Trap Door Pt. 01

Trapdoor

About two months ago I read in the local newspaper that Mrs. Wohlgeruch, well known for her remarkable décolleté, which she had to display generously at public events of the better society at the request of her loving husband, had suddenly disappeared from the scene.

Her inconsolable master, however, seems already fully equipped again with Fräulein Bebend, an exceedingly well-rounded woman who, in the eyes and hands of himself and his friends, has the advantage of being a generation younger than himself and - it must be said, sadly - than his vanished wife. Though not quite as resilient, possibly. But that may change in the course of time, I would imagine.

Rumour has it that the distant lady was last seen shopping. I suspect that the trap door in the changing room of an actually renowned fashion house might have come into play.

By the way, some days later when I was surfing the internet again, I came across an interesting site that is run from Albania. Unless I was very much mistaken, Mrs. Wohlgeruch has not completely disappeared. Well, her arrogance perhaps. Otherwise, she is there to be seen as she lives and breathes; healthy and, well, lively, in any case. She has also gained a few things. An extremely tight corset, for example, amazing that one can still breathe with it, and a horse bridle that very charmingly presses the corners of her mouth wide as if to smile. Very valuable jewellery, or rather, very heavy rings through her tits. On the left side, by the way, two of them at once, one of them so tight that it squeezes the breast quite astonishingly.

She also seems to have been treated with labia rings. Really big things, each weighing almost a pound. With long-lasting consequences for her cunt flaps. They'll soon be usable as a floor cloth if you want to follow the witty remark of an interested fellow human being to whom I showed the picture the other day when he wanted to know what was actually going on with his good friend.

Really, nothing has been spared with this sow. It was as if she was screaming "more, more, more!" all the time, as she used to do in the past. Well, she certainly screamed. At the latest when these monster rings were driven through her tongue and nasal septum. But what the hell, if you want to be beautiful, you have to suffer, right? Is she beautiful now? I think the expression of her eyes alone is adorable. Eyelash-less eyes, by the way. Whether her hair has been plucked or burnt, who can say for sure now? And the drool that now drips from her mouth because she can no longer close her lips due to the large tongue ring is not worth mentioning, is it? If she lets herself go too much, you can always slap her a couple or more times. As an admonition and a reminder of her more demure days.

I only know her breastfsfrom the society column of the newspaper, but I think they have probably changed. Whether it's for the better or not is a moot point. In any case, they have remained exceptionally large, fat and plump. But they now dangle low over the corset. Up to the cunt at least. At least! Now they certainly swing great, once you make the effort and get them moving. But no pain, no gain, or how do you say it? Anyway, some people like to make an effort.

The cunt down there is naked, of course, which is appropriate for such a fuck, isn't it? Naked, fat and slobbery. But probably no longer usable for fucking, because it looks like very worn out. But certainly a great champagne warmer. As an experienced gourmet, you know that a bottle like that shouldn't be too cold. I wonder if it would fit in her asshole? Maybe that would be worth a try! In the photo she hasn't gone that far yet. Only the broken handle of a toilet brush is sticking out. Still: toilet brush in the ass, champagne bottle in the cunt, that's just classy. This woman is versatile.

Someone also gave her a nice tattoo, so really, great! All that's right: "Pig cunt" is now written in pretty gothic letters on her forehead.

She also seems to be offered a reasonable amount of cultivated entertainment. She is taken from behind by a boar while she satisfies a teacher's cock with her snout. The class must be having Bio. Biology class in Albania. What a great teaching model! No wonder Albania is so far ahead in the Pisa studies.

Have I already mentioned her chic hairstyle? Of course I knew it in detail - from the newspaper. And now: even lushier and much more chic! Avant-garde: simply bald. Yes, that's right, now she's finally showing off her beautiful big egg head. Hilarious. And also claps delicately when you hit it. Delicious handprints all over the white pear. Joining together to form a pretty pattern.

And Mr. Wohlgeruch, what did he say when I discreetly sent him a link to his wife. "Nice" he grinned. "Seems comfortable. I like that."

You know what I'm wondering now: this web page may come from Albania. But what about the pictures? Where were they actually taken? I wouldn't be surprised if Mrs. Wohlgeruch is still with us, cheerful and happy or something like that. Or at least behind a cellar door of her beautiful estate. And can't complain about visitors and attention. Probably the same bourgeois company as before. But now things are livelier. I know the teacher too, by the way. I see him every morning in my shaving mirror.

At the moment there's a sad programme about the kidnapping on TV. An interview with Mr. Wohlgeruch and the police chief. Mr. Wohlgeruch is all fidgety with impatience. Obviously he can't wait to hear news about the manhunt for the perpetrators. The police chief is beaming with solid competence. He, too, is completely on the case and asserts that the investigation will continue. It is possible, however, that our unfortunate fellow citizen has fallen into the hands of foreign human traffickers. Once again, the trail leads to Albania. It would be difficult to find out anything there. Corruption, you know! But the fight will not be given up. Mr Wohlgeruch, meanwhile, seems to be in tears. What a fine, what a sensitive man and husband! The programme seems to be shot in a setting that seems to mirror the idea of an Albanian dungeon. Oh, what a fate, worse than death probably.

After the show, the phones are running hot. Great tips. Valuable tips. The police thank them. The broadcaster is pleased; once again the ratings were not bad. A continuation is planned. For reasons of national interest alone, the audience should be kept up to date on a daily basis. Even luscious ladies are already being cast to act out the alleged kidnapping and, above all, the current fate for a soap documentary. The whole thing smells like a good deal. If only the whole thing wasn't so sad.

Fortunately, however, for the particularly compassionate among the viewers, there is a manifestation of hope. Well, it can't be given to everyone. Happiness is unequally distributed in this world. Happiness can also only be acquired by those who have special credentials. For the connoisseur, however, happiness is almost limitless. It can be found on a file that shows the complete interview recording. On top of that, it shows other excerpts of what happened: so the increasingly reassured viewer can see: everything is half as bad. Because the table on which the microphones stand is actually just a plate.

A plate that sits much more firmly than a normal tabletop. Isn't that great? Solidity and workmanship even in German television!

Okay, if that didn't turn you on as much as I hoped it would, then you might be interested to know that the slab sits on a cage in which a buxom wench rests. "Resting" is perhaps a bit of an exaggeration. But she's in there, anyway. Everything fits and even swells a bit through the bars. What also fits are the tails. At least those of Mr Wohlgeruch and the police chief. In the ass cunt and in the sow's mouth cunt. As if made for it. The pins that the interviewer sinks into the flesh in front of his knees also seem to fit. You can also tell that the interview had to be repeated a few times, probably because of this and that. Because of funny noises, for example, or also because everyone showed so much joy in what they were doing. Idealism, dear reader, do you notice that? Idealism creeps into history. A German story, after all. But this time one with a happy ending: you shall recognise it by the tattoo!

Well, some of you will certainly have higher expectations of a "happy ending" and consider the expression used to describe this situation to be exaggerated. But there really is one: a real happy ending! Less than 8 weeks later Mrs. Wohlgeruch is back. Safe and sound, at least almost. But different, somehow different. Even if only the shrewd connoisseur might notice that.

Of course, her happy homecoming is reported in all media. First and foremost on the local television station. Right away with a live interview. All smiling faces. A proud police chief, an enthusiastic husband and Mrs. Wohlgeruch herself. The latter a little monosyllabic. Which may be due to the gag that fills her mouth cavity. To the point of bursting, if you look at the distended cheeks. An accident, no doubt. Although she could be freed from the hands of her evil kidnappers, they probably haven't found the time yet to make her completely whole again. But surely she doesn't hold it against anyone; after all, what are a few minor inconveniences compared to being kidnapped by Albanian fresh meat traders.

Yes, it even seems that the heroic liberators have overlooked a few more trifles. For Mrs. Wohlgeruch, in the midst of these radiant gentlemen, is not sitting in a comfortable armchair like everyone else. Rather, she seems impaled. She is indeed enthroned on a kind of stool. But her broad buttocks do not touch the admittedly rather rough-looking surface. That's because a huge penis is sticking up on the actual seat surface, which the poor woman had to take in rectally. Whether this is done to protect her seat or whether she has been impaled in this way is difficult to say. But apart from Mrs. Wohlgeruch, no one seems to take much notice, so I think it's probably okay with that.