Pentatronix pounding beats

'So, let me make this really simple for you Mr Bond,'

'Scott,' I cheerfully offered, this Miss Pussy Amore clearly not getting the hang of my name. She gave me a hard knowing stare and I bashfully looked away, unable to hold her ravishing eyes that were eating me up on bite size chunks of Scottness.

'Bond it is,' I said with a cheerful disposition as she slipped off her red velvet gloves and walked over to my side of the coffee table.

'Cosy,' I said as she leaned in over me, her very breath now filling my nostrils with the smell of crushed roses dosed in olive oil and then lightly fried for 5 or so minutes.

'Can I tell you a secret Bond,' she whispered into my left ear hole, my right one being blocked by her calloused right hand that was mauling it with an over the top amorous massage.

'Yes,' I squealed, my insides now dancing with delight and the prospects of what was to come.

'I like secret agents, and when I say like I mean I would do literally anything for one.'

These words stumbled out from Pussy in gasps as though each syllable was causing a minor orgasmic volcano.

'Well that really is rather splendid,' I said, my neck now letting out steam of excitement, 'Bond by name, Bond by nature,' I said and then felt her left hand grab my undercarriage with an alarming turn of speed and strength.

'To bed then Bond,' she declared triumphantly, ripping off her clothes as she gaily hopped over to the corner of the office where she promptly pressed a button to turn the book case instantly into a four poster bed covered in red satin sheets. She then dived on to the bed as though entering a swimming pool.

The knock that she subsequently received to her head as she dived on to the headboard was therefore unfortunate and as my excitement also dived downwards, I decided maybe leaving through the window than past the five large ruffians on guard outside her office was the way forward.

It was forever to be my one moment as Bond, a moment of heightened senses, glorious possibilities and delightful bed linen. Ah yes, happy days.


RIP Tom Sharpe

A

X