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Family Misfortunes	By : auntfanny Category: Casts RPF > Family Fortunes Views: 2569 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrity I am writing about. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Family Misfortunes
- 1
FAMILY MISFORTUNES
"Thanks for tuning in! We'll see you next time on Family Fortunes." "And… cut. Thank you everyone." With another episode of the hit quiz show in the can, jovial host Les Dennis took a deep breath, sighed, and finally after 36 minutes and 24 seconds of agony was able to surreptitiously scratch his arse. His haemorrhoids had flared up again, and it felt so good to finally give them an easing, if furtive, scratch.
He was just pretending to scratch his nose whilst actually smelling his finger when he noticed the tall, slender figure of a woman walking towards him. Her blonde hair was flowing behind her like a thousand men in synchronisation at a giant urinal. Her face, pimpled and acne-scarred, looked radiant under the heaviest make-up since Clive Dunn finished doing Dad's Army. Before he heard her words, he heard her accent. The unmistakable California twang that could only mean one thing: you'd have to shove cotton wool in your ears, something else in her mouth, to enjoy a night out with her.
"Hi", she said, "I'm Cameron Diaz." "Blimey, how do you do?" said a surprised Les. He went to offer his hand, but realising it was covered in blood from a weeping Chalfont, quickly put it back in his pocket and opted for a hugely elaborate comedy Japanese bow, complete with mock hari-kari gesture. Cameron laughed, and the world laughed with her, such was her devastating beauty. "I really enjoyed your show tonight", she said, making sure to look deep into his eyes. Spotting his first chance since his ex-wife ditched him for some bloke off the Homebase adverts, Les stepped in. "How would you like to come to dinner with me tonight?" he asked. "I'd love to", she replied. "Let's go before my adoring fans realise that my skin's worse than Michael Jackson's!" With that, they exited the set, pausing only for Cameron to demonstrate to an unlucky autograph hunter why a pen is shaped to fit neatly into a nasal cavity.
Soon the pair were seated in a secluded area of an upmarket French restaurant. "I love to get a pretty woman and give her a good Raymond Blanc", joked the punning comedian. "Well, it certainly beats a dose of the Keith Floyds!" retorted the vision of filmic loveliness sitting opposite him. Deflated by her possible detection of his Farmers, Les moved on to look at the dessert menu. "How do you fancy the apple crumble for pudding?", he asked. "Or perhaps the Death by Chocolate." "Hmmm…", she murmured sexily, her breasts heaving up and down as a result of a slight cat allergy that had been set off by the coat of the lady at the next table. "Death by Chocolate. That gives me an idea!" With a naughty grin, Les whipped out his mobile phone, taking care with careful use of gesture to equate it to a phallus, and called a taxi back to his place.
After a short cab ride, where Cameron gently nuzzled Les on the chest until he pointed out that he was recovering from a particularly virulent attack of jogger's nipple, they arrived back at Les's wonderful country home. It was a huge, sprawling country mansion, bought with the human misery and suffering of millions of ITV viewers. He slipped the taxi driver a forged tenner than he'd got in his change from a KFC and had been trying for weeks to pass on when it was dark, and escorted his new lover inside.
He took her hand and led her up to the master bedroom. He shut the door and pressed her against it. He put his legs between hers, and she wrapped her arms around him. They kissed passionately, and he felt himself getting a bit chubby. He led her gently to the bed, and then went to the bathroom to rinse his mutton dagger under the tap, just in case. He carefully dried it, making sure that none of the toilet paper stuck to his bell end, which is really annoying, and went back into the bedroom.
Cameron made him sit on the edge of the bed, and started to give him a saucy lap dance. She unbuttoned his shirt, before casting it aside, as she slowly stripped down to just her bra and knickers. She took off his belt and pretended to tie his hands behind his back, before taking off his trousers. She teased his aching and heavily swollen tallywhacker, periodically rubbing it and pretending to lick it through his boxers. Soon control passed from his brain to his vein cane. He undid her bra, which took some doing because it was one of those ones with the funny catch that's really hard to undo without looking at it, and threw it out of the open window. Cameron laughed, and thrust her hips at him, imploring him to do the same with her naughty knickers. Les duly obliged, following the fabric down her legs with a trail of kisses.
His mind flashed back to the Death by Chocolate. For many years he had harboured a suppressed desire for consensual yet brutal anal sex, triggered by an experience in Russ Abbott's dressing room many years earlier. Now was his chance to give his chocolate loving to one of the world's sexiest women, who was lying on his bed and twiddling her nipples as if desperately trying to tune away from Radio 4 when Woman's Hour comes on. She was using her other hand to stroke the belt from his trousers as if it was a love truncheon. He approached the bed, his proud pork medallion sticking out like Gary Glitter at a school sports day. Instinct took over as he guided his meat seeking missile directly for her delicate little poop chute.
But Cameron had other ideas. As he reached for her shoulders to get purchase for his thrusting she moved to the side, and pushed him face down onto the bed. She used the belt to tie his hands to the bed posts. "So, you thought you were just going to rape my little ass, did you? I wouldn't let you shove that little cock up me for a million dollars!" "If it's up there I'll give you the money myself!" he retorted, using the private joke he had with his lovely former wife which gave them both the horn when they thought of people in old peoples homes hearing him saying it on the telly.
"Well, have I got news for you!" she said. "No, that's Angus Deayton" he protested, but to no avail. The naked Cameron reached into her handbag and pulled out a huge 10 inch strap on. "Just something I keep in case Drew comes round when Justin's away!" she chuckled. She reached across to the bedside table and found a large pot of Vaseline. "It's for my lips, honest!" protested Les, whose silky-smooth lips showed no sign of chapping, in contrast to his anus which bore the brunt of many a chap.
Cameron attached the strap-on with aplomb, pausing only to rub her nipples a bit in case there was a secret video camera and she ended up on the internet. The hard black rod thrust forth from her hips, and made Les shudder as he turned his head to see her greasing it up. "I say, be a good egg and slap a bit of that Vasso on my botty as well, would you" he begged, "At least give me a sporting chance!" His request went unheeded, as Cameron began her practice swings. She'd seen Tiger Woods practicing his golf swing in order to get just the right angle, and she immediately saw how this could help her own technique with her "Strap-strap doo dah", as she liked to call it. Poor Les endured what felt like hours of swishing noises, feeling the draft of a greased up Destroyer 5000 Series wafting past his increasingly pale face.
Finally, with military precision, which for Cameron coming from the US meant severe collateral damage and almost shoving the strap-on up her own arse by mistake, she struck. With one firm, definite movement, she put the first three inches up Les's clenched passage. "Relax your goddam asshole!" Cameron demanded. "I've only got the helmet up there, there's another seven inches to go!" After a few good smacks across his arse, Les finally gave up and resigned himself to being the meat on a Cameron kebab. Inch by inch, the mighty meaty made its way, unrelenting, up his jacksy. Going once, going twice, going three times, then going in and out like a foreign bloke taking a driving test for all his cousins who look the same as him. "If I asked a hundred people what they thought I was doing tonight, they wouldn't guess this!" quipped Les. "I wouldn't be so sure" replied Cameron. "In fact, let's find out, shall we." The bra of such a famous and sexy filmstar being flung from a bedroom window is usually guaranteed to draw a crowd of passers-by, and tonight was no exception. Spurred on by the initials CD stitched into the cup, a large mob had gathered on the pavement below. Some were hoping for Cameron Diaz, others for Cat Deeley, and one or two others for Craig David, the dirty perverts.
Pulling the strap-on out of Les's withered anus like King Arthur pulling Excalibur out of a big rock, Cameron dashed to the open window and leant out, her breasts wobbling around as if being propelled by an invisible pneumatic drill. "Hey, you guys!" she shouted down. "There must be a hundred of you down there. Can you guess what Les Dennis is doing tonight?" The crowd, in perfect unison, replied "He's probably taking it up the arse with a 10 inch strap-on dildo, Cameron!" "Well, they're a perceptive lot, I'll give them that!" conceded Les. Cameron, ever eager to please her adoring fans, many of whom had been masturbating over her for many years now, took off the faeces- and blood-encrusted strap-on and threw it down to the crowd, much as Roger Federer throws his armbands out at Wimbledon. The crowd, fearful of other sexual apparatus being hurled in their direction, quickly dispersed, some muttering that you wouldn't have got that sort of thing from Audrey Hepburn.
The doorbell rang, symbolically playing the theme from The Dambusters, much to Les's discomfort as he pondered his own breached reservoir. Cameron, mindful of the fact that the world would be a better place if gorgeous film stars opened the door in the nude, left the room to see who was there. She soon returned, and behind her was Drew Barrymore. "Crikey!" exclaimed Les. "It's two thirds of Charlie's Angels". "We know how much you like your Charlies." said Drew seductively, as she gave Cameron a friendly little kiss. "I hope you don't bring that Chinesey one as well! She lets you down. She's like your Mel C!", said Les, echoing the thoughts of millions of male cinema-goers who would have much rather they cast Tiffani Amber-Thiessen now she's old enough to have a proper whack over without feeling guilty like you did watching Saved By The Bell. "I heard from the crowd downstairs that you were here, Cam-Cam", Drew began. "I was just next door visiting my brother Michael. He wondered if I fancied a swim, so it was probably time for me to leave anyway." "He's got such a lovely garden" Cameron observed. "Yes, and it would be so much better if he didn't keep dropping fags in his pool!" joked Les. "Well, they said Les Dennis was a cheeky little brat!" said Drew. "I hope you've done him up the arse to teach him a lesson, Cammy-Wammy!" "Yes, I sure have!" said Cameron, walking over to Les and pulling apart his bum cheeks to reveal the hideous damage. "Holy shit!" cried Drew. "I could have him bend over by the M25 and use him as the new Dartford Tunnel! Holy Jesus!"
Les cried softly to himself, weeping for the sphincter he would never again know. Drew began to kiss Cameron again, more intensely this time. And then they lezzed up.
THE END.
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Family Misfortunes