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Archive name: britneyg.txt (M+F, celeb, drugs, humor)
Authors name: MichaelD (michaeld38@aol.com)
Story title : Britney Gives It Up
---------------------------------------------------------
Copyright 2000 by MichaelD38@aol.com. Free redistribution
permitted; no commercial use without prior authorization.
Free reposting and archiving is okay; commercial use is
not (that includes using it on some slime-ball banner
farm). Contact me if you have any questions; cross me and
I'll have you fed to rabid weasels.
---------------------------------------------------------
Britney Gives It Up (M+F, celeb, drugs, humor)
By MichaelD (michaeld38@aol.com)
***
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I did not e-mail you this story. If you
unexpectedly found it in your mailbox, it's because your
kid and/or your spouse is subscribing to adult newsgroups
without your knowledge. Flame them, not me. This story
contains explicit sex. If you're a minor, you've obviously
gotten past whatever paltry filters your parents tried to
put on your computer, so hell, you might as well read it.
No one ever died from reading about sex.
I get rather weird story ideas from time to time, and
this is one of them. This is, needless to say, a satire
and a completely fictional one at that. The real Ms.
Spears would certainly never do these sorts of things.
*
Britney Spears was on top of the world, and it was
driving her crazy. She had deals going with MTV, specials
to tape for Fox, her next album to plan out, and here she
was touring almost nonstop on top of all of it. Other
people in the industry raved about her work ethic, how
she could go until two or three in the morning and still
be raring to go the next day. No one suspected the real
reason, that she worked so hard to keep herself
distracted. Left to her own devices, she would have been
jerking herself off almost 24/7.
She didn't understand how she had gotten like this. She
had been a normal teenager before hitting it big,
masturbating now and then but certainly not compulsively.
But soon after her first album, when "Baby One More Time"
was all over the airwaves, her sex drive began taking
over her life.
The harder she worked, the worse it got, and lately she
was on the verge of losing her mind. No matter how much
she jerked off, it provided no relief. No one suspected
that her cover of the Rolling Stones' "(I Can't Get No)
Satisfaction" had really been meant as a private lament
over her incandescent sex drive.
She was finishing up her latest video tonight, demanding
take after take until the crew was about to collapse.
Finally, Max Martin, her producer, pulled her aside.
"Britney, that's enough for tonight. The guys are dead.
We can finish it up tomorrow."
"No way, we can do this. Just one more take."
"They've got nothing left. Girl, come on. Not everybody
can work like you."
She wanted to protest, but she could see it was futile.
Her shoulders sagged. That bed back at her hotel was
waiting for her, and she knew what would happen when she
got there.
She followed her entourage out to her limo. When she was
alone in the back, she felt her pussy starting to throb.
Now and then, she became so overheated that she had to
get off in the limousine, but tonight she was able to
restrain herself until she reached her hotel room.
As soon as she was through the door, she tore off her
clothes and threw herself on the bed. Both hands went to
her pussy, which was already dripping wet. Her fingers
attacked her clitoris, rubbing it mercilessly. She had,
somehow, managed to keep her hymen intact through all of
this, but she suspected it couldn't survive too much
longer.
She was on the brink, both with this jerk-off and her
life. If she didn't get laid soon, they would be checking
her into the nuthouse. And since she had made such a big
deal about waiting until marriage, by God, she was going
to get married--ASAP. Justin had been momentarily shocked
at her proposal, but quickly agreed. After all, he had
been trying to get into her pants ever since their days
together on "The New Mickey Mouse Club." Britney didn't
give a shit. He had a dick, and he was the only person
she could plausibly marry right now.
The first orgasm rolled over her within a minute, the
waves of pleasure crashing through her body, but she
didn't slow down. She would be frigging herself to
exhausted sleep tonight, just as she had every night for
the last year.
*
Down the hall, in a room in the same hotel, a man named
Herman DeWitt lay on a hotel bed much like Britney's,
also naked, also masturbating. Over his ears was a
headset, and through it came the wet, squishy, and
unmistakable sounds of a woman masturbating. Not just any
woman, either--Britney Spears, the woman who had ruled
his life for the past two years.
Herman was one of Britney's many personal assistants. He
handled her errands, got her coffee, fetched her food,
handled her mail. He was meek and unobtrusive, which had
kept him under the radar screen when so many other
assistants had come and gone. No one suspected what he
was really up to.
For almost two years, Herman had been spiking Britney's
food with a concoction of powerful fertility drugs. These
drugs had been the cause of her much-debated breast
growth, and the reason her image had gradually morphed
from Girl Next Door to Hyperactive Sex Bomb. Britney was
so fertile now that sex was all she could think about.
One day soon, she would snap, and Herman would be there
to reap the rewards. Her engagement to Justin Timberlake
was the last sign he needed. The time had come to push
her over the edge.
Herman listened to Britney grunting, then crying out as
she came a third or fourth time. He gripped his minuscule
dick and squirted all over himself at the thought of it.
He couldn't make her love him, but he could at least make
her fuck his brains out.
*
Britney was back at work the next day, driving her crew
to the limit. But the downside of this pace was that they
actually finished the video ahead of schedule. It was
only 6:00 p.m., and she had nothing to do the rest of the
day! Disaster!
She grabbed Max as they were wrapping up.
"Max, we must have something else that needs doing. What
about that MTV thing?"
Martin groaned.
"They're not ready. Earliest we can get going is tomorrow
afternoon. Their people just aren't in place yet."
"Well, what else? I can't spend the rest of the day doing
nothing!"
"Jesus, Britney! Have you heard of relaxing? Normal
people do it from time to time."
"I need to work! I have to work! There must be something
I can do!"
"No! I want you to go back to the hotel and rest. That's
an order."
Britney whimpered in defeat, collapsing into a director's
chair behind her. What was she supposed to do? This pace
was killing her, too, but better that than being left
alone with her urge to jerk off. Her whole body hurt,
from her head to the bottom of her brused pussy.
She saw Herman, one of her assistants, lurking in the
shadows nearby. She waved him over.
"Hermie, could you get me some Tylenol or something?
Maybe something stronger if you can find it?"
Herman nodded obsequiously and scurried off. He returned
a few minutes later and stuck out his hand. In his palm
were two little elliptical blue pills. Britney saw the
word "pfizer" etched into them.
"What is that?"
"It's like Tylenol," Herman said, "only prescription
strength. Max gave them to me."
Britney shrugged. If he got them from Max, it should be
okay. Besides, Herman would be the last person to try to
poison her. She gulped them down and chased them with a
swig of water.
"Thanks, Hermie."
Herman struggled to restrain the thrill coursing through
his body. What he had just given her was not
acetaminophen. No, what Britney had just swallowed was
200mg of sildenafil citrate, better known as Viagra. The
dose she had taken was twice the recommended amount for
an 80-year-old man who hadn't had an erection in twenty
years. Within an hour, she would be ready to fuck
anything that moved.
*
Glumly resigned to her fate, Britney returned to her
hotel room. She began feeling more and more aroused on
the way there. This night was shaping up to be the worst
yet. Not only was she as horny as ever, but her pussy was
throbbing in need like it never had before. By the time
she got to her room, she was fire, every molecule of
flesh between her legs swollen to the limit and demanding
attention.
She couldn't even wait to get undressed this time. She
jammed her hands into her stretch pants and attacked
herself. Even both hands weren't enough. She rubbed her
clit furiously, drawing an orgasm out of her body within
moments, but it only made things worse.
She threw herself back on the bed, groaning in agony.
"Oh, God! Argh!"
*
Down the hall, Herman listened eagerly to the sounds of
Britney's torment through the eavesdropping apparatus he
had been using. He had popped a couple of Viagra himself,
so he would be ready for anything. Just a few minutes to
let her appreciate the predicament she was in.
He waited as long as he could make himself and then went.
He didn't bother knocking on her door and went right in.
He had listened to her frenetic masturbation now for
months, but the sound was nothing to sight of it. Britney
convulsed on her bed like an epileptic, both hands jammed
between her legs, insensible to everything around her.
She groaned, back arched, as she climaxed again.
The vision of his dream froze him in place, unable to
move toward her.
Luckily Britney spied him out of the corner of her eye as
her latest orgasm subsided.
Under normal circumstances, she would have screamed at
him to get out, but this was anything but normal. Lost in
a fog of sexual abandon, only two things registered in
her mind: Herman was male, therefore Herman had a dick.
She leapt from the bed and threw herself at him. Still
paralyzed in anticipation, and unprepared for this
reaction, Herman was knocked to the floor. Britney
wriggled out of her stretch pants and jerked down his
jeans. He was already erect, his disappointedly modest
member red and throbbing under her.
In a single motion, Britney impaled herself on the stiff
dick. The pain of her
sundered hymen was lost in a whirlwind of fulfillment.
She pounded her hard young body down on him again and
again, screeching at the wonderfful sensations it gave
her.
Herman was in heaven. At last he had her, and she was
doing all the work. Her Viagra-swollen pussy was
incredibly tight, almost painfully so. He groped at her
breasts, but she paid no attention to him. All her energy
was focused further south.
It was too much for poor Herman. He ejaculated less than
a minute into this assault, but thanks to the Viagra he
had taken, he remained erect. Britney rode him like a
mechanical bull, hips almost a blur, the sounds of their
frenzied copulation filling the air. Herman had little to
do, and frankly he could hardly move under her onslot.
Britney had him pinned, hands on his shoulders, her legs
over his. He tried to thrust up at her, but could not
match her hyperactive rhythm.
Then, twisting around to get some leverage, he happened
to look behind him. Oh no! The door to her room was
standing wide open--he hadn't had a chance to close it
before she attacked him. Someone was going to catch them!
He tried to free himself, but it was futile. He
discovered, to his dismay, that between her sexual frenzy
and her physical conditioning from months of touring,
that Britney was stronger than he was. She wanted him
where he was, and she would not let him go.
Britney drew another ejaculation out of him, briefly
distracting him from thoughts of discovery. When he
recovered his senses, he tried again to free himself. It
was no good. Britney still held him fast, her pussy
trapping his cock and refusing to let go.
He had no choice. He had to ride this out, no matter the
consequences. He tried to cooperate now, but his own body
began protesting. He felt a pain in his chest. Had he
taken too much Viagra? Or was Britney driving him beyond
his limits? The answer eluded him as his vision began to
narrow.
Britney briefly came back to earth as she realized Herman
had lost consciousness. And his erection was fading! No!
She wasn't finished with him!
Suddenly she looked up. A hotel busboy was standing in
the open doorway, jaw agape in shock. Britney leapt from
Herman's limp carcass and tackled him.
Before the poor kid could appreciate what was happening,
Britney had torn his pants off him.
He wasn't erect yet, but the sight of Britney naked body
took care of that in a hurry, and she quickly impaled
herself on him. He was thankfully much better endowed
than Herman, and the penetration alone was enough to set
off another orgasm.
Unfortunately for her, this busboy was not fortified by
Viagra, and furthermore, he was a big fan of hers, big
enough that she occupied most of his masturbation
fantasies these days. It took him only long enough to
appreciate that he was being ravished by his idol before
he was spurting off inside her.
A few doors down, Max Martin had been trying to get some
rest, but the commotion in the hallway drew him out of
his room. To his utter shock, he discovered his meal
ticket raping a hotel busboy. Her clothes were in
disarray and her face was contorted in lust. The busboy
appeared to have just climaxed, because she howled in
frustration at his deflating erection.
He gaped at her in disbelief, the scene before him short-
circuiting his entire brain. Now Britney finally appeared
to notice him, and the look in her eyes filled him with
horror. He turned to run, but it was no good. He was too
out-of-shape to escape her. She caught him from behind,
jerking his pants down as she dragged him to the hallway
floor.
He cried out for help, lapsing into Swedish in his
confusion and horror.
"Ingen, Britney, ingen! Hjelper meg!"
He had often dreamed of screwing his charge, but not like
this. Britney seemed possessed, and the sight and smell
of her overheated pussy drew a rapid erection from him
despite his resistance. A moment later, it had
disappeared into Britney's snatch.
As she had with Herman and the busboy, Britney took
control of the act immediately, her only concern to keep
Max's stiff dick pounding in and out of her swollen twat.
She managed to come twice this time before she felt the
Max's jism erupting inside her. Argh! Couldn't any of
these dicks last more than a minute or two?
Other people had emerged from their rooms at the sound of
this spectacle. The potential damage to her career was a
far distant consideration as Britney spotted a man in his
mid-30s about ten feet away. She threw herself at him,
and at least this guy did not resist her.
Most of the hotel guests were horrified at what they saw,
but a few of the men saw an opportunity not to be missed,
whatever the explanation was. One after another joined
the orgy in the hallway, and soon Britney had all the
dick she needed. She took two and three at a time,
ejecting each man as soon as he ejaculated and lost his
erection. Word rapidly spread throughout the hotel:
Britney is giving it up and giving it away!
By the time Max had recovered, it was too big for him to
stop alone. There were too many men servicing Britney or
waiting in line. He called hotel security, begging for
help. Five of them came running, but when they saw what
was going on, they just joined in.
Britney was insatiable. Nothing was enough, no cock too
big to satisfy her. Faced with this hurricane of sexual
energy, some of the men waiting lost their nerve and
fled. More than one of her partners lost consciousness. A
forty-six-year-old computer salesman from St. Louis, who
had had only a vague idea of who Britney was before
tonight, succumbed to a heart attack in the midst of
Britney's ravishment. Another man suffered a ruptured
penile artery and ran howling down the hallway, gripping
his crotch in agony.
There was nothing Max could do or say to stop this.
Britney would stop when she had enough, baby. As far as
he was concerned, she was on her own, and whether she
made it was her business. Whatever had happened here, it
was clear he was the last to know about it.
Although Britney was unable to sate herself that night,
she was only human. Eventually she collapsed in
exhaustion. By then though, she had finished off the last
of the men who dared approach her.
Max had fled the hotel, but a few of her assistants
dragged her limp body back to her room. Someone called
Jive Records, and the company sent over a team to begin
damage control.
*
There was enough money at stake here to keep things
quiet. No one would believe it anyway, though rumors
raced across the Internet. The story, though true, was
soon hounded out of existence by Britney loyalists. Jive
waved more money at Max Martin and convinced him to come
back to work.
Thorough medical exams discovered the fertility drugs and
Viagra in Britney's system. But Herman DeWitt never
regained consciousness, and the culprit for Britney's
sexual paroxysm was never uncovered.
What _was_ uncovered were the unintended side effects of
what Herman had been doing. Unintended from Herman's
perspective, that is--he was just trying to make her
horny. From the perspective of the companies he had
gotten the drugs from, the effects were precisely what
was supposed to happen.
Two years of fertility drugs had all but sent Britney's
ovaries into orbit.
After that six-hour orgy in the hotel, she was now
pregnant as all hell.
Max begged her to get an abortion before anyone found
out, but Britney refused to consider it. Inside she
tracked down Justin Timberlake and dragged him straight
to Las Vegas to get married. Of course, already pregnant
and still sore, she was in no mood for sex. He got one
kiss from her and nothing else.
After bugging her for an hour, he went into the bathroom
and jerked off.
Seeing the writing on the wall, Max decided to cash in on
Britney's pregnancy. He scrapped the plans for what would
have been her next album and rushed her into the studio
to record something entirely different.
"Knock Me Up One More Time" debuted at number one and
shattered the record for first week album sales despite
howls of outrage from parents and conservative groups
across the country. Martin insisted to the press that
"knock me up" was teen slang that didn't mean what
everyone thought it did. He was unable to explain what
exactly it _did_ mean, however.
Neither the criticism nor Britney's pregnancy had any
effect on her popularity. The album went on to sell 15
million copies and swept the Grammy awards six months
later. It was also blamed for a major spike in the teen
pregnancy rate the following year.
Britney performed at the MTV Music Awards while eight
months pregnant, and the highlight of the evening came
when her water broke during a particularly spirited
rendition of the title track from "Knock Me Up . . ." She
went into labor on stage and gave birth to quadruplets at
a nearby hospital several hours later.
The babies, all boys, resembled Justin not in the
slightest, although to Britney's profound relief, they
were at least all white. Justin grumbled in private but
Britney had him so whipped that he kept his mouth shut,
even though they still hadn't had sex and probably never
would. Britney didn't believe in birth control, and she
figured four kids were plenty.
Several weeks later, Britney announced that her sons
would be forming a band under her own label in a few
years. "It's high time we had a boy band that was
actually made up of boys," she told MTV. Max Martin
agreed to produce for the group and promised that they
would be bigger than 'NSync and the Backstreet Boys put
together. That possibility appeared more likely after
Justin announced his withdrawal from 'NSync to start
teaching his sons to perform. He insisted it was his
idea, but no one believed him.
Herman DeWitt finally died a year after the orgy, never
emerging from the coma Britney had put him in. The
morticians his family hired were able to disguise the
unending erection he'd had ever since that night, but
they were unable to wipe the satisfied grin off his face.
THE END
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It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
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