The Aristocrats

The BBC Director-General’s door opened and a tall man in a crisp Italian suit walked in. Without prompting, he walked over to the chair in front of the desk and sat down. He was very muscular; his wide shoulders dwarf the small businessman in front of him. He was wearing dark sunglasses, which he removed and put in his front-breast pocket, revealing his tanned face, deep eyes, and neatly trimmed eyebrows. He put his hands on the desk; his nails were clean and white and freshly trimmed, shaped neatly enough to indicate the use of a manicurist. His skin was darkly tanned, save for a small pale circle around the gold band on his ring finger.

The Director-General peered over his desk through his glasses at the handsome character. Despite his power, he felt somewhat intimidated by his presence. “Can I – can I help you?” he stammered.

The man replied in a low and smoky voice. “I’d like to pitch to you my idea for a short film. Me and my family are very talented and we have a proposal that will change your channel forever.”

The Director-General knew he was somewhat pressed for time, yet he responds, “please sir, go on.”

“It’s set in front of a live studio audience. I come on stage first, to the sounds of smooth jazz, and tear off my shirt, revealing my bronzed, ripped body. My wife follows wearing a full-length robe, which I rip off too, unveiling her beautiful black lingerie. She is a stunning woman, petite but propped up on 6-inch heels, and we embrace and kiss passionately. I begin to grope her, rub my hands up and down her curves.

“My kids follow on-stage, skipping around us and throwing rose petals. My 14-year-old daughter wears a summery floral blouse, and my 3-year-old son wears a sailor’s uniform and a big nappy, like Tommy from Rugrats. They look adorable; such sweet little kids, and so talented too.

“I then remove my wife’s bra and panties and begin to massage her breasts and suck her nipples. She has fantastic breasts, sir, two perfectly-sized fleshy orbs and a neat, hairless little cut of a vagina. My little girl bends down and starts to lick her out, as my son unbuckles my belt and allows my jeans to slide to the floor. My wife drops to her knees and leans towards my boxer shorts, which she removes, revealing my cock. I’m about 10 inches, me; the audience love it. She starts to suck me off, moaning as our daughter eats her out from behind like a professional.

“My son joins my daughter at the back of my wife and squeezes his tongue into her anus. The cunnilingus and anilingus continues until I’m about to cum, at which point I withdraw from my wife’s mouth and ejaculate over my son and daughter’s face and my wife’s bottom. I aim for my son’s eyes; it looks like he’s crying cream – it’s a lovely effect.

“My wife stands upright, with our kids feeding from her like her insides are made of Nutella. My wife climaxes – she doesn’t fake it, by the way, our little girl knows just what mummy likes – and our girl takes her tongue out and undresses quickly, throwing her clothes and her sanitary towel into a pile upstage. She looks lovely, my daughter, especially at this age – a few pubes are appearing, her breasts are just beginning to get shapely; they’re like two fried eggs. I lie down and look at my little girl’s winking vagina as she urinates on me, like she’s marking daddy as her territory. It’s very nice, this normally goes down a treat.

“As I’m being submerged in urine, my little boy takes his tongue from mummy’s arsehole. We have a very specific diet for show days, and her intestines are full of chunky diarrhoea, which my son is plugging up, so the moment he removes himself it all floods out, brown water and brown chunks spray all over his face and chest; it’s a bit like a waterfight except for instead of a hose it’s my wife’s bottom. Usually the force of the diarrhoea knocks his little sailor’s hat off – this gets a big laugh from the audience – it’s very cute.

“We try to have these both happening simultaneously, big daddy drinking little girl wee and little son drinking mummy’s poo – y’know, give the audience something to think about, in terms of family relations.

“When all this liquid has finished being expelled, I go to my daughter’s clothes and pick up her sanitary towel. I then slap it on our son’s face, by means of wiping the poo off. Of course, it doesn’t work that well, and when I remove it, he looks like he’s eaten meat and tomato pasta in the sweet, messy way a little kid would, a few blood smears and a lot of liquid faeces.

“We then take off my little boy’s nappy. We know he shouldn’t wear one, he’s a little too old, but he’s toilet trained, he only wears a nappy when we’re performing. With a quick flip upside-down, I put it on our daughter’s head – it’s a bit like when someone gets slimed on kids’ TV – his wee and poo runs down her face and over her eyes; she wipes it off with a big grin on her face and runs her tongue around her mouth, collecting as much poo as she can.

“I pick up my boxer shorts, turn them inside out, and wipe off the poo with my gusset. I wear them for days, there’s usually a good bit of crusty pre-cum and smegma there, and they smell terrible; so bad, in fact, that they make her vomit instantly. I try to pool the vomit in the boxers and pour it over my wife – half in her mouth and half in her arsehole. It’s not long after it’s in her mouth that she starts retching too; she stands upright, the puke from her bottom splashes on to the ground and she throws up her puke and my daughter’s puke directly into my mouth. I spit it out over the first three rows – y’know, try to get the audience involved a little bit.

“The smell of puke and poo and urine is pretty eye-watering at this point, but this is a massive turn on for me, and my cock has hardened again. My wife goes to her clothes and takes a pair of nail scissors out of her handbag, which she pokes into my urethra. I lie down in the mess of body fluids as she thrusts it in and out and in and out like some bizarre reverse handjob. It’s not long before my hard-on is dribbling blood like I’m pissing cranberry juice with a bladder infection, and I dribble this all over my family, aiming in particular for my daughter’s eyes.

“I take the nail scissors off my wife and put them into my 3-year-old boy’s little freckle of an arsehole. I cut up and down his arsecrack with them – snip snip snip – and open his bumcheeks like a book. It gets easier every time; it takes him ages to heal and sometimes I just have to rip them apart and forget about the scissors. I shove my head into his rectum and stand upright, like some bizarre piggyback ride. He can’t really handle this yet, to be honest – he still normally starts to cry. But don’t worry; the audience won’t even notice, because my wife guides me towards her chasm of a vagina and I begin to shove my kid into that, like I’m fucking her with my head and he is a condom. My wife’s vaginal lips can stretch like a balloon, and I have always thought that this unbirthing says a very profound thing in itself about the nature of life and death.

“Usually he’s passed out from lack of oxygen at this point, so we all take turns trying to tug his little willy into erection. He’s not even old enough for it at his age; I guess half the fun is that it’s impossible. I act like I’m pissed off with him, and for his punishment he’s got to ‘eat daddy’s shit too’, despite him already having nearly drowned in mummy’s shit. I also eat a specific diet for this; I squat over his face and release the corniest, smelliest log you ever did see. It lands on his face with a ‘thud’ and then we all kick his head about until he comes to.

“His face and arse are streaming blood far worse than my cock, and now there’s corn in his eyes and a far more solid shit covering his nose, forehead and cheeks. Most of it falls off when he sits upright, but to get the last bits off, my daughter does a fantastic vaginal ejaculation on him. What a talent she’s got; I’m so proud of her.

“We’ve got a good final pose, too. I violently stomp each member of my family, in height order, face first into the slippery puddles of poo and wee and blood and shit and semen, in such a way that bits of it splash up and cover my legs. They all lie on the floor, prone, and I assume the same position as John Travolta on the cover of Saturday Night Fever.

“The lights dim, and we all stand up and we all take a bow.”

The Director-General was stunned. “What. The. Fuck. What the Hell do you call an act like that?”

The man smiled and replied, “The Aristocrats.”

“I’d like to see that,” the Director General said.