Celeste Withdraws

I know a lot a people have been wondering why Celeste has withdrawn “temporarily” from publishing the Celestial Reviews. I don’t suppose anyone actually believes the phony explanation she put out in CR 310. Hard disk crash. Haa! The story is a lot more complicated. Incredibly, it started with the marital problems of a minor pornwriter, “Homer Vargas,” thus . . . .

Homer loved his Angela.

He loved her deeply, totally. She was his light, his life. Even after thirteen years of marriage, she still had the smashing figure of a woman in her twenties. People constantly expressed amazement that she was married and even more that she could be the mother of a twelve year old daughter. His Angela was just beautiful. Every day at work, Homer yearned to get home to her She filled his thoughts and she filled his dreams. Unfortunately, she did not fill his arms.

Homer had met Angela when he was working in South America. They had been virgins when they married; Angela because of very traditional, protective parents and convent education, Homer because Anglo girls in his small Southern high school just didn’t find big brown boys with funny accents very attractive. In State University, even the few Latina women were more interested in the Black and WASP “jock” types, so he had been very frustrated. When Homer met Angela and she let him hold her hand on the very fourth date, he was in heaven. No other girl had ever let him take such liberties with her. Within a month or two, Angela was letting him feel her titties. She was beautiful, intelligent and he thought she really liked sex. What more could he want in a wife?

The problem seemed to start when they came back to the United States and had Cindy, bang-bang, almost as soon as they were married. Angela hadn’t really planned to have a baby so soon; it just happened. Homer guessed she became frightened by her fertility. Angela’s mother had had thirteen children; Angela must have wanted to avoid anything like that. She was determined to finish her degree and to have a career. Cindy was a setback and she said they weren’t going to have any more babies for a while.

Angela was one of those women who could not take the pill, so they had to use the rhythm method. (They tried using condoms a couple of times, but she hated it and Homer couldn’t say he enjoyed it much either.) Unfortunately, Angela’s period was pretty irregular. On average it was short, but occasionally she could go thirty or more days. Those of you who know about how the rhythm method works know that means they had a very narrow window of “safe” days each month.

After Cindy was born Angela decided that to reduce the risk, they would have to stop having sex so frequently. They hadn’t been having sex that frequently, anyway. Homer took it badly. Sex was very important to him. He thought was the ultimate way of saying ‘I love you’ to the most desirable woman in the world. Maybe it was difficult for Angela, too at first, but through some kind of internal discipline, she seemed to convince herself that she didn’t really want sex that much. Once or twice a month seemed fine with her. Once or twice? Many times they were (Homer was) still eagerly awaiting the “safe” days when Angela’s period showed up unexpectedly and he had to start counting all over again.

The standard advice for couples using the rhythm method is to use “other means” to express love and affection during those days. Angela, however, was very conservative and reacted with disgust when Homer tried to pleasure her with his fingers or — worse — with his mouth on her pussy. He got them a copy of “The Joy of Sex” and once or twice after reading it Angela brought herself to place her lips on tip of his penis, but she just couldn’t force herself to put it in her mouth. Thus, for most of each month they ended up not having sex of any kind.

Don’t get the wrong impression, Homer was sure Angela did love him, but she began to think that love didn’t need to include sex. They had much in common in addition to their daughter. Angela was a great cook and they enjoyed reading and listening to classical music together. She did all those sweet “wifely” things like straighten his tie, tell him when his socks didn’t match, and keep an eye on his weight. Homer knew that if he looked a lot better than most guys his age, it was because of Angela. He didn’t think she meant to be cruel in denying him sex; he suspected that she really did not understand just how much a man needs it.

Since she was intent on their not “doing it” most days, Angela became reluctant to let Homer be too “lovey-dovey.” Over the years, she began to reject his kisses, took a dislike to being hugged or cuddled, and would seldom let him even touch her beautiful tits, which she was constantly complaining were “too big.” “What’s got into you, Homer?” she would protest if he forgot and tried to take her hand or slip his arm around her waist. She probably felt (maybe with some justification) that he was trying to seduce her. Perhaps she feared that if she allowed herself even a little sexual pleasure, she would lose control and go “all the way” and another trip to the maternity ward would be the result.

Homer was going crazy. He tried doing all those things that are supposed to make women melt. He sent her flowers, but she berated him for being silly or thanked him because they made “the house” look nice. He asked her to go out on romantic evenings for dinner, but she thought it was a waste of money. (Even then his company was starting to take off and there was always enough money for entertaining members of her family.) Angela didn’t like to drink, so sharing a bottle of wine over a quiet dinner at home was out, too.

Homer had the idea of their taking dancing lessons together, but that was another disaster. Angela hated it and constantly criticized the other women for wearing short skirts and heels to the practice sessions to “show off their legs.” He began to leave those women’s magazines with articles on how to keep the “spark” in your marriage lying around. Angela wasn’t buying. She was determined to make sure that no sparks led to no fires.

More and more Angela dressed to minimize her innate attractiveness, although she could never be unattractive to Homer. She would never wear high heels, deciding they hurt her feet. She wouldn’t wear earrings; the clip-ons pinched and she was allergic to the wires in the pierced kind, so she said. She preferred the triple protection of baggy slacks with pantyhose over panties. When Angela “had” to wear a skirt, it was always loose and a little longer than the fashion — never with a slit and never above the knee. Homer tried buying her shorter, tighter skirts, but Angela wouldn’t put them on. The sexy pajamas he got for her birthday languished in the bottom of some drawer. Bangles, bracelets, and necklaces she found gaudy. Homer didn’t even bother asking about an ankle chain.

Homer had grown up as an only child and had always wanted lots of children. One, admittedly pretty perfect little girl, was not enough for him. Angela, however, just fawned over dozens of nieces and nephews and seemed content with Cindy. Homer, too, thought their nieces and nephews were cute, but cursed his fate that while all of Angela’s sisters and sisters-in-law were having three and four kids for their husbands (one sister-in-law had eight!), Angela would give him only one. And not all those marriages were happy ones.

Angela’s sister Margarita, for example, was married to an alcoholic who beat her and Consuelo’s husband spent all his money on his mistress, with whom he had a child. Yet Margarita had had two boys and two girls for her man. Consuelo had given her cheating SOB three girls and a boy and was pregnant again. Even worse for Homer was putting up with Angela’s relatives who wondered aloud why they didn’t “go for a boy,” as if he wouldn’t be just as overjoyed to have four or five more little girls competing for their daddy’s attention!

Little by little having more kids and the resentment that Angela refused to let him make her pregnant again got to be almost an obsession with Homer. Everywhere he went he noticed pregnant women, women nursing babies, women with a brood of kids. When he saw an attractive woman with a man, Homer wondered how long it would be before the guy had her pregnant. He looked at balding, pudgy guys with three or four kids and ground his teeth. What had he done to deserve this torture?

All this was mixed up with sex or the lack of it. At night Homer would lie awake next to his sexy wife, yearning to reach over and touch her and knowing it would only anger her. Outwardly he looked like the luckiest man alive — a beautiful wife, his company doing better and better, a pretty, intelligent daughter — but he wanted more sex and more kids. Life seemed so unfair.

Why didn’t Homer have an affair, you ask? I told you already; he loved Angela. He wanted her, not another woman. He wanted Angela to be the mother of his children; look at their success with Cindy. For the same reason he never seriously considered divorce.

At last he decided to have a serious talk with Angela. Luckily, Cindy was at a friend’s house on that Friday night and they could be alone. It wasn’t easy, but he told Angela about his feelings, how he loved her, but how he needed for their love to be physical, too. He admitted he wished she would dress more like the sexy woman she was. And finally, could they never have another baby?

Angela exploded. “So, that’s all you want! To dress me like a whore and fuck me ’till I’m pregnant!

“No, of course not, Honey Maybe I said it wrong. I meant . . . .” Homer collapsed in tears. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing from his wife. Seeing him cry only riled her more. In the heat of anger she said that she didn’t love him, that he had never satisfied her sexually and never would!

That’s when Homer got mad. *He* — who had suffered blue balls 360+ days of each of the thirteen years they had been married because *she* refused to have sex, — had not satisfied *her!* Did she think sex was a spectator sport in which the man “performed” to please his woman? Homer knew Angela had never had an orgasm, but was that just his fault? She never allowed herself to try!

Homer knew he needed help but who? A woman, of course, a good Catholic like Angela, someone intelligent that Angela would respect, but most important, a woman with a sense of humor who loved sex. It didn’t take long to light upon the ideal woman. He thought of the woman who once said that one of his stories was “disgusting,” but that she had laughed her head off and then “done the dirty” with her happy husband. — Celeste.

Homer decided to track Celeste down. It wasn’t as hard as you think. Have you ever heard of “iso-logues”? They are lines linguists can draw on detailed maps marking the way that people in different regions of the country use words. For example in some places people say “nobody” in others, “no one.” Generally, linguists can demarcate exactly where more people use one and where the other. That is but a very obvious example, but these maps are far more subtle. Word frequency, word placement, grammar, syntax, all can be analyzed and, in Celeste’s case, they were.

Homer put his company’s programmers on it. Every sentence Celeste had ever written in over three hundred Celestial Reviews went into a huge database. Of course Celeste had told everyone some things about herself that were plausible — married with daughters, Catholic, English teacher in high school.

Homer’s linguistic map located her to the western half of a certain rural county in a medium size state. His private investigators found there was only one sexy English teacher in the local high school. Guess what; she was Catholic, married, and had two daughters. Bingo! Homer had Celeste!

Celeste didn’t reply to his first e-mail. He didn’t expect her to. Then he mentioned the name of her husband and her oldest daughter’s best friend and hinted he would expose her. “What do you want?” Celeste finally wrote back.

Homer knew what she thought — that like millions of other ASSM readers, he fantasized about shagging the sexy English teacher. But Homer was in love with Angela. He told Celeste to meet him in the bar of a large hotel in a medium size city near her home. He was reasonable about allowing her to find a time that would not arouse suspicion in her husband, but Celeste was very apprehensive, suspecting the worst.

Homer had told her how to recognize him, a tall brown man with a mustache and a red cravat. He had the pictures his private investigators had obtained. They didn’t do Celeste justice. He spotted her the instant she walked in — long straight brown hair. slim but with large breasts and the roundness of a woman who had borne children. She wore a business suit cut just a little bit provocatively, heels, large earrings. Celeste had read his stories and had decided to dress to please him.

“How did you find me?” she asked, upset, but not able to restrain her curiosity. “I though my system with AOL was foolproof. I’m going to sue the bastards!”

“You’d better not or I won’t be the only one who knows who you really are. Besides, that’s not how I found you.” Homer explained how innocent information, a few lucky guesses and the linguistic maps had uncovered her identity. Celeste had been drinking as he explained her undoing. As he spoke, she realized she was trapped. The combination of the liquor and the despair was fatal. She broke down in tears.

“Oh God! No, no” she sobbed. “You are going to blackmail me and I’ll have to do anything you say. I know what’s going to happen now. You must be able to see how wet I am.” Celeste was becoming hysterical. “You’re going to take me to your hotel room to fuck me senseless in front of video cameras. In the elevator you are going to reach up under my skirt and discover I’m not wearing panties. You’re going to finger me to an orgasm that will leave me incoherent.”

“Celeste,” he tried to break in

“I can’t believe this is happening to me. I was a virgin when I married. I’ve always been faithful to my husband,” she wailed. “Why is my body going to betray me like this, at the worst possible time of month when I’m ovulating?. Oh! It’s your magnificent cock; it mesmerizes me. You are going to lay me back and eat my pussy until I am so hot I can’t make you use a condom.”

“Celeste, Celeste!” he tried again without success.

“You’ll have me in an overpowering rut. I’ll spread my legs for you and beg you to make me pregnant, plead with you to put a little brown bastard in my white womb that I can never explain my husband. I’ll scream for you to place your cock at the opening of my dripping fuck hole and to slowly split . . . .”

“Celeste, stop it! Stop it!” He shook her a little. “This story is a (Cons, Rom.).” Celeste opened her eyes in confusion as her fantasy dissolved. Her breathing began to become more regular. “And even if it weren’t,” Homer grinned, “Whatever I was slowly going to split, Celeste, it sure wouldn’t be your infinitive!”

The implication of his words hit her like a tank. Celeste collapsed in mortification. Realizing that in the heat of passion, she, ASSM’s Goddess Linguistic Purity, had committed a grammatical error, devastated the poor woman. Homer knew now she would be putty in his hands. He told her his story.

*****

“So all you have to do is make Angela into a sexy, cockloving woman like you,” he concluded. Of course Celeste tried to say she couldn’t do it, that she was an English teacher not a psychologist, but Homer knew she had done counseling and insisted she try. It was that or the PTA of ____burg would have some very interesting new gossip about one of the English teachers. Celeste agreed.

Money was no object. Homer set Celeste up as a language coach in a house in his city during her school vacation. Angela’s pronunciation really did need some polishing, so it fit. Homer didn’t know just how Celeste turned their practicing of vowel sounds and syntax into “girl talk,” but since sex is never very far from Celeste’s mind, he guessed it wasn’t too hard.

Celeste was astounded at Angela’s attitude and soon found herself genuinely interested in trying to help her. “You don’t know what you’re missing, honey” Celeste told her, grinning.

“You mean that you just let your husband *do it* all the time?” Angela asked incredulously.

“At least every day, babe, more if I can on weekends.”

“But you already have three children and you said you don’t want any more. Why don’t you make him stop?

“Because I love my husband and I love getting fucked,” Celeste replied.

“But Homer wants to do those – *things*,” Angelica explained, shivering with disgust.”

“What *things* do you mean?” Celeste asked, although she was afraid she knew.

“He tries to put his mouth on my breasts. And if I didn’t stop him he would put his *hand* between my legs. One time he even tried to put his *mouth* down there!”

“But of course, dear. That’s the way a man gets us warmed up to enjoy the main event.” “Oh, Celeste, don’t say things like that. You sound like one of those horrible women. The sisters told us only whores actually enjoyed “doing it.”

“Are you calling me a whore, Angela?”

“Oh, no, Celeste. I’m sorry! But I just don’t know what to think.”

“The sisters at your school were probably like the ones at mine. They were feeling guilty about masturbating in their cells at night and projected that guilt on us. Sex is supposed to be pleasant. A few good orgasms every day make you feel great!”

“What is an ‘orgasm’ anyway? Even when I was letting Homer do it when I wanted to have a baby, nothing ‘happened.'”

“The woman has to help make it happen, darling. You’ve got to let Homer touch you and feel you up good. Relax and tell him what you like and don’t like. My husband knows that I like to have him chew my ear and tongue my neck. Each of us has different things that turns us on. Don’t be in a hurry and don’t let him be.”

“You mean I have to just lie there and let him arouse me, make me ‘want’ it?”

“Of course you don’t just lie there! You are the director of the orchestra. And don’t just tell him what you like. Moan appreciatively when he hits a sensitive spot. Kiss him back with all you’ve got. Play with his prick. Kiss *his* nipples.”

“But why did I never get an orgasm though he always did?”

“It’s nature, honey. For a man, having an orgasm is like learning to walk. Unless his equipment is defective, it happens. For us, having an orgasm is more like learning to cook. If you never try, it never happens. And the more you practice, the better you get. But Mother Nature gave us something to compensate for having to work a little harder. We can have one after another.”

“What!” my wife asked in disbelief.

“Maybe I’d better show you.” Celeste smirked.

“Celeste, no!” Angela protested, but Celeste suspected that their sexy talk might have Angela more aroused that she realized. Besides, Celeste had taken the precaution of spiking Angela’s orange juice with Absolute 100 and her pupil was a bit tipsy.

More than most women, Angela was shy about her body. She tried to push Celeste away when the teacher reached over to fondle her older pupil’s breast. “Let, me, Angela. You are so gorgeous. You must torture poor Homer by not letting him do this.” Celeste said, fondling Angeles’s tits through her blouse. “Your tits must be beautiful, honey. Let me see them,” she whispered even as she unbuttoned the blouse of Homer’s unresisting wife. Even as she removed Angela’s bra and began stroking her boobs, Celeste was planning her next move.

“You ‘are’ beautiful, honey. These titties deserve to be worshipped and kissed,” Celeste said, demonstrating. Angela moaned as Celeste expertly tongued the nipples. “Teach Homer how to do this and let him make you a happy woman,” Celeste whispered and unzipped Angela’s skirt.

The sensations of having her tits sucked by Celeste’s talented mouth prevented Angela from realizing that Celeste now had her stripped down to just her panties. Interrupting her work, Celeste gently stood Angela up and led her to the bedroom where the dazed Angela let Celeste remove her panties before laying her on the big bed.

Celeste stooped to admire. Angela was as beautiful as Homer had told her, especially her pussy. Celeste knew there was nothing that makes a woman more unique than her pussy. She had seen and tasted plenty of them. They came in all different sizes, colors and shapes; some were tucked inside like a little girl’s cunnie and some had thick luscious lips that come out to greet you. Some were nested in bushes of fur and others are covered with transparent fuzz. She appreciated Angela’s wild, unused qualities and told her, although not in those words.

Women are a good deal more verbal than men, especially during love-making. Celeste knew that her husband could almost make her come just by telling her what he was about to do. Probably that was one of Homer’s mistakes, she thought. “Oh, Angela. baby. You have the cutest pussy. Let me make it wet for you, so wet,” she whispered all the time she was petting and stroking her. “That’s it, honey, let me love your beautiful pussy.”

Gently Celeste pulled the lips apart and looked at Angela’s inner lips, giving them their first, playful lick which made her shudder. Next Celeste spread the tops of Angela’s unvisited pussy until she found her clit. She blew it a soft salute, but avoided touching her there yet. Celeste would work up to that slowly. Before she had Angela sufficiently aroused, her clit would be too delicate to be handled. Celeste stalked Angela’s pussy slowly, knowing that women, even more so than men, love to be teased. She zeroed in on the inner part of her victim-lover’s thigh, a most tender spot. She licked it, kissed it, made designs on it with the tip of her tongue. Celeste came dangerously close to Angela’s pussy, then floated away. Celeste made Angela uncertain about just when she would strike.

Suddenly Celeste was licking the crease where Angela’s leg joined her pussy. She felt Angela quiver as she nuzzled her face into Angela’s untamed bush. Brushing her lips over Angela’s now flowing slit without pressing down further excited Homer’s inexperienced wife. Celeste had her! Soon Angela was bucking up from the bed, straining to get more of Celeste to her. It was time. Celeste put her lips right on top of Angela’s slit.

Celeste kissed her, gently, then harder. With her tongue, Celeste separated Angela’s pussy lips and when she opened up, her seductress ran her tongue up and down between the layers of Angela’s pussy flesh. Gently she spread Angela’s unresisting legs more with her hands.

Gently, ever so gently, Celeste began to tongue-fuck her. Angela’s moans of arousal and frustration told her she was teasing my wife unmercifully. Now, far from rejecting the sweet manipulation of her sex as degrading and perverted, Angela was dying for some attention her clit. Celeste took a quick look. Angela’s clit had gotten hard enough to peek out of its covering. Angela wailed when Celeste licked it and again when she licked harder, pressing into her skin.

Gently, Celeste pulled the pussy lips aside and flicked her tongue against Angela’s uncovered clit. She did it quickly. Angela’s legs shuddered. Sensing that Angela was approaching orgasm, Celeste made her lips into an O and took the clit into her mouth. Starting to suck gently, Celeste looked up at Angela’s face for her reaction. She could handle it so she began to suck harder. Angela was responding enthusiastically. “Typical,” thought Celeste. The frigid ones are always the hottest, once you cracked their shell. She sucked harder. Angela lifted her pelvis into the air with the tension of her rising orgasm. Celeste hung on, keeping her hot mouth on Angela’s clit. “Don’t stop. Please! Don’t ever stop!” Angela wailed.

Celeste was pleased with Angela so far but she wanted to do something else to intensify the naive woman’s pleasure. She began to finger-fuck Angela, who was enjoying her teacher’s cunt- licking talents. Celeste made for the sensitive area at the roof of her vagina. This is what drove Celeste crazy when her husband fucked her. Well, there was no cock handy so her fingers would have to do the fucking.

Wetting them with Angela’s flow, Celeste slipped one then two fingers into her pussy. She slid them inside, rubbing slowly at first, then a little faster, massaging her G spot rhythmically with a “come here” motion. Celeste paid careful attention to Angela’s responses, speeding up only when her pupil did. Angela’s ragged breathing told Celeste what to do. Sucking her clit and finger-fucking her at the same time, Celeste was giving Angela far more stimulation than Homer would be giving her with a cock alone. She could feel Angela’s almost uncontainable excitement. Homer’s aroused wife turned red and began to tremble.

Even when Angela’s orgasm broke, Celeste didn’t let go of her clit, hanging on for the duration. When Angela started to come down from the first orgasm, Celeste pressed her tongue along the underside of Angela’s clit, leaving her lips covering the top. Gently, she moved her tongue in and out of her cunt. Her fingers were still inside and she began to move them a little too, gently though, knowing how sensitive Angela would be just now. Bingo! Angela was off towards another orgasm.

Not content to make her come, Celeste wanted to make Angela a love-slave. She didn’t leave her leave her alone just yet. She talked to her, stroked her body, caressed her breasts, pinched her nipples. She continued making love to her quietly until Angela had floated all the way down.

“Oh Angela, baby, you come so good! You love it. Why don’t you let Homer do this?” Celeste asked.

“My God! I’ve never felt anything like that. Is that what Homer wanted to do?”

“Of course not. Homer just wanted to please you. That’s what *you* wanted him to do, but didn’t know how to tell him. He’ll need lots of training. Men aren’t born knowing how to eat a pussy. You’ve got to show him. But if he loves you, he’ll keep practicing until he does exactly what you want.”

“But if I let him do that, how will I be able to stop him from . . . you know?

“Do you want to?”

“I might not; that’s the problem.” If I let him make me come like that, he’ll be able to fuck me silly any time he wants. He’ll keep me pregnant from now until menopause. I’ll have a house full of kids, just like Mamma.” Angela had begun to cry.

“Not necessarily, honey,” Celeste said holding her close an comforting her. “Talk to Homer about it. Let him make love to you without fucking on the days you’re fertile, if that’s what you both want. But what would be wrong with letting him have two or three more babies?. You are still young enough and you know he can afford it. With child care, having babies need not interfere too much with your studies.”

“I hope you’re right!” Angela smiled weakly.

*****

A few months later Celeste got another e-mail from Homer, setting up another appointment in the same hotel bar. She looked a lot less apprehensive when she walked in this time. Smiling in her short yellow frock she came over and sat down.

“I’ve got some good news and bad news,” Homer grinned. “First I have to thank you again for the change in Angela. Now she not only fucks me like a twenty dollar whore, but afterwards she says ‘thank you,’ not ‘sank you.’ Better yet, I have her pregnant with a little girl. Can you guess what we’re going to name her?”

“Oh, thank you, Homer. I’m so happy for you,” Celeste said sweetly, reaching over to take his hand. “So what is the bad news?” she inquired.

“That’s not the only change in Angela. She’s become a real slut. I told her about my stories and she has really gotten to enjoy them, especially some I wrote under a former non de plume.” “Oh, I didn’t know you had written under another name, but it sounds wonderful! What’s bad about that?” Celeste replied, puzzled. “After reading my other stories, Angela doesn’t like (Cons., Rom.) anymore. She thinks they’re too tame. She wants me to make this a (NC, Interr, Wife, preg),” Homer replied, a cruel Arc Light gleaming in his eye.

“Oh god! No, no” Celeste sobbed as the realization dawned on her.

“Yes, I can blackmail you and you’ll have to do anything I say. Come here with me.” Homer could see how wet the horny teacher was as he led her toward his hotel room to fuck her senseless in front of the video cameras. In the elevator he reached up under her skirt and confirmed she wasn’t wearing panties. He fingered her to an orgasm that left her incoherent.

“I can’t believe this is happening to me,” Celeste wailed when they got to his room. “I was a virgin when I married. I’ve always been faithful to my husband. Why is my body betraying me like this, at the worst possible time of month when I’m ovulating?”

“Because of this,” Homer explained, fishing out his enormous cock. Mesmerized, Celeste was helpless as Homer lay her back and ate her pussy until she was so hot she couldn’t make him use a condom. He had her in an overpowering rut. She spread her legs for him and began to beg, “Oh, fuck me, Homer! Make her pregnant. Please, put a little brown bastard in my white womb that I can never explain to my husband. Put your cock at the opening of my fuck hole,” she screamed. “I want you to . . . I want you to . . . Slowly split My sopping slit”

Evil elation filled Homer as he saw how in only minutes he had corrupted the Erstwhile Empress of Erotica. Reaching between her legs he expertly flicked her indirect object with one hand and pinched the engorged modifier of a large dangling participle with the other. Then he slid his first person singular into a perfect tense conjunction with her direct object. The horny grammarian was in an imperative mood and her active voice rang out, “Fuck me! Fuck me!” Homer had Celeste where he wanted her, on her hand and knees, writhing in passion, overusing alliteration and splitting infinitives right in the middle of her period.

Best of all he had made her do it doggerel!