack. But, any joy was soon cut short by another pair of eyes staring me down from inside the room. These were no ordinary eyes. These were the eyes of a sexual predator. Lustful and all dominating.
“Och aye Richard,” Lorraine Kelly cut a confident, full-breasted figure. “I wondered when ye be knocking on me door, ya bell end.”

Lorraine Kelly was no ordinary spinster. Wearing only blackened lace that came just above her minge, her powerful pheromones cut through the air casting a spell upon me and causing a rush of blood to my gentleman soldier. Fearful that this dangerous vixen would soon have the upper hand, I quickly leaped onto a table and, utilising a thrust-like dance movement, set upon seducing her. But before I could reach top gear, a figure appeared in the room, stopping my crotch in its endeavours, causing me to react vocally.
“Judy!”
It was Judy.
“You look sober!”
“Yes Richard, I’m sober.” She picked the knickers from her ever-hungry bum. “I’ve also been waiting for you.”

Confusion tickled my brain like a misguided fumble at a fun fair. Modesty overawed me: There I was, Richard Madeley, TV’s most handsome man and ITV’s best daytime presenter (ever), in a room with the two sexiest bitches in daytime TV. But why?
“We were wondering when Gordon would send yer,” a whiff of doner kebab danced through the air as Lorraine circled me, “I would’ve sucked your cock off if it wasn’t for Judy here; besides, we need you for our plan.”
“Plan? What plan?”
I asked about the plan.
Judy and Lorraine gathered me with their supple breasts, laid me in a chair, caressed my eyebrows and fed me Irn-Bru as they told me of their secret plan to overthrow Gordon the Gopher’s evil criminal organisation. It was a scary and outlandishly dangerous proposition, but, seeing as I was incredibly aroused, I agreed immediately. Lorraine took me by the hand:
“Would you like me to rim yer?’
The Scot’s cheap perfume had imprisoned me. I looked across to Judy for approval. It arrived.
“Yes, Lorraine. Yes. I. Do.”


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All characters and events in this piece – even those based on real people – are entirely fictional. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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