Problem Child
titleless
- Joined
- Feb 21, 2001
- Posts
- 27,935
Re: i doesnt matter problem child
Britney reclined on the green velour couch, her breasts heaving, and perspiration beading off her nubile tummy. She was tired; tired, but satisfied after delivering a powerful performance at Madison square Garden. "This might be the show that makes the critics realize I'm a true artist," she thought wistfully. She closed her eyes and continued the thought when she was interupted by a knock at her dressing room door.
"Britney, there's a fan out here that wants to see you," said her tour manager. "He seems okay, security checked him out. Should I let him in?”
“Well…okay. I always have time for my fans,” said the mega-popstar.
The door opened, and a middle-aged man stepped into the room. He closed the door behind him.
“Hi Britney! Wow, I’m so glad I finally got to meet you! This is a dream come true,” said the man. He was small in stature and nearing sixty and well dressed. He held a small white poodle in his arms. “Britney, do you like dogs?”
“Oh, I love dogs, mister! Is that a poodle?”
“Why, yes it is. His name is Jerry F,” explained the man. “And my name is Robertson, Pat Robertson. Perhaps you’ve heard of me. I’m what they call a tel-e-van-gelist,” said Robertson, with an impure look on his face that Britney didn’t pick up on.
“Oh, I’ve seen you on TV Mr. Robertson! My mom and I watch the PTL club all the time! I’m so glad you came to see me!” exclaimed the virgin.
“Well, that’s great, just great Britney. You know something Britney?”
“What Mr. Robertson?”
Pat paused, a serious look on his face, then continued. “Britney, I’ve had sexual thoughts about you.”
Britney gasped. “Oh Mr. Roberts…”
The preacher cut her off. “Britney, it’s not like that. What I want is this. I want you to watch me while this fluffy little man-dog fucks my ass.”
“Wow,” was all the teen diva could manage. “That’s fucking weird, Pat.”
“I know honey, but hey, I’m a weird fucker. After all I said the reason the World Trade Center got attacked was because America was a sinful nation. Gotta be a little soft in the head to say shit like that, eh?”
“Well, I don’t know anythi...” Pat wasn’t listening. He had already undone his trousers to reveal speedo-tight briefs in an American flag motif. Britney stopped babbling and stared at him watched as he got onto all fours on the dressing room floor.
“Okay honey, now just pull my shorts down and help Jerry get up on my ass,” the preacher instructed.
“Mr. Robertson, I don’t know…”
“Just do it Bitch!” Robertson yelled angrily. He relaxed and addressed her more calmly. “Honey, if you disobey a man of the God, you might burn in hell. John Ashcroft might audit your taxes. You don’t want that now, do you?”
Britney looked confused, but her tits remained high and perky. “Well, I guess not.”
“Good, now help little Jerry up to my bunghole. You’re going to have to jerk him off a little to get him hard. Don’t get scared baby. Go ahead.” He smiled that sweet smile that he always smiled when he gave the “hate the sin, love the sinner” speech about fags on PTL. Britney grimaced the same way she did every time she had to swallow Justin’s smelly cum, but started stroking the poodles slimy fuckstick.
“Ooh, yuck, it’s all slippery,” she announced.
“I know honey, that’s called smegma. It’s nothing to be afraid of. God is with you. Now guide his pecker into my ass.”
“Yuck. Mr. Robertson this is sick, do I really have to?” she asked.
“Britney, it’s the will of God. Do you want to disappoint god Almighty?
“Ummm, well, I guess not,” she said reluctantly.
With that, Pat spread his asscheeks and Britney stuffed little Jerry F’s boner in his ass. Pat smiled as the small pink missile penetrated his rectum. Britney watched in semi-revulsion as the little poodle’s ass pistoned back and forth, his little haunches shaking with pleasure and his tiny body shaking as it gave the former presidential candidate a grade-A ass-reaming.
“Yeah, that’s it Jerry, Praise God, give it to me lover…oooh, Britney, he’s going to cum, I think.” Pat reach between his legs and stroked the little dogs nuts, urging it on to it’s final climax.
Britney’s phone rang. “Oh hi Justin baby, how are you? Good, baby. What am I doing? Watching Pat Robertson get ass-fucked by a poodle. Long story, I’ll tell you about it later. What, the interview? Oh yeah, I gave them the virgin line again. Did you get those pornos from Joey? Cool, I’ll see you in an hour babe.” She hung up the phone.
“Pat, I don’t give a shit about God, you’re a fucking freak. I’m going to get some human dick. You ought to give it a try.
Britney reclined on the green velour couch, her breasts heaving, and perspiration beading off her nubile tummy. She was tired; tired, but satisfied after delivering a powerful performance at Madison square Garden. "This might be the show that makes the critics realize I'm a true artist," she thought wistfully. She closed her eyes and continued the thought when she was interupted by a knock at her dressing room door.
"Britney, there's a fan out here that wants to see you," said her tour manager. "He seems okay, security checked him out. Should I let him in?”
“Well…okay. I always have time for my fans,” said the mega-popstar.
The door opened, and a middle-aged man stepped into the room. He closed the door behind him.
“Hi Britney! Wow, I’m so glad I finally got to meet you! This is a dream come true,” said the man. He was small in stature and nearing sixty and well dressed. He held a small white poodle in his arms. “Britney, do you like dogs?”
“Oh, I love dogs, mister! Is that a poodle?”
“Why, yes it is. His name is Jerry F,” explained the man. “And my name is Robertson, Pat Robertson. Perhaps you’ve heard of me. I’m what they call a tel-e-van-gelist,” said Robertson, with an impure look on his face that Britney didn’t pick up on.
“Oh, I’ve seen you on TV Mr. Robertson! My mom and I watch the PTL club all the time! I’m so glad you came to see me!” exclaimed the virgin.
“Well, that’s great, just great Britney. You know something Britney?”
“What Mr. Robertson?”
Pat paused, a serious look on his face, then continued. “Britney, I’ve had sexual thoughts about you.”
Britney gasped. “Oh Mr. Roberts…”
The preacher cut her off. “Britney, it’s not like that. What I want is this. I want you to watch me while this fluffy little man-dog fucks my ass.”
“Wow,” was all the teen diva could manage. “That’s fucking weird, Pat.”
“I know honey, but hey, I’m a weird fucker. After all I said the reason the World Trade Center got attacked was because America was a sinful nation. Gotta be a little soft in the head to say shit like that, eh?”
“Well, I don’t know anythi...” Pat wasn’t listening. He had already undone his trousers to reveal speedo-tight briefs in an American flag motif. Britney stopped babbling and stared at him watched as he got onto all fours on the dressing room floor.
“Okay honey, now just pull my shorts down and help Jerry get up on my ass,” the preacher instructed.
“Mr. Robertson, I don’t know…”
“Just do it Bitch!” Robertson yelled angrily. He relaxed and addressed her more calmly. “Honey, if you disobey a man of the God, you might burn in hell. John Ashcroft might audit your taxes. You don’t want that now, do you?”
Britney looked confused, but her tits remained high and perky. “Well, I guess not.”
“Good, now help little Jerry up to my bunghole. You’re going to have to jerk him off a little to get him hard. Don’t get scared baby. Go ahead.” He smiled that sweet smile that he always smiled when he gave the “hate the sin, love the sinner” speech about fags on PTL. Britney grimaced the same way she did every time she had to swallow Justin’s smelly cum, but started stroking the poodles slimy fuckstick.
“Ooh, yuck, it’s all slippery,” she announced.
“I know honey, that’s called smegma. It’s nothing to be afraid of. God is with you. Now guide his pecker into my ass.”
“Yuck. Mr. Robertson this is sick, do I really have to?” she asked.
“Britney, it’s the will of God. Do you want to disappoint god Almighty?
“Ummm, well, I guess not,” she said reluctantly.
With that, Pat spread his asscheeks and Britney stuffed little Jerry F’s boner in his ass. Pat smiled as the small pink missile penetrated his rectum. Britney watched in semi-revulsion as the little poodle’s ass pistoned back and forth, his little haunches shaking with pleasure and his tiny body shaking as it gave the former presidential candidate a grade-A ass-reaming.
“Yeah, that’s it Jerry, Praise God, give it to me lover…oooh, Britney, he’s going to cum, I think.” Pat reach between his legs and stroked the little dogs nuts, urging it on to it’s final climax.
Britney’s phone rang. “Oh hi Justin baby, how are you? Good, baby. What am I doing? Watching Pat Robertson get ass-fucked by a poodle. Long story, I’ll tell you about it later. What, the interview? Oh yeah, I gave them the virgin line again. Did you get those pornos from Joey? Cool, I’ll see you in an hour babe.” She hung up the phone.
“Pat, I don’t give a shit about God, you’re a fucking freak. I’m going to get some human dick. You ought to give it a try.
