avugotafantasy bout doin SEX wita STRANGER ina HOTEL Mrs Stater?

Did you REALLY role-play getting picked up in Union Street and going off with a TOTAL STRANGER to get fucked in the Caledon Hotel, Mrs Stater?

Were YOU asked to REALLY show off your fanny to the nameless man, Mrs Stater?

Did YOU do JUST THAT, Mrs Stater, knickers-still-on and knickers-off?

Did you show your cunt, with ONE finger at it and in it and with TWO FINGERS, pulling it apart, flaunting your white-fleck-coated still-quite-tight entrance and your HUGE, FLESHY, PINKLY-MOIST FLAPS for the man to touch, lick, gently-chew at and, finally, push through with his huge, hard, black-bearded BAREBACK COCK, Mrs Stater?

Did you reach DOWN and lead the man's juice-covered fingers up, under your nose to sniff and then into your mouth TO SUCK, before you took full penetration and the ride, Mrs Stater?

Did you then fold your arms behind your head and lie back on the pillow, softly-smiled, legs-spread-wide to let your stranger do whatever he wanted to you, Mrs Stater?

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urexistryin to book Sgt Eros for the first Sat in Sept Mrs Stater!

He's trying to book Sgt Eros for the first Saturday morning in September, Mrs Stater.

If he's not in Craiginches, that is.  

No, not your ex, Mrs Stater, Sgt Eros!

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esusindaACTUAL SEX witu butda body ofa FRENCH teacher eliked Mrs Stater.

For the bit with you as the RANDY, ENTHUSIASTIC, WILLING 40+ SEX GODDESS, Mrs Stater. 

He's using all the wild sex that you did with him Mrs Stater, like the REAL ACTUAL SEX but he's going to use a body like that forty-year-old French Teacher he worked with (her who asked him to take his clothes off when he was 29, one hot July afternoon, but who he turned down for you) Mrs Stater.

She was a slim, leggy, business-suited, heeled, stockinged, size 12 mother-of-two with 40" tits and a FABULOUS tight arse, apparently, Mrs Stater.

A lovely, active, athletic, clever, articulate, posh, short-skirted, fragrant, 40-year-old English rose, Mrs Stater.

But , in the film, he'll give the actress a Scottish accent, and a dark-brown page-boy hairstyle, so that everyone knows it's YOU, Mrs Stater!!

He'll coach her in your facial mannerisms as well, Mrs Stater.

OH...AND SHE''LL HAVE TO HAVE AN AMAZIN SET OF FLAPS TOO!

AND

OF COURSE, SHE'LL HAVE TO GENUINELY WANT TO SUCK COCK FOR 1 HOUR...AND TO ENJOY TASTING AND SWALLOWING THE LOAD WHEN IT CUMS, Mrs Stater!

Your ex is FECKIN FIZZIN bout turnin the FRENCH teacher down, for real, as your faithful young husband, in the circumstances, Mrs Stater!

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ru planning participation in any WATERSPORTS over summer Mrs Stater?

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diduina sexclub in London KISS A COCK Mrs Stater?

A BLACK COCK, Mrs Stater?

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doustilgetmenat Tesco watching you trying out panties Mrs Stater?

Do you still pretend not to notice them watching you as you select interesting flimsies and hold them up against your fanny, just checking, kindofthing, Mrs Stater.

Do you OFTEN reach up to the knickers on the top row, finding yourself on tiptoe, leaning forward, often in your TIGHT BLACK TROUSERS, Mrs Stater, with your lacey bra pressing out of the back of your blouse?

Is it true that you NEVER just take the first pair of little panties but that you ALWAYS hold up quite a few pairs, while the men watch...and enjoy...Mrs Stater?

Do you go home and tell your lover how you got on, with you being followed to the checkout, or even to your little red car, like you used to tell your ex before being fucked-rotten, with you kicking things off by modelling all the little bits of lace and cotton up in front of your cunt, before slipping a mutually- favoured tiny item on, for later removing, of course, once you've thoroughly soaked it, in the crotch bittie, Mrs Stater?

Do you still particularly enjoy holding knickers with SHEER FRONTS above the crotch in front of your sexually interesting area, for your supermarket observers' pleasure, as well as your own, Mrs Stater?

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esfilmingit Mrs Stater itstarts witur fanny bein touched fordafirst time.

He's started filming it, Mrs Stater.  They're working in a barn place on The Ross of Mull.

Apparently the girl playing you at 19, Mrs Stater, has just left Suckie High and she's got you down to a T, especially the voice and the facial mannerisms.

In the opening sequence,  you are a 19 year-old student, Mrs Stater.  You've got on black cord jeans and a blue paisley pattern blouse with a butterfly collar.

You've got on black platform shoes with an ankle strap and smoked spice tights.

You've got on a silver St Christopher pendant.

Your hair is beautifully pageboyed.

You look so young, Mrs Stater, and so petite, at size 12.

'Layla' is on the juke-box, just finishing and he's putting in money and soon it will be 'Listen to the Music' and 'Sweet Caroline'.

He's got long, feather-cut hair and he's wearing a black velvet jacket, black shirt, flared yellow trousers and black platform shoes, Mrs Stater.

You're in a closed-for-the-afternoon student bar place with red bench seats.  The wooden bar shutters are down.  There's just the two of you.  You've still got drinks on the table and you're drinking your half-pint of Tennent's lager and he's got his pint of McEwan's Export.

When he gets back and sits next to you, just as The Doobie Brothers comes on, you snuggle up to him, throw your arms around his neck and get snogging.

Very soon he moves his hand on to your blouse buttons, then....

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hewantsda nameofda teacher witda VAST TITS urpicciedwit Mrs Stater.

Your ex, Mrs Stater.  He wants the name of the teacher with the VAST TITS that you were piccied with by the Sixth Former.

On the sports field.

Her with the 42DDs, the VERY TIGHT red top and the big sun specs.

Not the younger one with the small, uninteresting titties behind you.  Her with the inane grin on, specs and the black, short hair.

No.

The great big, tall quine with the UTTERLY VAST 50+ KNOCKEROCKERS, Mrs Stater.

Your ex said he's not sure whether, despite his intensive physical preparations, he could EVEN lift up EVEN one of them, Mrs Stater (but that he would be prepared to have a go, if invited).

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Do you like to SUCK ON STRAWS Mrs Stater?

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wotshernamedatgets £200fromdatilleach week forclothes Mrs Stater?

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douav SEX witur partners after The Prom like evry1else Mrs Stater

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Happy burfdaytou happyburfdaymrprezident happyburfdaytou

The Transgender Day at The Pansy Nursey went very good, it is reported by The Biggest Smile (almost) In Rosebount.

The idea was NOT original, being borrowed from *the teuchters at Turra (*translates as: rustic swains from Turriff).

The wee quines (all 15 of them) would dress as wee loons and THE WEE LOON (all ONE of him) would dress as a wee quine.

The poor little bugger got to put on a dress and was allowed to sit down for a pee and use tissue paper afterwards, before putting on a squirt of parfum and checking his lipstick, at the mirror, on the way out, we hear from The Tiniest Tits On An 18 Year Old St Anonimous Has Ever Known, who is on attachment over with The Pansies, in their pink smocks, two pms per week. 

The Biggest Smile (almost) In Rosebount (complete BOF) was not chuffed when The Third Generation Pole reported it, anonymously, to Esther Rantzen.

Mrs K is in grim mood at a special, mid-afternoon, emergency-whole-school-assembly.

Advanced Higher with Mr D is being endured by his very demanding threesome and they skip lightly in to to take the last of the big girls' seats on the front row (where we can look up Mrs K's skirt, when she's short and sexy and see if it's stockings or tights and deduce from the degree of lacey transparency of the nipped-knicker-crotch whether or not Mr K's got any chance after Mrs K gets home from school).

Funereal music is struck up at the piano.  We big uns panic and all turn round, in unison, to see if Mrs S is still there.   We are greatly relieved to see that everyone's favourite Aunt is with us and still beaming away brighter than Girdleness at dusk on a dark December day of coming storm. 

It is Mrs K's SOLEMN duty, she declaims lachrimoniously, with trembling lip and vibrato in the voice.  It is Mrs K's SOLEMN duty to give the Girls of St Anonimous bad news.  Very bad news.

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A sudden, unexpected, tragic death has befallen the St Anonimous family.

Mrs McCabe's dear husband and lifepartner, Mr McCabe (just- two-short-years-retired) has died, suddenly, leaving Mrs McCabe bereft and inconsolable.

We shall pray.

Mrs K hands over to Holy Jessie and the big leather-bound bible is opened in a most unmultifaith moment as we bow our heads and commune with Our Lord Jesus Christ.

The left footers are crossing themselves and fiddling with their rosaries.

A female in her late-middle years (unknown to the Sixth Form, but believed to be a Ph.D. holding member of Senior Management and possibly working out of an office two doors down fom Mrs K) seated with the staff, is weeping softly into a lavender-scented hankie while clutching a crucified Christ figure on the cross.

The Female Descendant of Genghis Khan is not amused.  She is seen to be scribbling something on a bit of paper.

A note is, in practised undetectability (by anyone aged 19+) passed along the front row from inverted clenched fist to inverted clenched fist.

Years of experience of subterfugeous quickgandering are deployed to good effect.

WAS HE FUCKING HER AS HE EXPIRED?? 

The Highest Commission Earning Barclaycard Promotions Assistant in AB10 crosses her 36 inch legs and is seen scribbling an addendum on her inviting (to customers shopping sans wife, apparently) lap.

ON VIAGRA??

The note is, skillfully, read by all and passed back to The Female Descendant of Genghis Khan who can chortle behind her hajib to her heart's content, which, The Tiniest Tits On An 18 Year Old St Anonimous Has Ever Known would later report she did, while muttering something like 'a la a caber', in a commendable demonstration of her FRENCH/English/Gaelic prowess and her understandable cultural interest in traditional male, scottish enthusiasm for throwing their big logs about, in front of impressionable, attentive, watching women, at the various annual Highland Games which mark the progress of Summer in Alba. 

CORPSED

You won't believe the next bit but it is imperative that it becomes a matter of record and is not airbrushed, wikipedia-style, from the anals of our prestigious placie, like sacked Heedies.

THE FEMALE DESCENDANT OF GENGHIS KHAN FARTED!

Now, we at St Anonimouse are not racists and some of our best friends are from the empire subcontinent BUT we have told her repeatedly that eating vegetable samosas for breakfast is NOT a good idea.  Would she listen...

Right, it doesn't take much to get The Slowest Empties Collector in Cults going.  The dirge is finishing and Holy Jessie is foreverandevering when the respectful silence of familial bereavement is RENT by the biggest, longest FART in the history of the Western World.

This was no ordinary fart.  This was a FART.  This was an Olympic fart.  This was a Cordon Bleu fart.  This was a Blue Ribbon of a fart.  This was a Flying Scotsman of a fart.  THIS WAS THE MOTHER OF ALL FARTS! 

The Slowest Empties Collector in Cults sniggers.  The Best Legs at Bannatynes guffaws.  The Tiniest Tits On An 18 Year Old St Anonimous Has Ever Known collapses into an unrestrained, unconstrainable full-blown fit of Sixth Form giggles. 

CORPSING

That's what they call it.  Like that posh wifie on Radio 4.  When YOU JUST CAN'T STOP.

The entire St Anonimous Sixth Form CORPSED.

Well.  Your scribe has never seen a blacker or more withering look adorn the countenance of HM.  The whole school is marched out of assembly in stoney, po-faced silence and the Sixth Form (heads bowed and gnawing at their own hands) are left to their own (presumed) penitent devices.

LAUGH...WE COULD HAVE DIED!

The second the hall doors banged closed:  high fives, hugs, DYING FLIES ( off The Highest Commission Earning Barclaycard Promotions Assistant in AB10) (who's got 36" legs). 

Gales of wild hilarity fill the noble hall until our sides are sore and we dare laugh no more if big girls' little (very little, actually) pants are not to be piddled.

Finally we regain control of ourselves, sit back down, bite our lower lips, nip our noses and squeeze our innards tight, all the while breathing deeply.

Calm is restored.  What to do?

We must, it is agreed, get someone to go and apologise to Mrs K.

A unanimous decision is taken to send the High Priestess of Sookerupperism - One Bag of Cheese n' Onion - up the oak stairs to knock on Mrs K's door, apologise on our behalf and ask Mrs K to pass on our condolences to the deceased. 

SORTED.  

all da girls standing in da line for da bathroom...alldagirlzstandinindalinefordabathroom...

We are visited by a smart-suited, BMW-driving delegation of GMB Officials, although Mrs K is not told and does not know.

Mrs Shits and the other office clerks and typists are in rebellious mood. 

The Best Legs at Bannatynes tells us, after her stint on Office Fags, that Mrs K has told them all to stop piddling in her private cludgie.

Mrs K's cludgie is only for HER use and for use by visiting dignitaries and Mrs Sith (on her daily visits to check on the Mrs S soap which, The Slickest Stair Polisher in Tillydrone has been informed, is about to enter a new and dramatic phase).

Apparently Mrs K dropped in past a famous MP FP when shopping for marble phalluses phalli phalluses from Thermoopolae Thermopolae and was given a few handy hints on assertiveness and showing who's boss.

The GMB delegation suggest immediate STRIKE action, before driving off in their Beamer for lunch at The Olive Stalk.

Very Senior Men in diced caps with braid on them attend for very confidential meeting with us big girls.

We are sworn to secrecy.  We are asked to chorus that we will not tell any third parties about what we are about to be asked about the SSSSSSSSSSSS.

We all make affirmative gestures and noises.  The sooks can be heard saying 'Yeeeeeeesssss, Chief Superintendent.'

Loudest of all:  the slightly-high-in-complexion High Priestess of Sookerupperism - One Bag of Cheese n' Onion.

The Third Generation Pole is seen to be crossing her fingers, behind her back, as she goes along with all the collective swearing.

The SSSSSSSSSS is believed to be infiltrating US.

Have any of US been offered work when we reach our 18th birthdays?

Have any of US who are 18 already been paid for pleasing men?

Have any of US who are 18 posed for adult-type photographs?  For photographs which could...aherm...best be described as...aherm...of an adult or...aherm,aherm,aherm... obscene...ahermmmmmmmmmm...pornographic nature?

Have any  18+ beautiful ones among US, with good legs and most pleasing cleavage, been cajoled or bribed into sitting, pished-rotten, in various expensive, flash, Aberdeen nightclubs....AAAAAHERMMMMM...on the toilet....with their designer silk panties pulled down to their  tanned, trim, tightly-gripped knees...aheraherahermaherMM....cough....cough....cough....

Has the SSSSSSSSS actually...(swallow)... penetrated the St Anonimous Sixth Form...(swallow,swallow)...perhaps...(sweating brow mopped with white cotton handkerchief pulled from uniform trousers pocket past utility belt/handcuffs/telescopic baton/csgascannister)...perhaps...clandestinely? 

The Third Generation Pole is heard to snigger before covering it up with a coughing fit.  She moves into distraction mode.

Sitting right in front of the Chief Super, The Third Generation Pole Sharon Stones him, TWICE.

The very senior Fuzz twitches.   His face goes beetroot.  His glasses steam-up.  He stammers.  He stutters.  He loses his train of thought.  He drops his papers and has to watch the Third Generation Pole kneel down in front of him, knees back modestly together, helpfully picking up his documents for him with a most interesting degree of cleavage poked in his face as she gets up and places everything on his lap, smiling.

The Third Generation Pole sits back down, knees demurely tight together.  She nips her lower lip with her top teeth, she tilts her head to the side, she smiles.

'Chief Superintendent, I don't like to say it but there is SOMEONE who takes photographs of us....lots of photographs, actually...in school...'

The Best Legs At Bannatynes is seized by an uncontrollable, snorting coughing fit and has to rush out of the room, closely followed by The Slowest Empties Collector in Cults.

THEY didn't think that WE would let THEM, with impunity, arrest and subsequently harass Sgt Eros, did THEY?

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avanyofda women teachers got GENITAL WARTS offu Mrs Stater?

Through social kissing or through any other form of oral contact between you and the St Anonimous women, Mrs Stater?

Do Mrs Kilimanjaro and Mrs Sitherfird know that St Anonimous could be SUED under Health & Safety if the answer to the question is in the affirmative, Mrs Stater?

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ru doing a talk in September at the exhibitioncentre Mrs Stater?

I mean, will you be representing St Anonimous School for Girls at the conference, Mrs Stater?

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So here it is, Merry Christmas, everybodys havin' fun....

Recruitment for the annual Staff Xmas panto has begun early this year.

Ms G is to be Snow-White and is dieting and seriously considering belly fat reduction surgery, The Fastest Shot Pourer/Most Tuneful Busker in Union Street tells us.

Her principal dwarf  has been employed as a minibus driver, fetching the country quines in off their tractors and quads at the end of their access tracks in The Shire.

The Most Accomplished Muck Spreader in The Garioch informs us that the little aul' mannie drives the brand new £40K Mercedes peering THROUGH the steering wheel, his wee legs barely reaching the pedals. 

Mrs S is VERY fond of the Uniformed-Servant-Chauffeur, letting it slip to The Second Best Muck Spreader in The Garioch that he looks just like her own dear, departed Dad did.

WHAT EVERY WOMAN WONDERS!

WTF would YOU do if YOUR fanny farted at JUST the wrong moment, ehh??

Mrs K simply carried on doing her Wednesday Assembly from the podium, gallantly, like the old trouper that she is, tucking her pink blouse over black bra into her tight trouser waistband, flicking the right hand side of her honey-blonde fringe back and adjusting her long string of large pearls as if nothing had happened, we are pleased to report.

Mr D, seated next to the podium, close to Mrs K, VERY close to Mrs K, in fact (to be ready to give her the Poet of the Month award for handing over to The Slowest Empties Collector in Cults) turned a puce colour above his crisp white collar and began to ooze sweat drops on his fore head, The Slowest Empties Collector in Cults, who was waiting in the wings to be lauded, later confirmed.

When quizzed at some length by both The Most Accomplished Muck Spreader in The Garioch AND The Second Best Muck Spreader in The Garioch, during Advanced Higher, Mr D was manouevered into dropping his guard somewhat.

Mr D was recorded admitting that he was just relieved that what he likened to the sound of an unsyncopatedly-swung, previously-muffled, muted football rattle with a broken spar (or to a set of leather football internal bladders lying on the ground two feet apart, half-blown-up and neither half-empty, nor half-full, trodden on arhthymically and deflated raucously and stutteringly by a prize-winning triple-jumper practising his run-up) had come out of Mrs K's front bottom rather than out of her ***  

BEST BURDIES tweet...tweet...tweet...

Mrs S was spotted by the daughter of a succesful Aberdeen restaurateur (She Who Unknown to HM Revenue Is Given Her Not Unsubstantial Clothing Allowance From The Till) moving house on the cheap, dressed in a boiler suit with the legs rolled-up and driving a hired transit van.

SWUTHMRIGHNUCAFTT was polishing the family silver at a location in Aberdeen's first urban village from where Mrs S was watched as she, manfully, struggled out from the wee hoosie to her van, parked outside on the cobbles, with box after box after box of goods and chattels. 

NEITHER MRS CHARGEHAND NOR MRS BINGHAM WERE ANYWHERE TO BE SEEN, swuthmrighnucaftt reported, NOR MS GRAVEY (naturally).

Many hours later, in one of life's remarkable coincidences, SWUTHMRIGHNUCAFTT came upon an obviously-fatigued, red-about-the-gills, wee boilersuited Mrs S decanting the last of the, apparently heavy, boxes into her new place on the periphery of the West End proper MOMENTS after having, 100 yds round the corner, come upon Mrs Charghand, Tyke, the boys (plus the gfs) ALL dressed up to the nines and heading down town for a nice wee family night on the tiles!

NOW THAT'S A BEST BURDIE FOR YA!!!

tweet...tweet...tweet...

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Mrs We is pictured in her little white tennis skirt, close-up, colour, full-page in the Aberdeen Bugle.

Mrs We sports lovely red lipstick, good decolletage and firm thighs, also displaying a very impressive tight-white-knickered vulva, but forgets to dye her roots.

Mrs We is bombarded with emails asking her if she is or is not a NATURAL BLONDE.

Mrs We has to close down her St Anonimous email account to unknown senders.

Mail starts arriving at her new home address.

The SSSSSSSSS?

Can men have photographs of her wearing JUST the tennis skirt?

Can men have photographs of her jumping over the net, wearing JUST the tennis skirt?

Can she meet up with men to pose for more photographs in JUST her tennis skirt?

Can men have sex with her wearing JUST the tennis skirt? (the men...of course!)

Can men have the panties she was wearing UNDER the tennis skirt?

We are told by The Tesco Checkout Quine (who is in the club, we believe, along with Mrs We)  that Mrs We has been offered an all-expenses-paid trip to the Playboy mansion if she will agree to wear JUST the tennis skirt, nothing at all UNDER it, as she sleeps.

Mr C asks his girls to put together a playlet based on the tennis courts at Bummerhill which he will then have filmed by the girls for later, detailed, editing, by him, after everyone has gone home and the school is empty. 

The Easter service has commenced and the introit is beginning when a note is seen being passed along the staff seats from Mrs B to Ms G to Mrs S.

Mrs B and Ms G look tres worried.  Mrs S explodes into apopleptic, flushed wrath, uttering a profanity NOT appropriate to our surroundings.

Mrs S is seen to tear the note up, violently, into little pieces which she stamps on and grinds into the floorboards with her size 4 court shoes.

Happy Hols!

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I should be so lucky...lucky...lucky,...lucky...I should be so lucky in love....

'G'day Mates' begins the letter.  Her Rents are a pair of fascist batards, parfait batards, she told us last year while living and learning with us partygirlz in the 'deen.

What an antipodean wheeze! (Mind you, perhaps we should expect no less of fifth generation colonial descendants of convicts!)

Can I, Mr Dad, go and do a gap-year teaching assignment at that quaint, polite, refined, provincial, snooty Scotch girls' school where I had my nose to the academic grindstone (when NOT snifting, snorting and shagging almost anyting kilted) last year, on my exchange?

Miss D (as she has become) is to get behind the noble oak door of the Staffroom.

TyGod.

We have our own built-in SPECIAL AGENT - 0069.

The sexual habits, enthusiasms and practises of Mrs S can NOW be investigated properly!  I mean, just how much of it is actually TRUE, ehhh??

Mr C digs out last year's photies of 0069 in her school hat and white knee socks which he happened to have kept, impressively conscientiously (along with 200 others charting the sojourn of 0069 in The Oil Capital of Europe) The Tesco Trolley Dolly reports, on his personal laptop which he takes home with him.

glowgirl aberdeen

didureally AIRDRY ur PUBES EVERY morning  b4 school Mrs Stater?

For 11 years, Mr Stater, when you were a young wife, before you got pregnant?

Did YOU, Mrs Stater, have a morning routine where, for 30 mins (minimum) EVERY SCHOOL DAY, after your shower, you would sit on the carpet, cross-legged, wearing just your Tshirt, in front of a wall mirror which you placed in front of the record racks and in which you viewed yourself as you BLOWDRIED your hair, Mrs Stater?

Is it true, Mrs Stater, that your young husband often mounted you, on the carpet, as you AIR DRIED YOUR LOVELY, THICK DARK BROWN BUSH WITH YOUR HUGE PINK FLAPS POKING OUT AND EVERYTHING BEING REFLECTED IN THE MIRROR?

Is it true, Mrs Stater, that after the quickie, YOU had to dash upstairs and wash your fanny again before shooting off to school?

As you BLOWDRY your hair in the mornings, do you AIRDRY your brown pubes with your HUGE FLAPS OUT in front of your lover now, opposite a tilted mirror, b4 St Anonimous, Mrs Stater?

Do you HAVE to quickly clean your cunt, first, Mrs Stater, before you climb the noble St Anonimous front steps?

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