Donkey Strap

Apologies for ones recent enforced absence from the ether, last week, one turned ones attentions to ones servants, who must all be serviced, drained, manipulated and otherwise emptied to comply with these blasted EU regulations.

The Eastern European faction, comprising the upstairs maids and other random orifices, were tackled first, being so lascivious by nature they were easiest caught, reamed and flange tagged.

The downstairs deaf mutes were simply enumerated having long since been emasculated. For full compliance their pickled genitals were also photographed and catalogued.

Worst of all of course was Carshalton, who was to be fully drained in order to prevent testosterone poisoning of any random female he might “service” should he escape.

Since the veterinary Dyson was on the blink, he required manual unloading, a messy affair at the best of times. Nonetheless. Nanny gave a hand whilst the remainder of the staff ensured a swift and regular supply of the empty flagons.

One simply attended on the sidelines keeping count and wondering at the savage mystery of it all. 42 quarts this year, which should raise a tidy sum on the Artificial Insemination market.

To demonstrate ones thanks to Nanny for her help, one was especially gentle this year with the Toblerone butt plug, although one does find the noise it makes fascinating, contrasting as it does, with her libidinous falcetto, the vague internal humming of her electrical stimulus and the other assorted squelching sounds this occasion produces.

All documentation now complete one can rest in ones armchair with a large Armagnac and mango chutney and await one staff’s recovery and the resumption of “normal service”.


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