Interactive Story

[ Add To Elite II ]

For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad
indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not - and
very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburden my soul. My immediate purpose is to
place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their
consequences, these events have terrified - have tortured - have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound
them. To me, they have presented little but horror - to many they will seem less terrible than baroques.
Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the commonplace -- some intellect
more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with
awe, nothing more than an ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects.
1   The hobbit looked over Helen's shoulder and said 'What a load of codswallop. You really don't expect today's sophisticated readers to believe that? You'll be writing about magical rings next!'

2   Tony Blair popped his head around the door and screamed "Get back to work! How the hell do you expect me to get elected again when all my ministers are either plotting against me or staring into space. If I catch you again writing any more dross, it's the back benches for you." 3   BOING. "Time for bed!" said Zebidee.

4   Tony Blair stalked in again and scowled. "That's it! You're sacked!"

"But what am I to do?" wimpered Nell.

Tony strode to the door and turned to face Nell

"Frankly, my dear, I couldn't give a toss!"

5   When Blair left the room, Donald Dewer, Helen's long-term secret lover, crawled nervously from under the desk where Helen had been writing. He was supposed to be in Scotland governing Blairs northern colony, but had sectretly flown to London for a tyrst with Helen - the one and only love of Donald's life. But they had to keep their affair from Blair who they both knew secretly lusted after the devastatingly beautiful and intelligent MP for Airdrie. The both knew that the wicked Prime Minister would ruin both their careers if their love became public.


As Donald raised himself to his full height, Helen gazed adoringly at this fine specimen Scottish manhood, her face flushed with excitment as she adjusted her above-the-knee length, tight little skirt which Donald had slid up her gloriously powerful thighs while concealed from Blair beneath the desk.

Did Blair suspect? Had the demonic, power-crazed dictator noticed as Helen tried desperately to conceal her look of ecstasy, and to stifle her little groans of orgasmic delight, as Donald
expertly pleasured her beneath the desk. They both knew they could no keep their love secret indefinitely - something would have to be done about the evil despot Blair. 7  

'Something will have to be done about the evil despot Blair,' said Donald, as his eyes moved up Helen's voluptious body, pausing momentarily to admire her ample thighs, and gloriously rounded buttocks, as they they strained against the tight fabric of her figure hugging business skirt. Donald sighed with a delirious mixture of delight and lust as his gaze followed the contours of Helen's waist and breasts finally coming to rest on the face of his sweet Nell. As Donald gazed lovingly into the eyes of his beloved, Helen tenderly stroked Donald's face and longed for the day when their love could be revealed to the world: 'I long for the day when out love can be revealed to the world,' said Helen as she let her hand wander over Donald's thigh towards his mightly stifening manhood.
As Donald's love weapon strained against his trousers Helen could no-longer contain the feelings rising from the depths of her rapidly moistening womanhood. She pressed her body - almost violently - against the man she loved - her man, her Donald. 'Take me Donald, Take me now,' pleaded Helen in a voice which wavered between that of an order and that of a desperate, begging slave to sexual desire. 8  

Donald picked Helen up in his powerful arms and carried her towards the bedroom of her London apartment, their mouths locked together, their tongues desperately exploring the familiar contours of each others mouth and their hearts racing in anticipation of the sexual ecstasy they both knew was to follow. 9   Just as the air was begining to fill with music and the bed sheets crumpling under the wreathing bodies, Donald shouted:

"Stop!", "n,n,n,o,no...I can't"

"What's your excuse this time Donnie?" she asked

"Ooh, my ticky's just been fixed",

"What? That's best best excuse so far, I've got to give it to you, I almost fell for it."

So Donald pulled on his trousers and headed back up to Scotland where the real work was happening... 10  

Helen lay on top of her satin sheets feeling abandoned and frustrated, sobbing quietly into her pillow. As her tears
began to make the pillow as moist as the sheets beneath her aroused womanhood, Helen suddenly threw the pillow violently against wall and scream, "Sod it! I need a man and if Donnie isn't up to the job I know who is." 11  

Helen walked naked from her bed towards her wardrobe, letting her right hand fall casually between her thighs. Gently stroking the lips of her aroused and hungry pussy, Helen decided instantly on the dress that would get her the satisfaction she so desperately needed. She moved over to her dressing table, feeling increasingly aroused as she mentally planned her seduction strategy. Helen removed her favourite underware from the drawers picturing in her mind's eye the face senior politician who tonight would be hers. Savouring the feel of the lacy black G-string as it slipped over her thighs to barely cover her aroused and most sensitive part, Helen tried to picture the naked aroused Member of Parliament who tonight she was determined to favour with her highly practiced sexual technique. Pulling the front-fastening lacy black bra over her ample breasts, Helen let the back of her fingers on each hand brush against her swollen, erect nipples, sending a shudder of desperate, almost animal, sexual excitment through her entire body. Helen could feel the thin layer of sweat that was forming over her entire body as she pulled her black, sheer stocking over her perfectly smooth and shapely thights, anticipating the night of wild sexual abandonment that she planned. Helen began of feel the beginnings of an orgasm as she pulled her tight, short black dress over her head and sensually let the smooth, silky fabric caress her breasts and thighs as it slipped down her magnificently curved body. 12  

Pulling the door of her apartment closed behind her, Helen stopped a taxi. Deliberately allowing her short dress to move even further up her stockened thighs as she took her seat in the taxi, Helen gave an small, almost imperceptable, smile as she noticed the eyes of the driver lustfully following her ever move in is rear view mirror. 13  

The taxi stopped at the drive way of the expensive house. Helen exited the taxi scowling at the impertinent peasant of a taxi driver who dared expect a tip.

"You impertinent peasant, you ungrateful turd. Don't you realise and appreciate what we in New Labour have done for your kind ? Cunt !", said Helen, gently explaining the great economic transformation New Labour had brought to New Britain. Helen walking slowly and sexily up the driveway towards the house, starting her plan of seduction. Checking that her dress was appropriately hugging her breasts and thighs, Helen pressed the door bell once and waited. 14  


"Hello Smelly, AVON calling!" twittered our little joker.


"You know I love it when you call me 'Smelly'," replied the skin-headed politician, looking distinctly nervous and agitated.

"I want to ride this hard throbbing Member of Parliament all night long," gasped Helen, clutching the crotch of the dishevelled looking Tory. "You look as though I've intertrupted something," smirked the horny MP for Airdrie.

"No... no. What...whatever made you think that," her love-target replied, pulling away from Helen's ball crunching fingers, buttoning up his shirt and trousers.

"Well you look as though you've just been given a good shagging," winked the raging nymphomaniac on heat. Blushing uncontrollably he attempted to make some pathetic excuse: "I...I've a lot of work to do Helen, can we make it some other time."

"I know you want me. I saw the bulge in your trousers as soon as you opened the door," answered the stunningly beautiful and sexy Helen., pushing herway past her sex target for tonight, deliberately allowing a hand to brush against his swollen manhood. 16  

"Don't worry about the wee Wifey. Just tell her you have an important meeting and we'll sneak into one of the guest bedrooms," panted the sexual athlete of a woman, as she clamped her lips to the now trembling skin-headed Tory, violently forcing her tougue in to the deepest recesses of his mouth.

"The wife's not in, it's just that, that... that..., " pleaded the wimpering Conservative as Helen lifted him up with her powerful, but womanly, arms and started to carry him towards the guest bedroom. 17  

Just as Helen lunged her hand down Hague's trousers she heard a muffled but familiar groan from beer guzzler Hague's sitting room.
"That's not Ffion, I recognise that muffled groan," growled Helen droppng the now tearful Billy Hague on the stairs and storming towards the sitting room door. Throwing open the door, Helen gazed at the figure of Michael Potillo on the floor naked except for a pair of stockings and suspenders, with a medium sized orange stuffed in his mouth. Helen turned and glased at the pathetic, sobbing Hague as he desperately pleaded with the glamourous MP for Airdrie not to tell his wife Ffion. 18  

"Please don't tell Ffion. She doesn't know I like boys. I only married her to stop any speculation that I might be gay, in case it damaged my election chances. She makes me have sex with her, but I don't like it. It's really my sweet little Michael I love. Please Don't tell her, she'll start beating me again."

The furious, but still stunning beautiful, lanarkshire MP relented and shook her head sadly at the snivelling, sobbing leader of the opposition.
"And I though you were a real man, Wiliam, but you're just like most of the other sad wankers in the Commons," snarled the deliciously gorgeous sex-goddess as she walked from Billy the Beer's house despairing of having her ravenous animal lusts satisfied tonight. 19  

Helen, the delectable, desirable and ravishingly beautiful MP, awoke the next morning not remembering much of what happened after leaving Billy Hague's house. She could vaguely remember going to a bar in Westminister and drowning her sorrows until the early hours of the morning after which everything became hazy. Turning to switch on her bed-side lamp, Helen gasped in horror as she recognied the figure lying next to her on her expensive satin sheets. "Oh no. I hav'n't," moaned Helen as the whole sordid episode began to flood back in to her conscious mind... 20  

"How could I sink so low," sobbed Helen as the foul smelling, rancid, body-odoured creature, still asleep, rolled over and she felt it's arm reach round her magnificently formed body.
This was too much for the clasically beautiful love goddess. Helen rolled from the bed still in in a drunken haze, rushed to the bathroom and violently vomited time after gut-renching time in to the toilet bowl at the thought of having shared a night of wild sexual passion with the sickeningly rancid, disgusting and despicable creature who at this very moment polluted her bed, contaminating her once perfumed satin sheets with his putrid body-odour that was imfamous throughout the corridors of power at Westminister.
"How, how, how could I have slept with that," wimpered the distraught, but still pouting and sexually irrestable picture of perfect womanhood, as she thought of the putrid, greasy creature she had only hours previously allowed to probe and explore the very depths of her womanhood with its probing exploring tongue. Helen again threw-up violently in to the toilet as the hideously revolting thought filled her mind with horror and shame.
"The horror and shame," cried Helen, tears running down her fair-skinned exquisitely formed cheeks, almost beseaching the gods to turn back the tides of times and make the previous night disappear for ever.
Just then it appeared at the door of her bathroom with that evil, insane grin stretching across its despised face, distorted its features in to a gargoyle-like perversion of a human face. 21  

"How about a good morning snog for Tony ?" smirked the despotic fiend as it stood at the door of Helen's bathroom.

Helen once again vomited violently into the toilet bowl. 22  

Helen stood up, tried to compose herself, and without saying a word walked past the smirking, puried object of her hatred with as much dignity as she could muster, considering the depths to which she has allowed herself to sink. Helen felt her beautifully formed waist begin to spasm as she passed the vile smelling creature and desperately tried to control her urge to vomit again.

"Was it good for you," gloated the evil Blair knowing that a sophisticated woman of unparalleled beauty like Helen would never allow a rancid excuse for a man like him near her unless she was blindly intoxicated. Helen resisted the urge to plung her fist though his rib-cage, into his chest cavity, and rip out his still beating heart. But she was a lady, and would not sink to such an act. Besides the polis were still a bit suspicious after she murdered John Smith, and made it look like a heart-attack, in order to get his seat in Parliament.




24   That evening Helen, destraught with shame and guilt, sobbed by her telephone hour after hour, desperately trying to summon enough courage to phone the only man who had ever truely loved her. But how could she apologise to her lovely, sweet little Donald and beg his forgiveness after she so cruely and heartlessly rejected his love. 25  
As midnight appraoched, and with tears streaming from her beautiful, crystal clear, blue eyes, Helen resolved that she would phone her beloved Donald and beg his forgiveness. Trembling, the curvatious beauty reached for the telephone, dialled Donald's home number with her elegantly long and expensively manicured hands. She waited momentarily for Donald to pick up the telephone and gave an involuntary shudder of sexually-charged delight as she heard the strong unwavering voice her mighty love god, Donald. 26  

"Ehm, errr... Wh... Who is it ?" said the mighty love god, "It's after midnight and I need my sleep. I've not been well."

Helen's luscious red lips began to tremble as she broke down in a tearful, begging apology.

"Can you ever forgive me Donald. I've betrayed you... betrayed your love. I feel so ashamed and dirty, please, forgive me my sweetest Donald," pleaded the desperate, repentant perfection of womanhood.

"Of.. Of course I forgive me my dear beloved Helen. I could never stay angry with you for long," replied Donald forgivingly.

As Helen heard Donald's strong masculine voice promising her forgiveness her lucious lip began to tremble more violently as she sobbed and begged uncontrollably. As Helen began to explain the depths to which she has sunk and how she had been taken advantage of by the rancid despot Blair, her vaginal lips began to tremble along with her mouth as she longed her the strong embraces of her sweet forgiving Donald, longed for the full length of his might 18 inch meat claymore pounding relentlessly in to her hot, pouting, hungry vagina, feel longed his love weapon impale and stretch her wet love tunnel.

27   Longed for him, for him, for her Donald, her man, his mighty meat claymore, for the sound of his mighty, hugely proportioned balls slapping relentlessly against her buttocks as he relentlessly, relentlessly pounded his great love muscle in to her stretched and exposed womanhood....

"Oh... Ohhhh GOD..!!! YES!!!" screamed Helen down the telephone. 28  

"Are... Are you alright ?" said Donald manfully.

"Oh yes Donald. I'm alright now that you've forgiven me. I just need to see you Donald. Blair took advange of me when I was well pissed," pleaded the fragrant, sex goddess of a woman, shuddering as the thought of having Blair's rancid mouth enjoying the fragrant, heavenly delights of her perfectly formed, tight and succulent pussy again returned to haunt her.

"Everything will be all right," comforted Donald, choking back his tears at the thought of the evil, rancid despot Blair violating his sweet petal Helen. But he knew he could not let Helen hear how upset he was. He had to be strong for his Helen, for the sake of his beloved... for the sake of their love.

"I'll never forgive that rancid, evil, gargoyle-smiled Blair for violating you like this," boomed Donald, with a renewed resolve and passion. His recovering, but still mighty heart pounded in his manly chest as he promised to be on the next flight to London and to avenge his beloved Helen. 29  

The following morning Helen soaked in a long, luxurious and perfumed bath, preparing herself for the arrival of her beloved Donald. Stepping from the bath Helen wrapped a towel around her shapely, delectable body and walked into the sitting room of her London apartment. Sitting on the fresh satin sheets on her four-poster bed, Helen unwrapped the towel and began to slowly dry and caress her prefect super-model body, enjoying the delightful, tingle that was relentlessly building in the depths of her femininity, as she sensually stroked her beautifully rounded breasts and allowed her fingers to occassionally brush against and tease a pouting, aroused nipple, as she long for the arrival of Donald, and his passionate embraces... and his 18 inch meat claymore. 30  

The door bell rang... Helen trembled with brarely concealed sexual tension as be pulled open the door wearing only a sheer black negligee, showing her ample, womanly charms to perfection.

"Donald !" panted Helen, throwing her arms around Donald, pushing her quivering body against his mighty torso and kissing him deeply and hungrily.

Donald lighted Helen off the ground and swept her trembling, sexually aroused body into his mightly, magnificently muscled arms.
Helen released an almost imperceptable groan of ecstacy, which seem to flow from the very depth of her soul, as Donald closed the door and effortlessly carried his beaufiful fragrant lover to the bed. 31  

Donald adoringly placed Helen on the satin sheet and with one gentle, smooth movement ripped open Helen's flimsy black negligee to reveal the body of a goddess. Donald slowly removed his expensive Italian suit gazing adoringly at his goddess... his Helen. As Donald's mighty, fully erect manhood was revealed Helen involuntarily parted her thighs inviting this adonis of a man to enter and fill her with unimaginable delights. Helen needed Donald. Both lovers knew there was no requirement for foreplay, it was not needed or wanted.

"Fill me Donald. Fill me with your mighty love weapon... Fill me with your hot gushing seed," pleaded Helen, her ankles now streching over opposite sides of the bed...inviting, ordering, begging to be filled by Donalds astoundingly proportioned instrument. 32  

Donald supported the prodigious weight of his mighty love-hammer in both hands as he placed its unbelievably thick end gently between Helen's pouting vaginal lips, feeling the moisture from her love opening easing his entrance. Inch after mighty inch, Donald entered his beloved. Helen's body quivered with sexual delight as she felt her Donald fill and stretch her womanhood. With his full length inside his beloved, filling his lover, Donald began long rythmic strokes, almost leaving Helen's moist, warm haven at the fullest point then steadily inserting to his fullest length, relentlessly increasing the velocity, power and frequency of his thrusts until Helen was writhing below his mighty body in a freanzy of wild, abandoned sexual ecstacy.
Donald weilded his mighty, massively proportioned meat claymore with the skill of a true Scotsman, taking delight in the ecstatic screams of his lover as she orgasmed time and time again as his mighty love-hammer pounded at her stretched and quivering pussy.

"YEEES !!!" screamed Helen experiencing a penultimate earth-shattering orgasm, before Donald realised that no woman, not even his love goddess Helen, could bear much more pleasuring than he had already given her. Having taken his woman to the threshold of heaven and beyond this magnificent specimen of a Scotsman then allowed himself to experience his own exquisite release as he filled his lover with wave after wave of hot, gushing seed, causing her to pass out with a final orgasm that filled her very soul with ecstacy and love for Donald, before regaining consciousness feeling physically drained but satiated, complete and a whole woman. 33  



As Donald tenderly caressed Helen's naked, exquisitely perfect body as he lay next to her on top of the soft satin sheets, he could sense taht his lover still felt sahme at being taken advantage and used by that evil, rancid slime-of-a-man Blair.

"T... T... There Helen. Just forget that the beast took advantage of you in that way. You've been washed clean in the hot copious seed of your beloved Donald. I'll protect you my dear sweet Helen. I have taken a solenm vow to avenge you my dearest. But I'll not kill him quickly. I want the beast to suffer. he'll beg for death by the time I've finished with the bastard."

"How could I ever have rejected and betrayed you my beloved," whispered the stunningly beautiful MP for Airdrie, gently kissing her Donald.

"I always Knew it was me you loved," said Donald reassuringly.

"I'll reject Balir and all his Blairite works... and become a true socialist," repented the sex goddess of a woman.

35   "I love you Helen," whispered the mighty Dewer in a soft, but manly, voice into Helen's delicate, perfectly formed ear.

"Yes Donald, we'll renounce our unionist past and do battle for an independent Scotland, that will allow both England and Scotland to be truely free to pursue their dreams and aspirations, co-operating on matters of mutual interest via international treaties," purred the magnificently curved sex-symbol.

"O... Oh h... how I love it when you talk sexy like that," breathed the Scottish Adonis, his tongue following the sublimely elegant contours of Helen's sublimely elegant left ear.

"But the evil despot Blair will oppose and try to thwart our noble dream, my dearest Donald," gasped the crowning glory of all creation.

"I'll deal with that rancid, foul, excuse for a human being," reassured the heroic Celtic warrior, tenderly caressing Helen's magnificent heaving breasts. 36  
Helen's magnificent breast heaved magnificently under Donald's tender caresses. The delicate flower of all womanhood purred with delight and ecstatic happiness as she turned and rolled over, placing her head on Donald's mighty chest and falling asleep listening to the mighty pounding of Donald's now fully recovered heroic heart, as it pounded mightily within his mighty, manly torso.


Donald awoke early the next morning gently sliding Helen off his mighty torso without wakening the goddess-featured beauty. He arose from bed, his powerful, muscle rippling body towering over the fragile, delicate of a flower of a woman who lay between the satin sheets of her four-poster bed, gazing at the beauty of the goddess who loved him - almost unable to believe a woman such as Helen Liddell would bless him with her loving embraces. Reluctantly Donald turned his adoring gaze from his beloved and sat down to contemplate his plan to bring about the rancid Blair's humiliation and downfall before he would finally kill the putrid, stagnant slug of a Prime Minister. By mid-day, while the stunningly attractive Helen lay still asleep dreaming roamntic thoughts of her Celtic hero Donald, the plan had taken shape and matured in Donald's razor-sharp and brilliant mind. For stage one he would have to obtain the appointments diary of the evil and despicable little Scottish troll, Robin Cook, and and the
diary of Cherie Blair.

It was common knowledge around Westminister and Holyrood that Blair had been almost impotent since the stress of being prime minister had made his penis little more than an ornament - and a pretty ugly, pathetic and rancid little ornament at that. I was widely known he was rarely able to make love to his wife and when he did Cherie found his rancid body-odour and foul breath replusive. In other words, Cherie was known to be desperate for a good shagging. It had even been rumoured that the Prime Minister's wofe had resorted to sex with farm animals to satisfy her womanly urges, such was her sexual frustration and digust of her husband. 38   With the evil little Scottish troll, Cook, being a rabid sex-maniac, who would copulate with anything with a pulse, and things which had a pulse within the last six months, Donald's plan was guaranteed to work. Cook was known throughout Westminister for his nightly visits to mortuaries where he would bribe the attendants to allow him to copulate with the corpses. Just put the randy little corpse-shagging troll and the frustrated Prime Minister's wife in the same room and the inevetiable would ineviatably happen. 39  

Donald tried to imagine the look of horror that would be on Blair's face when discovered Cherie had shagged the vile little ginger-haired troll because her husband couldn't satisfy her in bed. That would be just the start of his revenge on the foul, putrid Blair. And... "but this is almost too much to hope for," thought Donald... she might even become pregnant by the evil wee dwarf. Blair would have to put on a public act of being a proud father knowing that his wife had carried and given birth to the offspring of the rabid, corpse-shagging, ginger-haired troll.

Over the next two nights Donald used his legendary cunning, and cat-like physical agility to break into the offices of Cook and Cherie Blair. He had altered their diaries to ensure that they were both attending a charity fund-raising... the next day.

The evening of the fundraising dinner arrived and Cherie was a guest of honour seated at the main table, discretely rubbing her clitoris under the table. This had become an almost constant habit of Cherie's, such was her sexual frustration. She took refuge in constant masturbation when her heavy workload prevented her from visiting the farm she had bought and her lover, Rambo the goat. The troll entered the hall and by an almost psychic connection Cherie's eyes met those of the under-sized ginger dwarf. Their eyes locked together, and animal sexual sexual energy sparked between the frustrated law woman and the politician troll. Cherie began to furiously massage her clitoris, attracting the attention of several of the guests, and the ginger troll began to salivate profusely down his chin and diner jacket, while massaging the front of his trousers.

Cherie stood up and, oblivious to the staring guests as they stared at her vaginal juice stained crotch, the Prime Minister's wife walked purposefully towards the troll, who had removed his stubby but thick penis from his trousers and was openly masturbating, while making strange inhuman noises from the back of his throat. The two hungry, horny creatures - one human and the other Robin Cook - sniffed deeply the scent of the other, then fell on to all fours and began to sniff and lick each others rear as the crowd stared in horrified horror at the horrible site.


Still on all fours Cherie galloped out of the building, her evening dress in tatters from the trolls biting an clawing at her rear, her buttocks and aroused vagina exposed as Cook bounded after her sniffing the air, following instinctively the scent of the frustrated law woman on heat - two sexual animals nolonger able to control their primal lusts for physical gratification... intent on fucking the genitals off each other.


In the car park Cherie abruptly halted, parted her vaginal secretion soaked legs and raised her buttocks invitingly to the closely following troll. The ginger-haired gnome crashed into Cherie's raised, exposed rear enter her effortlessly, pushing her head almost to the ground. Once inside the red-bearded ogre began to thrust and pump furiously at the dripping, spasming vagina of the Prime Minister's wife. Cherie raise her head from the ground, arched back her neck and began to uncontrollable bark and howl at the full moon as it cast an eerie, almost unnatural light over the furious copulation of the two sex-hungry creatures. Cook, the demonic troll, began to produce increasingly unnatural, demonic noises from his throat and flared nostrils as he began to ejeculate copious amounts of vile troll semen into the receptive Mrs Blair as she spasmed uncontrolliably, and gave a final, deafening, screeching, screaming howl at the moon as a cloud drifted serenely over its path. As the moon light faded beneath the cloud the two satiated creatures slumped on to the concrete of the outdoor car park - the troll on top of Cherie, his vile red whiskers nuzzling cruelly against the back of her neck as she panted with satiated lust. After a few moments Cook stood up on two legs, pushed his dripping, flacid penis in to his trousers and, without saying a word, walked ethically to the road and stopped a taxi. Cherie stood up, troll semem running down both her thighs, adjusted her tattered dress as best she could, walked satiated out of the car park and stopped a separate taxi. The two sex-satiated creatures returned to their separated homes each had served the purpose required by the other, there was no need for conversation or tenderness. The troll and the Prime Minister's wife had both got what they were after - it was as simple, as primal, as animal, as that. 42  

In a dark, shadowy corner of the car park Donald, Helen's mighty, superbly muscled lover, stood with a video camera. Donald removed the tape from the camera and gave a satisfied smile of just man who had begun avenge his violated and wronged woman.


The next day a parcel arrived at number ten Downing Street addressed to Tony Blair. The rancid Blair, just out of his daily bath in high strength disinfectant to try to keep his putrid body-odour under control, examimed the package. Knowing that it would have already been inspected thoroughly by x-ray and ultrasound equipment to check that it was not a bomb, he casually opened the parcel to find an unmarked video tape with no accompanying letter. Intrigued the fetid Blair immediatedly put it into his video recorder. The scene was what appeared to be a moonlit car park with an animal in the centre. As the camera zoomed in on the creature it became clear that it was two separate beasts. "Why would someone send me a video of two dogs copulating," thought the rank Blair, puzzled and confused. The camera zoomed further and Blair recognised the face of his wife Cherie, who appeared to be howling at the moon. "She's shagging dogs now," sighed Blair, who had known for weeks that his wife had been having sex with a goat, but what did he care; it was power that really turned him on... and, of course, that gorgeous piece of ass Helen Liddell MP. As the camera zoomed and revealed more detail the putrescent PM's eyes moved up from his wife's face.

"Shit no...!!! No, No, anything but that...! She's shagging the troll !," screamed the rancid Blair in anguish.

Goats and dogs; fine, but how could she screw the vile ginger-haired Scottish gnome. Blair again screamed in anger and disgust at the uncaring walls of his Downing Steet study, a single solitary tear streaking down his left cheek as he fast-forwarded the video and watched his wife walk from the car park with rivers of vile troll-semen pouring down her thighs. 44  

Just then the door of the putrid PM's locked study burst open, the door frame around the lock spintering unable to resist the mighty force that sought entrance. 45  

The odious Blair looked in horror as the mighty Dewer strode through the armoured, terrorist-proof, door and, knowing that the Scottish Golliath of a man had come seeking vengeance for the violation of his beloved, the putrid PM began to sweat profusely, filling the entire room with the reek of his rank body-odour, mingled with the unmistakable stench of terror. The reeking, rancid, sweat drenched Prime Minister began to whimper pathetically as the magnificently muscled man-mountain glared and growled menacingly at the trembling, stench-exuding Blair. 46  

"Blair you rancid turd," roared the scowling First Minister, "you've probably guessed that the devastatingly beautiful Helen Liddell and I are in love."

Blair burst in to tears of terror and began to beg for mercy.

"When you used and violated my beloved, you used and violated Donald Dewar," boomed the glowering mighty Dewer.

Blair screamed in terror and released a fear-induced, deafening fart, accompanied by explosive diarhoea, emptying his entire bowel contents into his trousers.


As the stench of Blair's putrid wind-expulsion spread and polluted the room, the Scottish colossus stared at the pathetic PM as he curled in to a whimpering ball of trembling, putrid flesh:

"I will have my revenge upon you Blair. But don't expect a quick and easy death. I will make you suffer until you wish you had never been born, you rancid toad. By the time I finish torturing you, you will pray for death. Only when I have reduced to to the very depths of desolation and despair will I finally put and end to your stinking, putrid little life. And yes, I arranged the little romantic encouter between Cherie and the troll. Bet you wish she'd stuck to goats ?" 48  

As the mighty Dewer turned to leave, a line of a dozen heavily armed, SAS trained, police officers appeared at the door.

The mighty Dewer smiled at their innocence:

"Don't be silly, kiddies. You all know I could rip your throats out with my bare hands before any of you have time to pull a trigger. Just ask your Prime Minister. He's the the one curled up in his own shit in the corner."

The evil Blair tried to stand and look dignified, causing more diarhoea to run down his trembling legs onto the expensive, tax-payer bought, carpet. Slipping on his own near-liquid excrement, the reeking PM gave up and, slumping, defeated, into his own shit, he whimpered at the police officers:

"H... he.. he's right. he'd only kill us all."

The heaviliy armed police breathed a sigh of relief. It was widely known throughout the police assigned to protect government ministers that as a youth the mighty Dewar spent years in the mountains of Tibet, receiving spiritual and martial-arts training from a mysterious hermit-monk, followed by six months in remote cave in the Campsie Hills being instructed in the ways of 'chibbing', 'gubbing' and 'malkieing' by a mysterious heidcase alcoholic called Shuggie. 49  

With a single sweep of his powerfully muscled forearm, the mighty Dewer swept six of the heavily armed Pigs aside, smoothed an unslightly crease from his expensive suit, and walked casually out of number ten Downing Street.

His quest for justice and revenge had begun.





In a small, intimate restaurant in Blackburn a long, bony hand reached across a table and stroked sensually the chubby forearm of his companion.

"It's the most important festival in our whole calendar, we must do it properly - and you know what that means," insisted the woman taking her companion's bony fingers and caressing them.

"Yes, but its difficult with them scattered in small groups all over the country; they're too obvious and someone's bound to notice if any of them go missing," replied the man in metal rimmed glasses and long leather trench coat.

"I know," sympathised his chubby companion adjusting her leather miniskirt, which had started to slide up her thighs to reveal the tops of her pink fish-net stockings, "but the ancient ceremony cannot be compromised."

"Of course not, but we'll have to get hold of some just as they are about to be sent out of the country," said her lover, straightening is knee to stroke his companion's pink fish-net covered calf with the toes of his jackboots. 53  

Meanwhile, in London, the mighty Dewer tenderly caressed the beautifully wirey auborn hair of the delectable MP for Airdrie and Shotts:

"You know my darling Helen, it's not just the rancid Blair who's an evil bastard, they're all a nasty lot and when we take on Blair we will be taking on his whole legion of darkness."

"I know that my beloved," replied the love-goddess MP, resting her perfectly formed, classically beautiful, head on Donalds mighty chest.

"It will not be easy and many dangers and perils lie before us, my sweetest," tenderly warned the herculean First Minister.

"Yes, I know the dangers we will have to face when we do battle against the putrid Blair's forces of evil," purred the Lanarkshire sex-kitten, releasing Donald's mighty 18 inch love muscle from the confines of his trousers.

"They are truely evil, my dearest; I cannot begin to tell you the unspeakable depths of evil and depravity that exisits in the rancid Blair's cabinet," sighed the mighty Donald.

"I have to confess to some terrible things I've did in my political careeer, my beautiful love god," panted the delectable Helen, licking along the length of Donald's mighty shaft and tenderly kissing the massive bulging end of his love-claymore, "I've killed and swindled my way to political power."

"That's all in the past now, my Helen of Troy," breathed the mighty Donald, as Helen's mouth engulfed inch after mighty inch of his throbbing meat-claymore. 54  

A fire burned brightly in the gardens of the Foreign Secretary's country residence, around which the naked figure of Robin Cook danced frantically. Leaping and twirly more and more rapidly the vile troll chanted its vile victory song:

"I shagged the PM's wife, I shagged Cherie, Cherie I shagged, I shagged Cherie, Cherie I shagged, Cherie Cherie I shagged."

Round and round, danced the ecstactic dwarf a vile grin strentching across its vile face, until it finally collapsed in an exhausted heap on the grass. The gloating over its conquest had aroused the little sex-crazed gnome and he began to furiously rub his short, thick penis. After a few second the troll stopped, stood up, looked nerviously around then bounded back to its tax-payer funded country mansion. Inside the naked ginger dwarf frantically ran around the house drawing every curtains and locking every door - the paparazzi get everwhere thes days. It then decsended the stairs to the door of the basement. Nervously glancing around, it unlocked the loor, opened it slightly and slipped through the narrow opening. Inside it turned on the light and quickly re-locked the door. Decending the stairs it glanced around checking that their were no spying eyes to discover its secret - its hidden treasure. Satisfied that it was alone, it skipped around the bed in the middle of the basement, over to the long freezer next to the bare brick wall and unlocked the padlock that protected the troll's treasure. 55  

The troll reverently opened the lid of the freezer, momentarily gazed in awe at the contents then reached in and lifted a long frost covered object its cold interior. 56  

The salivating troll ceremoniously carried its frost glistening treasure over to the bed in the middle of the room and gently placed it on the semen stained cotton sheets. 57   Panting loudly, the salivating ginger haired dwarf slowly unzipped the frost covered body-bag, and parted the material to reveal the naked ice preserved corpse - its treasure. 58   The troll gasped in awe - as he always did when gazing at the naked, body of England's Rose. The troll leaned forward and tenderly kissed the ice-cold lips of the Princess of Wales, leaving a long trail of troll-saliva strenthing between its lips and those of the more or less perfectly preserved body of the Princess - more less perdectly perseved actually, since the frequent de-frostings and re-freezings had begun to take their toll on Diana. The morticians had did a wonderful job - you had to look closely to even guess she'd been killed in car crash. 59  

The troll, with an expression alternating between reverential awe and lustful glee, lifted a hair dryer from under the bed, switched it to hot, and began to direct the warm flow of air towards the genitals of its treasure:

"We can't have little Robin freezing his little troll-cock, can we Princess."


Having inserted a finger to check the temperature and found it acceptable, the troll began to smear its short stubby penis with margarine to ease its entrance into it lifeless treasure. Suitably lubricated, the vile gnome thrust its corpse-shagging penis into its unresponive lover.

"Charlie didn't appreciete what a good lay you are, Princess, he didn't, he didn't," panted the vile dwarf, increasing the frequence of his thrusts in to England's Rose.

"Oh you're lovely Princess, your lovely, Princess... Pricess... PRINCESS...!!!," howled the necrophilliac troll, emptying half a pint of vile troll seman into the People's Princess. 61  

The troll withdrew its stubby cock from the Princess, licked up her bulimically slender thigh and began to lap at its own semen as it oozed out of the Princess's rigor-mortisly gaping vagina:

"Now Robin wants some oral... You want to suck old Robin Cook's cock, don't you Princess."

The troll moved to Diana's head, which had thawed to an acceptable temperature for the troll, wiped its erect seman dripping penis across her cheek, inserted its stubbby cock into the Princess's mouth and began to pump furiously, gimacing and howling uncontrollably as it quicky emptied another half pint of its copious troll-spunk into the People's Princess. 62  

"They really are the most evil and perverted creatures ever to walk this planet and when we take on Blair we will have to destroy his unholy hoard... the entire cabinet," tenderly warned the mighty Donald, stroking the back of his delectable Helen's neck.

"I know that, and I'm prepared for our battle against the forces of darkness, my darling Donald," replied the deliciously desirable Helen, swallowing and licking her luscious lips.


In the Blackburn restaurant bony and chubby hands caressed and eyes met over the romantic flickering of a candle:

"We'll arrange with our fellow believers in the police and immigration service to have four Albanians taken just as we are about to deport them Ann."

"Yes that would probably be best," cooed the shadow Home Secretary a Jack Straw's jackbooted toe stroked the inside of her pink-fishnetted thight under the table.

"But we'll have to be careful; we must make it look as though they have been deported, that United Nations lot would make a terrible fuss if it became public that we were sacrificing Asylum Seekers to Lucifer," sighed Straw as Widdecombe's stilletoed foot traced the outline of his growing erection.

"I can't understand why they'd make a fuss, they're only Albanians after all," moaned Widdecome as Straw's toe found the entrance to her pink crotchless-panties.

Jack and Ann left the restaurant, hand in hand, rushing to the nearest taxi, almost unable to wait to reach their secret country hideaway and enjoy a night of wild sado-masochistic bondage. Arranging ritual human sacrifices always turned them in to horny little devils. 65  

"Yes, yes, harder, harder," screamed Straw in ecstacy as Ms Whiplash Widdecombe delivered lash after lash to his bare back ans buttocks.

Mr Straw hung suspended from a loop attached to the ceiling by a chain and pair of manacles, his naked body swinging each time Ms Widdecombe brought the whip against his flesh with a stroke of loving violence.

"Oh yes, yes harder, don't stop Mistress," gasped Mr Straw ejaulating as the final of Ms Widdecombes one hundred strokes tore into his quivering, aroused flesh.

Widdecome released the chain and Straw slumped to the floor, his forehead fallling in a small pool of his own semen, as his deliciouy plump lover stood over his panting body. Widdecombe stood astride her brother Satanist, and pressed the pointed heel of one of her white stilettos in to his scrotum.

"Oh Ann, press harder, please, please, hurt me more Ann," sighed the Satanic Home Secretary as a trickle of blood dripped from his genitals.

The Home Secretary's eyes followed he fish-netted legs of Widdecombe up to her naked, exposed and parted vaginal lips, past her cellulital abdomen to her large, gravity defeated breasts as they slumped against her lower rib-cage.

"You're so beautiful Ann, please hurt me more," pleaded the ecstatically wimpering Straw, as Widdecombe lowered her gaping, dripping vagina onto the eager and lapping mouth of the Home Secretary.

"Lap harder, you dog," ordered Ms Widdecombe, burying Straw's devil worshipping head under her satanically sagging buttocks and the folds of flesh of her abdomen as it slumped over the Home Secretary's forehead.

Straw began to masturbate furiously as he felt flesh of Ms Widdecombe cut of his ability to breath. More and more furiously the Home Secretary pounded his miniscule penis until he felt the spasms of his asphixiation enhanced orgasm begin to grip his loins, Ejaculating a single drop of seman over his bony, emaciated thigh Straw.

Widdecombe raised her massive buttocks and Straw gasped for breath, an evil satiated smile spreading across his evil emaciated face.

"I've got a special surprise for you now Jack," screeched Widdecombe pushing Straw onto his front and raising his buttocks. From her suspender belt Widdecombe removed a thick, ten inch long dildo and, with a single, powerful thrust, inserted its full length deep into the eager anus of the Home Secretary, causing the satanic politician to scream loudly with pain, ecstacy and delight. 66  

"It will be a bloody and violent battle my dearest Helen, but you can be assured that light with triump over Blair's hellish hoards," promised the mighty Donald, his expert fingers bringly the stunning Monklands minx to teh edge of paradise.

"Oh yes, Oh yes, I will trust and follow you forever," gasped the gorgeous siren, her head thrashing around uncontroliably in the ecstacy of orgasm. 67  

The Night of Darkness had arrived and the Disciples of the Dark Lord gathered to celebrate the winter solstice, their priest and priestess stood behind the roughly hewn, blood stained alter stone, wearing black robes of the finest silk. Everything had gone to plan - the sacrificial victims were dragged to the alter of Satan. 68  

Bound and gagged the four Albanian asylum seekers were thrown face down before the Satanic priest Straw. The first was raises by two goat masked disciples and placed on the alter stone. The devil-worshipping Home Secretary raised the long curved blade of the ceremonial knife and plunged it into the chest of the refugee. Violently tearing the blade down towards the sacrifice's abdomen Straw ripped throw flesh and shattered bone, as the horror struck eyes of the Albanian recognised his butcherer as the Home Secretary of Britain, the land he had fled to for safety. As blood ran from the alter stone to the earth where the three remaining Albanians lay terrified, Straw plunged his hands into the gaping wound he had produced and pulled open the victim's rib-cage. Straw reached into the Albanian's torso, tore out the still twitching heart, and raised it above his head for all the congregation to see. 69  

The goat-masked diciples removed the lifeless body from the alter stone and carried it to a vat from which channels would direct the blood to the bowl from which the congregation would drink.

The next trembling Albanian was placed on the alter stone and the Satanic priestess Widdecombe stepped forward and raised the ceremonial knife. Plunging and tearing the shadow Home Secretary exposed the heart of the asylum seeker. The congregation gazed in reverential silence as the priestess Widdecombe raised the blood dripping heart. Widdecombe plunged a chalice into the Albanian's gaping torso, filling it with her victim's warm blood. The congregation knelt as Widdecombe brought the chalice to her lips and drank the unholy offering. The second body was removed to the bleeding vat. 70  

"Holy, holy, holy is the Dark One," chanted the congregation as the third victim was tied to the alterstone. The refugee woman's eyes pleaded for mercy and she attempted to scream from her gagged mouth as the third diciple of Satan stepped forward to comtinue the dark ceremony.

"Great is the Dark One," chanted the followers of Lucifer as Victoria "Posh Spice" Beckham tore out and raised the heart of the third sacrifice. 71  

The final sacrificial victim a seven year old girl was tied struggling to the alter stone, almost choking as she frantically tried to scream from her gagged mouth. The little girl trembled and tears rolled down her cheek as she recognied the face of the robbed figure holding a knife over her terrified body.

"All power to the Dark One," chanted the assembled devil-worshippers, as the knife tore at the girls torso.

"Mighty is the Dark One," chanted the congregation as Sir Cliff Richard held up the small heart of teh child.


The dead child was removed to the bleeding vat, where the congregation had gathered to drink of the scarificial blood. 73  

"The bastards," boomed the mighty Dewer as an e-mail from one of his contacts at the United Nations High Commision for Refugees informed him that another four refugees had disappeared as they were about to be deported from Britain, and it was suspected that the known Satanist Straw had killed then in a Satanic Ritual. 74  

"The devil-worshippind bastards Straw and Widdecombe had sacrifised more refugees," explained the mighty Donald to the lusciously desirable nymphet Helen Liddell.

"Oh no, not again," wept the kind-hearted and compassionate sex-goddess.

"I'll make them pay for this," growled the mighty Donald conforting the beautiful MP for Airdrie in his powerful arms.

"They're evil," sobbed the gorgeous beauty, as tears streamed down her fair, perfectly formed cheeks.

The mighty Donald tenderly wiped the tears from the cheeks of his beloved Helen:

"I'll make them all pay for their evil crimes... Blair, Straw, Widdecombe and that vile corpse-shagging troll, Robin Cook. The whole sordid, evil, New Labour cabinet and their dark hoards will feel teh wrath of Donald Dewer MSP."

"Ohhh, your so brave," cooed the Lanarkshire sex-kitten, moving her deliciously ample thich against the mighty Donald's crotch.

"We'll defeat Blair's evil followers," whispered the curvatious Monklands bomb-shell as she felt Donald's mighty 18 inch love-claymore harden against the caresses of her thighs.

"I'll leave Blair to the end - he'll be teh last to feel my wrath, and die," sighed the mighty Donald, as the delectable Helen released his massive, 18 inches of throbbing love-meat from the confines of his straining trousers. 75  

The mighty Donald effortlessly lifted up his beloved Helen, who wrapped her long shapely legs around the herculean Scotsman. Donald tore off Helen's silk panties with a gentle sweep of his left hand, while using his right arm to position the wirely haired sex-symbol above his mighty, throbbing manhood. The beautiful Helen gasped in ecstacy as the mighty Donald gently lowered her on to his massive love weapon, impaling her on his mighty meat-claymore. 76  



77   In a private Harley St clinic Mrs Blair was facing the terrible news. She was pregnant. Not only that the baby was not human. The evil troll child would be born in a matter of hours not months.

Tony sat in the waiting room whimpering, while his high vodoo priest, Alistair Campbell, attempted to exorcise the alien beast.

It was, however, too late. Cherie began to wryth widley then suddenly a ginger head could be seen, then an arm, then leg. Robins child drew its first breath of this world.

It was hungry, it needed to eat and it needed to eat now. Cherie lifted the ginger beast child to her breast and it began to feed. It drank until the milk ran dry then it began to bite, a new flavour filled its mouth, blood, it liked it and bit harder, before long Cherie was nothing more than a stain on little Robins bib. 78  

The skeletal remains of Cherie Blair were removed from the clinic and secretly disposed off. But his wife was dead (and devoured) and the Prime Minister needed to be seen to be a 'family man' to protect his poll ratings. The Voodoo Priest, Campbell, had the solution.

Refugees were a wonderful resource. A female Albanian asylum seeker of the same build as the dead Cherie would be procured and she would have extensive brain surgery to reduce her to a empty shell of a human being, followed by radical plastic surgery to make her look like Cherie Blair. She would then be 'reprogrammed' to act like Cherie for public appearances with the purtid PM.

"But what about the troll-child, we'll have to have it killed," stammered the desperate, stench exuding Blair.

"No," replied the scheming Campbell, "we'll use the creature to boost our popularity - there's nothing better that a cute little baby to bring in the votes."

"But it's not cute, it's a monster," interupted the sweat drenched PM.

"Plastic surgery," explained Campbell, "we just have to prevent the press taking any pictures of the troll-child until it's old enough for surgery."

"We wait nine months, during which time we use padding to make the Albanian peasant wench look increasingly pregnant, anounce the birth, then keep the photographers away from the beast-child until we can have the ginger fur removed from its body and its face made more human looking," explained the Voodoo Priest.

"Yes, that's what we'll do sighed the relieved Blair as the beast-child ripped the flesh from from the hand of a nurse who was trying to muzzle the razor-sharp toothed jaws the of troll-baby.


The nurses in the clinic had named it Robin because of its almost exact resemblence to its troll parent.

"If I have to bring the creature up as my own, I refuse to have it called Robin. I'll call it Leo," snarled the rancid Blair as he glared at the beast-child, who was now safely locked behind the bars of a small animal cage, borrowed from the exclusive vetinary clinic next door.

The infant troll snarled and growled at the Prime Minister as its blood dripping fangs gnashed at the bars of the cage. The beast-child, realising its attempt to tear and feast on he flesh of Blair's face were futile, withdrew to the back of its cage, parted its ginger fur, and began to furiously rub its small stubby penis.

"It even hehave like Cook," screamed Blair.


The beast-child howled throughout its first night of life - it instinctively knew that it had found itself among alien creatures that were not of its own kind. It was a feeling that Robin Cook had learned to live with - he had learned that humankind would not accept a troll unless he conformed to their behaviour. This was a lesson the troll-child would have to learn very quickly to avoid a lobotomy to make it docile enough to be presented by its 'doting father', Mr Blair, before the world's media. It would not do New Labour's poll ratings much good if the beast-child gnawed the arm off a press photographer. But this was in the future and for the present the troll-child comforted itself by masturbating furiously throughout the night, while howling at the full moon, visible through the high windows of the Harley Street clinic. 81  

In a remote cottage in the Scottish Highland the mighty Donald Dewer and his delectable love goddess Helen Liddell lay in bed tenderly caressing each others sweat glistening bodies.

"You know its for the best my beloved Helen," explained the herculean First Minister.

"I know, Donnie, but I still can't bear the thought of not being able to see you for so long," sobbed the Monklands sex-kitten.

Donald gentle stroked the wirely hair of his beautiful lover: "It's the way it will have to be. I will have to fake my death in order to be able to walk in the shadows and do battle against Blair's legions of darkness."

"Oh Donald," cried the beautiful Lanarkshire beauty, "I will miss you so much."

"It is the only way my dearest. Only by becoming an elusive shadow, able to move without the glare of publicity will I be able to defeat the hellish hoards of New Labour," comforted Donald moving his tongue around one of Helen's perfectly rounded breasts, spiralling towards her dark, swollen nipple.

"Ohhh Donald, I know you will defeat the evil Blair and his army of darkness," sighned the quivering MP for Airdrie.

"I will pretend to die from a complication associated with my heart operation, and then our revenge on the putrid Blair can really begin," sighed Donald in delight as his tongue stroked the length of Helen's labia and he savoured the heavenly taste the Airdrie beauty.

"Oh Donald, oooh Donald, I will miss you so much, I will, I, I... Ahhh, Ahhh, Ahhhhh, Ahhhhhhhh, Ohhh, YES !... ohhh, oohhhh Donald....", agreed the Lanarkshire lovely.

82   The Albanian refugee Cherie-substitute was procured and the extensive plastic surgery performed - the surgeon required all his skill to construct a reasonable copy of Cherie's false, empty smile, but eventually produced a passable resemblance. This was followed by the brain surgery
to erase the chracter of the unfortunate refugee. It had been decided that the Cherie substitute need only be able to perform basic functions, such as walking, shaking hands and kissing babies, in order to appear in public with the rancid Blair. Now the charade would begin of progressivly increasing the padding on the Cherie-substitute for the next nine months before Blair, the proud father, would announce the birth of his new son Leo. During that time the necessary physical surgery would be performed on the troll-child. It's ginger fur would be shaved off and its face reconstruced to less resemble that of its true father - the troll, Robin Cook. If necessary brain surgery would be performed on the beast-child to try to make it act more like a human infant in public - or at least stop it constantly masturbating.

Meanwhile, in a dark basement of the House of Commons another child cried. A human child cried helplessly for its mother unaware of the terrible fate that lay before it, and which would bring its short life to a horrifying end.

The now mindless shell of the Albanian Cherie-substitute was allowed before the media for the first time, when Tony announced they were expecting a child. The plan had worked - no one noticed the substitution and the Voodoo Priest, Campbell, praised his demon gods for the success.

A single solitary tear fell from the cheek of the Mighty Dewer as he embraced his beautiful Helen for the last time before he would fake his death and dwell in the shadows, until the time was right for his final, ultimate revenge on the rancid Blair and his hoards of unholy acolytes:
"Be brave my sweetest Helen. We shall be together again. When I have vanquished Blair's Cabinet of darkness and their evil followers, I shall return to you my dearest."

"Oh Donald,I love you so much," sobbed the devastatingly beautiful love goddess as she desperately clung to the mighty Celtic warrior - her sweet Donald.

"I must go now my lovely Helen," whispered Donald, desperately trying not to cry for the sake of his beloved Helen. Helen watched as Donald left the cottage and disappeared into the mist that lay solemnly on the remote glen.

In the dark Westminster basement the child cried as Michael Heseltine lifted the Albanian refugee child by its legs and held it upside down. The child, and her twin, had been a gift from Blair to Baroness Thatcher for her not giving her full support to beer-guzzler Hague. The child was held over the vat and Heseltine severed its throat with a single cut of his butcher's knife. Having drained the excess blood from the child, Heseltine, with the skill of an expert butcher, began slicing the child in to cuts. Some would be stored for later, other cooked and consumed that very night. Meanwhile, on the other table in the basement the child's twin screamed as if aware of the terrible fate of her younger sister. Over the child drolled the haggard figure of the Queen of Evil herself - Baroness Thatcher.
Unlike Heseltine and most of the other cannibals who were commonplace around Westminister, Thatcher prefered her human flesh raw. Lifting the child in both hands Thatcher brought the infant to her mouth and with a single swift snap tore a fist sized portion of tender flesh from the child's thigh. The child screamed and began to convulse in agony as Thather swallowed the succulent meat in a single gulp. As Baroness Thatcher then violently threw the convulsing child onto the table she whimpered pitifully, not understanding the sensations of unbearable agony that gripped her tiny body. The child's eyes desperately wandered to the face of Thather, desperately searching for her mother's conforting embrace. The child held out her trembling little arms as if pleading for comfort or mercy, as Thatcher's head plunged in to the child's abdomen gnawing and tearing. Gulping down lumps of flesh and blood Thatcher's face buried itself deeper and deeper in the now lifeless body of the child. Having devoured her way to the spine, Baroness Thatcher began to move up the child's torso, ripping flesh and shattering bone with her cruel teeth, as she feasted on the internal organs of the baby. Ripping out and devouring the eyes of the baby, and tearing at the flesh on the face of the baby, Thatcher exposed the bare skull and thrusting her clawed fingers into the now empty eye sockets, broke open the child's skull. Scooping out the brain Thatcher growled contentedly as she swallowed this cannibal delicacy. In less that ten minutes Thatcher had consumed all of the meat and internal organs of the child and all that remained was a few shredded fragmants of skin and skeleton. Thatcher lifted a thigh bone and crushed it open with her powerful jaws and began to suck the marrow from the bone. She would make the most of this feast Since she was no longer Prime Minister and could not obtain children of refugees or the unemployed for herself. She hated having to rely on Blair to provide her with living human flesh, but she had no choice. 83  

The fake death of Donald Dewer was announced and as far as the public were concerned the mighty Dewer was no more. Even his sworn enemy, the putrid Blair, belived the mighty Dewer was dead. The months passed and the exquisitely formed beauty, Helen Liddeell MP, heard nothing from her beloved Donald. Leo Blair, the son of the vile Scottish troll, Robin Cook, was operated on to have his thick ginger fur removed and a partial lobotomy performed to curb his more extreme troll tendencies. The Albanian Cherie-substitute and Blair's 'son' Leo were both accepted as genuine by the gullible British public.


Deep in the rain forests of Chile a shapely figure clad in a red PVC jump suit crept silently through the undergrowth. She had stalked her target for weeks and had finally narrowed her search to an area less than ten miles square. At long last he would be hers.

85   After weeks of searching she had eventually tracked her quarry to an area less than ten miles square. Now he would not excape her. He would be hers - only hers. Her perfectly formed, nubile body moved effortlessly through the dense forest, covering mile after mile in search of her goal. Suddenly she heard a faint, distant voice and stopped instantly. Listening for a few seconds to estimate the distance to the voices, the lithesome huntress crouched low, streching the thin PVC of her jumpsuit tightly over her perfectly formed buttocks, and began to slowing move forward. Moving slowly and silently, Britney could see a clearance ahead. To avoid alerting her quarry, the beautiful American pop sensation, moved even closer to the ground. Crawling on her hands and knees, her exquisitely rounded breasts making occasion, fleeting contact with the rough undergrowth, Britney inched her way towards the clearing, the PVC stretched more tightly over her rear, slowing easing itself between her sweat moistened labia. The gentle brushing of her breasts against the rough undergrowth and the dream of her quarry being within reach was unbearable for Britney's eager nipples - swollen and pouting their erect points threatened to penetrate this thin PVC. 86  

At the clearing edge, Britney lay motionless, her lust filled brown eyes surveying the camp site. Suddenly, in the centre of the clearing, next to what was obviously the canteen, she saw her prey. Britney's perfectly toned body instantly began to quiver with animal sexual excitment and she felt another moisture mingle with the sweat between shapely thighs. Britney sighed deeply and rolled on to her back her young body possessed by wild primal lust. Arching her slender back, Britney began to pull down the zip on her jumpsuit, releasing her beautfully rounded, firm young breasts. Trembling her hand reached up and glided slowing over her sweat drilling mounds, her swollen nipples begging for contact. Britnet allowed her fingers to gently touch her long dark nipples, sighing in ecstasy. Britney's lithesome body shuddered, in orgasmic delight as her she felt wild spasms pass from her moist, tight vagina and engulf her entire body. Now desperately kneading the quivering flesh of her breasts and pulling almost violently on her erect nipples, Britney could contain her need for satifaction no longer. Almost tearing the zip of her jumpsuit fully open, Britney parted her long tanned legs and thrust her right hand into her dark, dense pubic hair. As her finger probed between her pouting labia, she felt her moisture run bewteen her trembling buttocks. Inserting a finger Britney's felt a second, ecstatic orgasm begin, and began to vigorously move a finger aroung her swollen erect clitoris. As a wild violent orgasm gripped her entire body Britney pushed her other hand and over her mouth to stiffle her screams of orgasmic delight. As the final wave of her climax subsided Britney rolled onto her side to once again gaze at her prey, her sweat dripping body wanting him even more than ever, as the scent of her aroused womanhood acted to further enflame her raging hormones. Tonight he would be hers! 87  

Add to the Story