Work for the week had finally come to an end, and Goldicock, the fair haired hero of the tale, was anxious for some action. Determined to bed with a companion, only for the evening of course, he makes his way through the onslaught of traffic to his humble abode. He showers, shaves, changes into his most impressive street garb, and douses himself with a thick layer of cologne, named simply Eau Du Toilet (please, it's the French pronounciation, let's not be uncouth here). After completing his tasks, Goldicock hops back into his Mazda and heads for the latest happening bar, The Grizzly Gutter (dive bar-sounding names are very happening). As the sunlight fades, he parks his car just outside the bar, a perfect place for the ultra-classy, well-to-do, weekend warrior that he is. He stands by the bouncer and quietly slips him a 50 note and the bouncer promptly waves him inside. What graced his sight next, he could scarcely conceive. An endless sea of ocean that harkened him to the eternal stream of cars from rush hour, all for the taking. A brightly lit dance floor adjacent to a bar stocked so well it keep our army occupied and fully sloshed for a month. Once the wash of euphoria had drained from his mind, Goldicock's eyes locked onto three likely candidates for his evening's plans. Three luscious women stand seductively by the barman. Wasting no time Goldicock springs at his opportunity and greets the first woman with a firm, yet playful hello.
The first woman, a woman marginally taller than he with jade green eyes and piercings sparsely stabbed into her cranium, she constantly eyes Goldicock as they continue in their chat. Goldicock knows that he struck gold on his first attempt. Victory is imminent, all he needs to do now is subtly invite her back to his place for a bit of fun. Although shot down on his attempt for a sexual escapade for the evening, he easily secures her number and a date the following night. Feeling somewhat defeated, Goldicock heads home to attend to his needs alone. He finally bunks down in his spacious, lonely bed for the evening, his head aflutter with excitement for the prospect of the morrow's entertainment.
Waking up feeling refreshed, Goldicock notes the time is two in the afternoon, the perfect time to begin his preparations. He agreed to meet his date at the happening restaurant down the street from the Grizzly Gutter, named simply Trashbin. He executes his morning, or in this case, mid-afternoon routine with deadly precision; punctuality is the bedfellow of bunking down, in his mind. By the time he has his image just so, it is nearly time to pick up his date. Tossing on his flashiest jacket, he snatches his keys and swiftly drives to his first destination. Honking the horn twice, a signal agreed upon as the denotation of his arrival, not a minute passes and the woman steps towards his chariot with an alluring gait. Dressed in a dress that is made more of her own skin than any real fabric, a small twich emanates from Goldicock's lower regions when she bends down to open the door. He assumes this attire is a good sign, revealing dress always shows a peak level of interest. Wasting no time, Goldicock hammers the gas and speeds off to Trashbin. Mere minutes after they leave her apartment building they are parked and at the entrance, awaiting their seats. He uses this time to make further idle chit-chat with hs date; he wants to appear as interested in her as a person, and not just her body, to further his chances of a carnal convergence. They finally take their seats and order food and drink. As the night and drink tally further, it seems ever more apparent to Goldicock that his date would like nothing more than to be ravaged by his mighty weapon. Forgoing deserts and coffee, Goldicock instead resolved to take his date back home, and assume that he would gain entry, in more ways than one. Having finally arrived at her apartment, he puts his car in park and looks deeply into the woman's eyes. Without hesitation, she requests his company for the evening, Goldicock has to subdue the overwhelming excitement that wells up from within; he must not appear overly excited as to appear desperate, after all. Hastily asking the waitress for the check, he throws down his cash as if it were covered in feces. The pair now speed off to fulfill Goldicock's carnal desires, or so he hopes. Reaching her apartment building, she unlocks the door and guides him to her place. The pair head immediately for the bedroom where they begin to set the mood; they kiss passionately and begin disrobing one another. Once fully nude, the woman walks over to her bureau and asks Goldicock if he liked things a little kinky. Goldicock, more than willing to try anything, replied in the affirmative, only to meet face to face with a full body-tight gimp suit. The pungent smell tell him of her previous sexual encounters and the desperate washing it so sorely needed. She then proceeds to pull out a giant paddle, this bureau must have belonged to Mary Poppins, he thinks. It looks as though he has no choice, Goldicock dons the suit and is then beaten senseless with the paddle as she asks him who her bitch is. The night only got worse from their, but the details will be spared. As soon as his torture drew to a close, he thanked her for a lovely evening but he really had to leave because he needed to be at work early. Although the woman refused to listen, Goldicock finally slips out when she begins to dream. He can only hope next week's girl will be less violent.
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