EDNA's CHRISTMAS PARTY
by
Edna Sweetlove
(well that's obvious)
I
I sat in solitary splendour in the Great Hall of Sweetlove Manor, my beautiful ancestral home, and I burped raucously in appreciation of the truly staggering meal my private chef, le magnifique Jean-Claude Pénisse, had just prepared for my delectation. Exquisite fare, expertly served by my well-trained servant Mario (the one with the pert pair of buns) and Gianni (the one with the enormous dong and the huge hirsute testes). And yet, what did it all mean? What was the point of it all? I was buggered if I knew.
True, I could call on the services of Eduardo, my mulatto stud, to shag me rigid as usual later that night. True, if I felt a bit dykey, I could send for Marie-Angélique, my Franco-Greek lesbian sex-slave, to give me a good Velcro-job, but where was the gaiety of life, the excitement, the joy? What was my raison d'être? What was it all about, Alfie - and even more importantly, who the fuck was Alfie?
I emitted a twin rush of polluted air from both ends, accompanied by a gasp of ladylike relief, knowing I could now finish the rest of the third bottle of Krug Extra Brut Extra Strong 1983 without splitting the elastic of my transparent panties.
And then it came to me! A party! A Christmas Party! No, more than just an ordinary Christmas party with silly crackers and even sillier hats; nay, fucking verily, a feast, un grand bal masqué, a bloody great happening! The images came to me: glittering chandeliers, handsome men in beautiful ball gowns with fantastic baroque wigs, the women elegant in black ties and tails but no socks. People in full drag with pink taffeta pleated dresses and bouffant hairdos sprinkled with spaghetti, no, I mean stardust. And SS uniforms galore! And people dressed like hamsters! And, Oh God, I was so confused, I must try and cut down to eight bottles of champagne a day......
Oh, how fucking elegant it would be. And I, the great and glorious Edna Sweetlove, would be the toast of the night, a vision of eldritch beauty, desired bodily by one and all. And, what is more fucking relevant, readily available to anyone with a big dick or a nice pair of lactating tits.
I immediately summoned Adolf, my seven-foot high (with heels) major-domo, my head chef Jean-Claude, Gianni, Eduardo, Marie-Angélique and the rest of my servants and told them of my plans. They were thrilled to bits as things had been a bit quiet at Sweetlove Manor since my late husband, Bert the well-known impotent fairy, had popped his clogs a couple of weeks ago.
II
The Great Hall of Sweetlove Manor looked stunning. Even more stunning than it usually does. Thousands of lights glittered and shimmered off the ancestral Sweetlove silver, reflecting a million glorious shades of shimmering whatever in the bevelled antique mirrors, recently installed at enormous expense by yours truly.
The banqueting table had been arranged in a giant "V" shape and at the apex (is that the correct term I ask myself pedantically?) was my chair, Edna's throne. And in the central space of this U shape (sorry about that I meant V) an entertainment space had been created. Edna chuckled in anticipation. Only she (moi) knew what was in store.
I was dressed magnificently. That's really the only way to describe the wondrous vision I presented. My gold lamé ball gown exposed my HUGE décolletage in a way to drive anyone with a functioning set of hormones wild with uncontrollable lust and bestial love. And underneath its lustrous gilt iridescence lay a pair of golden fishnet stockings held up by a diamond encrusted solid aluminium suspender belt. And nothing else, obviously. As I intended a lucky few guests might well find out.
I took a final admiring glance at my reflection in the priceless 18th century mirror as I heard Adolf, my major-domo, now resplendent in his brand new cerise velvet pantaloons and monkey jacket with the ancient Sweetlove family crest embroidered tastefully in gold thread on his right breast, announce the first guests' arrival.
'M'sieu et Madame Merde!' boomed Adolf to no one in particular. I floated dramatically down the great staircase of Sweetlove Manor to greet the famous restaurateur and his hideously ugly wife (mercifully wearing an orang-utang mask).
'Monsieur Merde!' I exclaimed, 'I am delighted to see you and to meet your delightful lady spouse.' I added, flinching as I caught a glimpse of her facial horror beneath her mask, 'She is as beautiful as legend has indicated.'
'Merci bien, chère Madame Edna,' chorused the Merdes as they bowed respectfully in unison.
'Get stuck into the caviar, dearest Froggies,' I invited them graciously, with a gentle burp.
'Mr Horny and Mrs Alwaysupforit," announced Adolf, my magnificent cerise major-domo imperiously (dearest reader: if you are not acquainted with naughty Mr Horny, this can be remedied by going to allpoetry.com/poem/1337494 ). I went to greet the new arrivals, noticing apprehensively that Mrs Alwaysupforit was heavily pregnant. What use would she be in the orgy I foresaw?
'Edna,' exclaimed Mr Horny, 'I am fucking honoured to have been invited to your wondrous Christmas thrash. May I present my beloved fiancée, the huge-bellied Mrs Alwaysupoforit, Deidre to her friends?'
'Hi there, Deidre,' I said graciously. 'When is the little bastard due? Not that I am interested. Go and guzzle on the goodies. Who cares a fuck about alcohol and its effect on the unborn child when someone else is paying? Anyway, Krug is good for foetuses, any cunt knows that.' And much to her credit, Deidre replied, 'If the baby's a dud, we'll bung it out of the window and try again.' Now, that's what I like to hear.
'Edna,' Mr Horny murmured, 'I have a message from my colleague, Mr Vicarious. He regrets he will not be able to attend this evening but he'll be delighted to hear my description of your party.'
'Tell him to go and fuck himself,' I quipped cordially.
'I think he'll like that remark,' replied Mr Horny, steering his pregnant slut towards the buffet.
Now the guests were arriving thick and fast and I was not always able to greet them personally. I was pleased to see that most of them had taken note of my request either to wear full drag or to dress up as furry animals. Nudity was not an option I relished.
'Little Miss Promiscuous and Miss Peeping Thomasina!' yelled Adolf in awe at their lifelike ursine costumes. 'Inspector R.Sole of New Scotland Yard and the ugly Mrs R. Sole!' he bellowed a few moments later, as the famously thick detective and his bad-tempered midget spouse entered. 'Professor Peter Buttock, Emeritus Professor of Estonian Poetry and French Kissing at Frinton-on-Sea Polytechnic for Spastics!" he roared next. I was so pleased that Peter B. had managed to make it, because I know how busy he could get practising his French kissing on all his students and anyone else who couldn’t run fast enough.
'Naughty Marietta and her fiancé, Randy Rabbit!' trumpeted the major-domo, ushering in the mysterious couple, two individuals known only to a select few of my friends. I embraced them warmly and complimented Randy on the lovely big lump in his trousers. He was so glad I had noticed, he said shyly, fondling it.
'Dr Janos Bumsenfinger of Fledermausstadt an der Fotze, Vampire-hunter extraordinaire!’ Adolf intoned respectfully as the famed Austrian expert in the undead decamped from his hearse. Janos Bumsenfinger's eldritch skeletal figure was a joy to behold.
'Guten Abend, liebe Herr Professor,' I greeted him in my faultless German and he murmured some incomprehensible Kraut rubbish in my shell-like ear in response. I said I was so relieved he had remembered to bring his portmanteau containing a hammer and half a dozen sharpened wooden stakes with him. Just in case. 'Knoblauch! Viele Knoblauch auch!' he added.
‘Albert Nipple Esquire, the world's worst poet!' Adolf shrieked a moment or two later to herald the next two arrivals. Albert Nipple? Had I really invited him? The most boring man in history? The most dreadful poet in the entire universe? There had obviously been some sort of mix-up, but common courtesy obliged me to shake his damp and veiny hand before having him thrown out of the door.
'Victor the renowned one-legged voyeur," bellowed Adolf in evermore incredulous tones as the famous pervert limped into the room, his metallic left leg mercifully hidden by the flapping flares of his fashionably bright canary formal yellow evening wear (if the reader wishes to know more about dear Victor, just try allpoetry.com/story/1407600 or even worse allpoetry.com/story/1467307 ).
'Victor my love,' I exclaimed jovially, kissing him on both cheeks. 'It is such a pleasure to see you again. Please have some champagne and caviar as I know how poor you are. And remind me to introduce you to someone with whom I know you have so much in common.'
'Who is that, Edna, my angel?' queried Victor the Voyeur, his eyes darting around the throng, hoping to see some spare flesh.
'Little Miss Peeping Thomasina, of course!' I said. 'She is nearly as much of a perverted freak as you are!' And a tear came to my eye as I saw how happy the little cripple was at the prospect of meeting a fellow degenerate (and you too can meet Little Miss Peeping Thomasina if you go to allpoetry.com/story/1466859 ).
'Barry Hodges, the great English gentleman traveller!' announced Adolf. I was relieved to see Barry was unaccompanied as it minimised the likelihood of my party being subject to hideous violence from people determined to slaughter his short-lived bed partners.
'Barry, my dear, thank fuck you have come by yourself,' I said to him as he dismounted from his famous motorised pogo-stick, 'I am so sorry to hear of the death of your ninth wife. You must miss her.'
'Edna,' he said, 'I really couldn't give a toss off my wrist. One piece of pussy is much the same as the next.'
The last of the guests were arriving now: Vladimir the Gay Cottaging Pervert (immortalised by my humble self at allpoetry.com/story/1404428 ), Ann and Bob Katzenfreund (former owners of Debenham the Highly Intelligent Cat - please refer to www.allpoetry.com/poem/1635892 ), Randyhornbag the Nymphomaniac Poetess, my dear cousin the senile Ebeneezer Sweetlove, Miss Leggy, Mrs Hairylips, Phillip C*ntface, the remarkably salacious Mrs Mulholland, Felix and Fernanda Filthbox and their pet goat Agnetha, Fergus the Boil-Sucker, Ivor Bigknob (the well-hung Nubian stud) and all my other dearest friends and sexual psychopaths. I looked around with pride at the glittering, shittering throng as they guzzled greedily on my Krug, wolfing down huge amounts of caviar into their eager gobs. Only I knew that I had methodically sprayed the whole buffet with beri-beri extract so they would be shitting themselves helpless within twenty-four hours. Such is friendship and the spirit of Christmas!
But to my horror, I realised there was someone missing. My guest of honour! The great SNOGGO! Surely be would not let me down? I had received his hand-written acceptance only a few days ago. He had sworn on his newly dug mother's grave that he would come to my party, he had promised he would fit it in between a couple of his wondrous adventures. But where fucking was he?
But I need not have feared. A blast of trumpets from outside the door of Sweetlove Manor announced the arrival of my dearest friend, the overweeningly proud SNOGGO. And the whole assembled jingbang were impressed with the cheering from the street. 'SNOGGO! SNOGGO! SNOGGO! SNOGGO! SNOGGO!' chanted the crowd, perhaps a little bit unoriginally.
'The great SNOGGO!' screeched Adolf the major-domo ecstatically, 'accompanied by his seventeen-year old Thai mail-order bride, the gorgeous and long-tongued Mrs SNOGGO!' And the whole room erupted into applause as SNOGGO entered, clad in a fetching greengage coloured military style uniform complete with three rows of medals. I noticed admiringly that the delicious Mrs SNOGGO was totally naked under her transparent Baby Doll dress and the merest suggestion of rouge on her nipples. She was clean-shaven below the waist which I considered to be a tasteful touch and I felt the stirrings of my enormous erection.
SNOGGO greeted me affectionately, shoving his manly tongue down my welcoming gullet in a saucily proprietorial fashion. 'Not in front of your gorgeous seventeen year old mail order bride,' I cautioned him. 'Fuck her, if she doesn't like it, she can bugger off back to the whorehouses of Chiang Mai,' he replied confidentially, but within her hearing. She grinned happily at the jest.
'Hey, my first name Sukhalot and I got real good joke for you,' commented Mrs SNOGGO, in her charming but well-nigh incomprehensible Thai accent. 'I say, I say, I say, what blink like maniac but fuck like crazy tiger?'
'I give up, dear Sukhalot. I don't know. Tell me, what blinks like a maniac but fucks like a crazy tiger?' I replied. Whereupon Mrs SNOGGO started blinking maniacally, her left hand straying to my groin.
'Aha!' I thought, 'I think I know the answer to that one.'
III
We sat down to dinner. I had tried to organise the table plan in the traditional girl-boy-girl sequence, but when you have a load of sexual deviants on your hands, like Vladimir and my loathsome nephew Ephraim (not that he had arrived yet, the little bastard), such things tend towards the meaningless. I had done my best, yet I could see that seating Vladimir the Gay Pervert in between Professor Buttock and Little Miss Promiscuous was possibly an error of judgement, as was my having placed Victor the Voyeur next to Mrs SNOGGO - but how was I to know she would be naked? Oh fuck it, you can only do your best, and even Edna is not infallible.
'Ladies and gents,' brayed Adolf, 'I present Ephraim, Madame Edna's mentally defective adopted nephew!' And in came the stupid little thick wreck, drooling at the corner of his ugly mouth, late as usual. Bugger him. It was only my strong sense of familial love which had allowed him out of his cage for the evening anyway. He was shown to his place at the very far end of the table, behind a screen so as to avoid offending others with his horrid eating habits and constant dribbling, burping and farting.
I will not describe the meal in detail as readers might become too excited; however I must say that Jean-Claude, my world-class executive chef, had outdone himself. Monsieur Merde, the greatest restaurateur in the Western Hemisphere (although one with a slightly unusual culinary obsession - see www.allpoetry.com/poem/1452693 for further details), was so impressed I caught him masturbating in the corridor inter-courses. As the memorable meal came its memorable close, I rose to my feet and the Viennese Sextet (did I mention them?) fell respectfully silent.
'Friends, poets and whatever, lend me your lugholes,' I declaimed. 'A warm welcome to you all, and an even warmer welcome to my honoured guest, the great and wonderful SNOGGO.' SNOGGO stood up and acknowledged the wild cheers with an arrogant wave of his manly hand and I continued with my speech. I noticed his flies were undone and that Sukalot, his lovely Thai wife, was licking her palm clean gratefully.
'Before we adjourn to the ballroom of Sweetlove Manor, where the Vienna Sextet will discard their charmingly archaic musical instruments and whip up a funky storm of hip-hop, cool garage sounds and genuine Jamaican rap, I am happy to announce an amusing little game whilst we relish the enormous goblets of the exquisite 100-year old cognac which my servants are doling out.' I gestured to Adolf, resplendent in cerise, to continue, and sat down graciously to enormous acclaim.
'Ladies and gentlemen, Edna Sweetlove presents for your delectation Don Diego and his Dirty Dwarfs!' And in swaggered the majestic six foot nine inch tall Don Diego, clad in a toreador's uniform, his skin-tight pants displaying an enormous luncheon bulge and wearing the cutest little hat you ever saw. He was seriously gorgeous and I knew he would be servicing me later (it was part of the terms of his contract). Don Diego was followed by a few dozen dwarfs of assorted sexes, all naked as they day they had been born, tumbling over each other in the space between the two arms of the U-shaped banqueting table.
'Wow!' commented Mr Horny. 'They look like a bundle of fun.'
'Oh they are, they are,' agreed Little Miss Promiscuous excitedly. 'I've seen them perform before at one of SNOGGO's musical soirées. They're nothing but a sex-crazed pack of repellently rabid erotic runts. Miss Peeping Thomasina really likes them.'
Mr Horny squeezed Little Miss Promiscuous' upper thigh in a perhaps over-friendly fashion in anticipation of what was to come. Unfortunately, Mrs Alwaysupforit, his intended, noticed this spontaneous expression of friendship and slugged Mr Horny quite hard around his kisser with her handbag. 'Watch it, Mr Horny,' she admonished. 'Remember I'm your fiancée and I've got a flourishing five-month old bun in my oven to prove it.'
'Edna, SNOGGO, ladies and gentlemen, and repulsive little Ephraim,' boomed Adolf the major-domo, thumping the floor with his bright purple leather staff of office. 'The dwarfs will now crawl under the banqueting table and you will all be pleasured orally by their well-trained tongues. Don Diego requests that your hands remain above the table as the dwarfs are not fond of being caressed by strangers without additional payment in advance. Our hostess, Madame Edna, has arranged a wonderful prize for the first guest to reach a climax. And there will be a forfeit to be paid by the tardiest. Lady guests are respectfully requested not to even think of faking an orgasm; the dwarfs will KNOW and will certainly spill the beans. Let the revels commence!' And Adolf sat down to thunderous applause.
'Dear God, let me get a boy one!' screamed Vladimir, faggily.
There were a few spare dwarfs left over after all the guests had been partnered (I myself declined the services of a dwarf as was only befitting of the hostess and, in any case, I was not going to risk coming last as I knew exactly what the forfeit was). The spare dwarfs presented a series of tastelessly bizarre erotic tableaux in order to stimulate the guests visually. Victor the Voyeur watched the dwarfs' cavortings with interest.
The little creatures got to work with their ardent under-table gobbling and we had a winner in less than a minute: Chief Detective Superintendent R. Sole of the Yard gasped ostentatiously and cried out, 'Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes!' His lady wife commented loudly and caustically, 'What a fucking surprise that is.' And she lay back in her chair, wide-legged, to let her dwarf get on with his or her hideous task under the table.
And who do you think came last? Long after everyone else had been finished off, dried up and zipped away, Victor the Voyeur gave a little grunt and shut his eyes in joy. 'Sorry for the delay,' he explained apologetically. 'I'm more used to doing it myself. And the dwarf had sharp teeth.'
And now it was prize and forfeit time. Don Diego produced with a flourish the wonderful gift which was to go to R. Sole of the Yard: a gold-plated butt plug (medium size). The great detective rose to collect his well-deserved prize, and as Don Diego handed the gift over to R. Sole, he gave the little knob on the end a twist and immediately a charmingly tinkly version of that lovely Welsh folk song "The Ash Grove" was heard. And when it came to the chorus, everyone joined in:
"The Mayor of Bayswater
He had a lovely daughter
And the hairs on her dicky-di-doe
Hung down to her knee;
One pink one, one white one,
And one with a bit of shite on,
Oh the hairs on her dicky-di-doe
Hung down to her knee."
Next: the forfeit prize, which is what I was REALLY waiting for. Don Diego produced a second, identical gold-plated butt plug (extra wide, this time) and motioned to Victor to come and receive it; the one-legged voyeur rose to his foot and limped over to the dwarf-master. I could see he was apprehensive. Advisedly.
'Edna,' remarked SNOGGO, 'I don't see it's very fair that the prize-winner and the loser should get the same prize!' But I only laughed. SNOGGO was not as perceptive as usual.
'The difference, O great SNOGGO, is that R. Sole gets to use his butt plug in the privacy of his own home; Victor will have his inserted now, avec una poca forza.'
Then, without further ado, four of Don Diego's Dirty Dwarfs seized poor Victor, pulled down his trousers and slightly soiled underpants, exposing his pitiful stump and aluminium prosthesis, and wrestled him to the ground. Don Diego unceremoniously slathered some lube on the celebrated unipod voyeur’s nether parts and then rammed the butt plug up him with consummate skill. Victor yelped a bit as he received his prize.
'I'm not entirely certain that's lawful,' observed Chief Detective Superintendent R. Sole of New Scotland Yard as Don Diego twisted the protruding knob on the golden butt plug to give us a second chorus of "The Ash Grove" which everyone joined in (with the exceptions of Victor who was weeping too much, of Professor Janos Bumsenfinger who didn’t know the words, and of my nephew Ephraim who was too busy picking his nose mindlessly).
"You'd need a coal miner
To find her vagina
'Cos the hairs on her dicky-di-doe
Hung down to her knee;
One pink one, one white one,
And one with a bit of shite on,
Oh the hairs on her dicky-di-doe
Hung down to her knee."
After Victor had been helped off the ground and had adjusted his dress with as much dignity as he could muster, he returned to his place, his limp slightly exaggerated by the giant butt plug. He was naturally pelted with bread roll leftovers, whilst his progress was accompanied by a round of good-natured jeers and roars of caring mockery.
The major-domo struck my enormous ceremonial Burmese gong with his beautiful stick of office. 'Ladies and gentlemen, please join Edna in the ceremonial conga into the ballroom!' And off we danced, with poor little Ephraim bringing up the rear, burping and farting as he went.
IV
Our gay revels continued. My own memories are a little hazy as my colourful selection of drinks began its inevitable toll, but a few images will remain graven on my mind for ever: Little Miss Promiscuous having a quick knee-trembler with Mr Horny up against a pillar in the ballroom whilst Mrs Alwaysupforit was taking a comfort break - Victor the Voyeur coming up to me to say that he had initially felt humiliated by the butt plug insertion ceremony, but he was now used to it and he would wear it on his next dogging trip - SNOGGO drunkenly telling an enthralled Monsieur et Madame Merde about one of his more murky adventures, the one involving the big pile of soft elephant shit - Vladimir groping Ivor Bigknob and receiving a couple of broken molars and a loosened canine for his pains - Fergus the boil-sucker drooling happily over some of the stains on Fernanda Filthbox's discarded knickers - my idiot nephew Ephraim puking uncontrollably over one of the dwarfs and the surprised look on his ugly deformed face when Adolf the major-domo threw him out into the garden on my snarled instructions - Agnetha the goat getting sodomised by one of the less discerning dwarfs - Barry Hodges arranging some future holiday trips with a variety of women, none of whom knew that a touch of the Hodges knob was a sure ticket to dusty death. It was a truly memorable night and one which few who were there will ever forget.
For myself, I recall a rather disappointing shag with Don Diego (naturally watched surreptitiously by Victor the Voyeur) but a really cool snog and intimate three-way grope with Miss Leggy and the ebony Ivor Bigknob .
After the ball was over, just at the break of day, many a heart was broken, as the guests all went away. However, I had negotiated with Don Diego to supply a few of the prettier dwarfs for a post-party gangbang to avoid the feeling of anti-climax which can so easily spoil a good night. And, would you believe it, just as I and the dwarfs were really getting down to our session in earnest, I noticed that Little Miss Peeping Thomasina had secreted herself behind my luxurious damask bedroom curtains to have a good eyeful. I was quite annoyed at her presumption and allowed the dwarfs to beat her up quite seriously. She will NOT be on my guest list again. And so life goes on: I have my annual Easter party (complete with lifelike crucifixion and simulated instant resurrection) to look forward to next.
HAPPY CHRISTMAS FROM DEAR OLD EDNA
Gold trophy winner
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
Very well done. Very funny. 
