This unexpected pressure in your guts, lower... still further down, towards the sinews, stop! You got it, your little scrotum... your veins throbbing, crackling, plop plop plop, you standing there before the eruption, but... go back up a little, what does your tongue feel like? Mmmm... you're not too well, your tongue: furry, saliva coming down from your molars, your breath: pant pant dog-like. Ah, and your hands are trembling, dear. After first look, 5 seconds only. No one else's made you that sound up to now. How do I know? Anekeeffect. Po-si-ti-ve.

Thinking it doesn't work with me? Gigantic, hard, stuffed into their bras, these ones never large enough, with my so sensitive nipples... of them I am aware, eve-ry second. When stucking them into the cups, a massage with creams for giving them top form, then as I push the nipples... I'm going to reveal a secret to you. They're directly connected with my little pussy, just a light touch there near the armpits, she's already wet. Those two Misters are more than enough for an orgasm. Watch me doing it and you'll get a premium multiple orgasm... White cotton soaked in the sweet honey, ass high doggy-style, wet lips and hand between legs, while I'm watching you with my blue light-eyed innocence. Now they're shut, I'm kneading my breasts, my fingers swimming cream-deeper, a spin on the hard nipples, aaaahh... hurts! If you was here you would know what to do, violent masculine as I like. Take it in your mouth, please... I beseech you, I do need it so much... your doggie in heat... mhhmm... she will behave, promise. I'll keep my mouth shut (eh...), no playing the smart, no drags... only you and me. Just sex, no strings attached. Enter, ohhhh, this is an order!


Title: After school
Description: I may be 18, but I'm still in high school. They force me into this school uniform because we're all supposed to look the same, without any individuality. The uniform obviously wasn't made with me in mind: the blouse is way too tight, the buttons look like they're ready to pop off, and that tie -- it's always resting on my tits. I stuff myself as best I can into a minimizer bra that's too small for me, so my tits aren't as noticeable. In spite of that, my teachers think that I'm trying to use my body to gain an advantage at school, teasing and provoking all the male teachers. I look forward every day to coming home, getting undressed, and just releasing my body and skin from this hateful prison that the system imposes on me.

Title: Finally alone...
Description: Once I hide myself in my room, I easily rediscover that secret woman inside me. I hang around all evening barefoot just wearing my favorite T-shirt and cotton panties. Once I take off my bra, my nipples have all the room they need to get hard. As my skin stretches and my nipples get erect, I touch and caress myself gently, giving myself some extra loving after spending all day in that constrictive uniform.

Title: Cheerleader
Description: If I could choose to, I would never do it, but because of the way I look, the school forces me to be on the cheerleading squad for the boy's basketball team. But one day, I decided to try a little something: I wore my T-shirt braless, so that my boobs would jiggle and shake all around while I jumped around and danced on the sidelines. My erect nipples caught the attention of all the men sitting in the stands. You should have seen the men trying to hide their hard-ons from their wives and daughters!

Title: Cheerleader bis
Description: So, anyhow, even though I try to fit in with the other cheerleaders, there's no denying that my curves are my most noticeable quality. I use padded bras so my nipples stay comfortable while hopping around in that stupid dance we were taught, but you know what my real dream is? I want our team to get to the last game in the season, and then nobody can stop me from taking my shirt off and flashing my boobs to everyone -- especially the men drooling over me in the stands. After all, isn't that what all those good fathers and "family men" are secretly dreaming of?

Title: In my parents' dining room
Description: Here's where my parents invite their friends over for dinner. They're all "respectable" people who want to talk about "adult stuff," and they always bring their sons and daughters who are my age, so "all the boys can hang out together." At that time, I play along with them, acting the part of a "silly goose" teenager, talking to these tie-wearing teens with brit-pop haircuts. If they only knew that when they're not there I masturbate on the exact same table, topless and with my panties all wet!

Title: My uncle's car...
Description: I’ve been living for the last 5 years with my mother’s sister and her husband, a Milanese manufacturer. They have no children, so they adopted me, “the maladjusted girl”, who they’re trying now to regiment into that style which is proper for people like them, would-be class people. Here you have two lovely prototypes of the Italian respectable society, empty shells which are as spotless outside as filthy inside. Being materialist, they both fight for keeping on having their social standing acknowledged, and to do so they make the most of the same exasperating status symbols. They lack nothing: a villa on the outskirts of Milan, an apartment in Cortina, a good name high school for her daughter, a driver, a gardener, a housemaid, and last but not least, a Philippine cook… A black S Class, a sumptuous green Range Rover, a nice Rolex on his wrest, and some jewels by Damiani on her neck… Ah, of course, there’s also a sailing boat in Antibes! But, what about her "daughter"?… Money gets squandered there buying me some dresses to show my parents’ friends when they come and see us. What better way to express my utmost scorn for these so-called parents, than snapping some innocent photos of myself on the back seats of their car?

Title: Sometimes I would love to…
Description: Of course my dearest aunt would never imagine me being dressed like this, like a normal 18 years old girl, with slightly darker make-up, which makes me look a bit older; she and her husband don't even know that I own some jeans clothes and a few miniskirts. If I could, however, go out tomorrow on my own, without them unfailingly commenting on my likes and inquiring about where I'm going to, there… I would then get dressed like that, I would take my uncle's Mercedes and dive into the dreariest places on the industrial outskirts of Milan, assuming the role of a bored good family girl looking for trouble to salt his tedious bourgeois life just a bit. I would turn on some little group of workmen sitting on a bench with their usual beer after the night shift… just as Wilde used to enjoy himself in his time.

Title: The House
Description: There, today I find myself taking great pains to explain my situation. First of all, my aunt has found out, thanks to somebody, the existence of my website; I knew it would soon happen, but it has a bit earlier than I expected. Web-analphabetic as she is, she hasn't gone and seen it, however, she has come to believe her Anekee is now into porn business. My uncle, who happens to be her husband as well, has had to play his part too, so I've found myself thrown out of home. Here I've reacted in an opportunistic way, I know, but I accept any criticisms all the same. In short, when my uncle screwed me he never noticed that my digital little camera was taking pictures of the "corpus delicti"; thanks to that, this year I could put his balls on the gridiron every time I wanted, so that he had to stump up the money I needed in exchange for my silence, and I spent it on my website. In the eve of my "departure" from home, I made a deal with him so that he would let me use his Mercedes and his late parents' house, now neglected and very ramshackle. But I can't complain. You might say Anekee is a little whore who has sold her principles, but I've come here to stay some time, just to write my book and keep silent about my uncle and aunt's identity, for now. The system has produced me and has to feed me to keep its balance, and I take advantage of this situation having my website as my protector and You as my witnesses.

Title: My office
Description: The house is really quite ramshackle, but since it doesn't cost me anything at present I just can't complain. Here on the first floor, just rightwards of the front door stands the householder's old office. He had the house built, and as a landlord he met his farmers in this room where he squeezed money out of them by means of the ground rents. I may be shameless, but since my coming here this office has experienced a Renaissance which the old householder would never ever dream of. I've made no changes here, except for connecting my computer to the one phone line in the house. That awful skinflint, my filthy uncle's father, would no doubt never think that one day, his old leather chair would welcome me, a nasty 18 y.o. girl walking along what once were his house and office with just her lingerie on. Then I'm ready to work on my "erotic" website and - why not? – to have some good relaxing fingering on the table, before the pictures of the good and hard-working people of the past, who are the silent witnesses of my eclectic activities. I'm having a wonderful time here.

Title: My bedroom
Description: This is my bedroom, the one room on the first floor which has a solid floor. It also looks onto the balcony on the right above the entrance. I believe that asshole of my uncle was conceived in this very bed, and it's no mystery that at the time of his father and most of all of his grandfather, the servants and the young girls send by their poor families between the two World Wars to till the land were much of an attracting big game... Now the householder isn't there any more, but the energy of a genuine country eroticism pours from every pore of the furniture in poor art. Also the cries from the deflowered girls which sometimes I hear in my mind during the night make me even more regretful for not having been here 70 years ago. I would have hidden myself in the big cupboard with a rifle in my hand, just ready to catch the old dirty man while he got ready to bang another desperate girl. I would have presented him with a healthy volley of pellets just there between his legs, and savored a double vengeance: mine and that of the other maidens...

Title: 30 dollars
Description: Let's make it clear once and for all: I'm not of the kind of those desperate girls showing off on the Internet just to earn their living, even less a marketing operation aiming at collecting money. Nobody's obliged to pay for seeing my pictures, and what I write is available to anyone. Please stop then saying this bullshit, that my website is expensive: hell, $30 aren't even enough to stand a woman whosoever two acceptable drinks (supposing she would let you do that), nor of course could you afford a blowjob in your car or a plain fuck at home. No my dear, today you won't find anything decent for 30$. Are you comparing me to porn sites on the Internet? Really? Come, tell me, have you read it well? Mine isn't a porn site (you may jerk off all the same), just as Bang&Olufsen isn't a stereo (you can listen to some music anyway) and Ferrari isn't a car (even though you can use it to pay a visit to your mother on Sundays)... Am I a little whore? Of course, that's no news at all, I can't be satisfied with McDonalds, and I just can't consider 30$ to be an amount of money, they cost just as much as two tickets for the movies. So you'd better avoid any comment on what is expensive nowadays, because I could think you're a poor unfortunate, and I'm not interested at all in this kind of people. You who can stay today before your PC reading these lines, surely weren't yesterday one of the many having no chance to become successful in their lives (which is true for 5 billion people in the world); on the contrary, you're one of the chosen ones. Therefore, if you don't respect the laws of nature, if you don't even take advantage of those conveniences your family and your present environment offered and still offer you so that you could consider those 30$ an acceptable sum to make your life less boring, then it's your fault and nobody else's.

Title: My Wardrobe
Description: I have a privileged relationship with my wardrobe; either I wear tracksuits, with which I feel better among people; on summer only bikinis, the most simple with triangular bras; or else uniforms. The uniform for the low-key teenager; that of the girl who has it off with any disco hunk; the uniforms I've worn for years and couldn't care less about. It's also true that sometimes it falls out that inside a garment in a shop window, whether it be a $50 article or a $500 top, I recognize that inexplicable something, as it happens with those people we aren't sure to not have already met them somewhere, perhaps in our past lives... These pieces of tissue, which I must have at every cost, don't necessarily boast the typical fashionable qualities. Even at the cash deck of that boutique, instead of Roberto Cavalli whose label is dangling down the dress, I see written the name of the man whom I wish to wear it for... If necessary, it will just stay quiet in the cupboard for 6 months, untouched, between the two mega-leaves of silk paper, waiting for that summer night with Him... In that very restaurant, enjoying the company of that wine I can already feel on my lips, before going back after midnight at the coat hook's and never coming off it again. Some are still ripening in the half-dark of the closet, instead those I worn are called the names of the ones in whose honor I was wearing them. And the most precious are those bearing the "griffe". Obviously, I'm talking about DNA not DKNY... well, I've already told you that I mantain a special relationship with my wardrobe.

Title: In Bed
Description: It's already stupid in itself to talk about the fuckplace. When the thing happens, it doesn't even matter. Water, earth, air, in the car... in bed. Yes, exactly so, in bed. My psychiatrist asked me; why the bed, Anekee, what mental associations does the bed provoke in you? What an asshole! What associations?! It reminds me of when I was still a child and looked forward to going there, to bed... Pulling the enormous quilt up between my legs, shifting my panties aside to rub my tiny and smooth pussy till I came. Of the two folds made on the corner of the cover, when I pulled it inside, I would have made the lips of some imaginary lover, to be licked until it took the taste of dinner; cacao, bread and butter, and the strawberry-flavored Colgate for children. This way they were more real. While doing all this, I had to stay silent, make sure that it didn't creak, that in my parents' room the squish squash of my wet little thing, my whispers could not be heard... those whispers which made me even more excited, and that I've learned to develop to perfection with the passing of time. All the range, from the short and quick «Ah! Ah!» through the nose (this when «he» «came in»), until some long inhaling «Eeeeee», these saved for the orgasm. The bed is not only the fuckplace; it's my most faithful lover where, still today that I'm no child anymore, once I'm back home, I enjoy all the ones as good as to make me horny, but too nasty for me to fuck them on this side of reality. Compared to quilts, the hard, raw, totally inflexible male body of my first lovers I couldn't understand. Maybe that's why I like taking it from behind - the least contact possible with Mr. He, this shaggy weight... More of it, after the autofuck you turn the quilt upside down nice and well... Like this, that wet part smelling like worn-out cunt sticks to your face. A deep breath with your nose, dreams so sweet. Anekee, please tell me: what are you dreaming of? Doctor, I'm dreaming...

Title: Saint Laurence's night
Description: This is not my life. It still has to start, on the threshold of the beginning. Because life cannot be this one, this wait for death. Yours or your neighbor's. Bodily or symbolic. Sinful, voyeuristic modus vivendi. The writing. One day this ship will have to pick up the moorings and throw herself out into the sea. I should have been sailing, but had to go back to harbor... damage in the engine, captain gone mad, crew on mutiny like a Bounty revival, merciless storm having torn my sails away, and then again the engine breakdown, the captain running wild, and the rebel crew, and the ship captive to the storm one more time. The reasons I am still in the harbor. When they screw you as a child, you cannot hope for something better. The cock having got inside the still tough, green and unripe pussy, it leaves a mark like some children's diseases. An apple ever unripe. Made a prisoner in time. Of time. I'm writing here. In the garden. I adore the earth. Its smell. I dip my hands into it, grasp a turf to roll it into a ball. Its interiors are warm, giving off a pungent smell which fills the nostrils like a poison. This is the smell of the living things. Like the cunt. It gives birth to all this green-and-yellow, an iridescent glory which encircles my house clutching the trees forcibly at the legs, never to let up. It takes the roots, and the veins little by little consume it. You can easily use the same words as those painting the fuck. Pussy, the unripe fruit; tits, the ripe mellons, how would you say. Sometimes they really taste like those things. It's dark, but not pitch black; it's the tuareg blue, summer-like. Sitting on the earth I listen to this mad life. Crickets, birds, a nightly world most awake. My breast is getting full of pollen, the basket of sin. Who will love me, moon? But just slip those courtly clothes off this microuniverse of poetry, and you'll see it fucking. Nature is vulgar, lewd. When I don't have your love...