There is a TV show titled as above but without the Celebrity word, although there are several programmes with the Celebrity prefix. I thought it could be an interesting, maybe humorous story using celebrity names and changing the format from a dating programme with a twist evident in the title, by adding the ‘slebs’ and very different twist. It’s highly unlikely and implausible, but I enjoyed creating it. I have imagined and described intimate details of each of my celebrity selection
“As you know ladies and gentleman you – the invited audience are her to witness the choice by this lovely man here Jim, the founder and owner of a massive chemical, synthetic oils and plastics to solvents used to produce insulin and antibiotics, the last item a worthy cause, no doubt you will agree...” There was massive applause and hoots of expectations from the carefully selected audience of rich, well known in business and entertainment people., she continued...” His choice to date a lovely lady and from then on its up to him and his chosen partner, whose legs you can see. Anything strikes you immediately?”
“I can see one immediately Anna,” I murmured, my eyes fixed on a pair of shapely muscled, black calfs and purple painted toe nails. The solitary black skinned female. “But quite honestly I’d be quite happy to meet whatever your fee is, to shag you,” I added at a low whisper I knew out of mic range, because one of my companies manufactures the damn things...
“Hey Jim, that’s naughty, but I won’t tell the audience what you said,” she giggled, catching my eyes, like ‘are you fucking serious?’ The well heeled and well pissed crowd bayed. She went on. “You know you can’t choose now, not till you’ve seen every one naked.” Much baying and cheering followed.
Anna carried on presenting to the exclusive audience, at least to hide my feelings etc, it wasn’t recorded on telly.
“Each one of these lovely ladies have attributes you admire and have stated, so they are matched in some way, is that OK?” I nodded, thinking come on for fucks sake, my Cessna is waiting at London City airport to whisk me to Ireland on business.
I also knew and so did the audience that the three females chosen, were whittled down from my initial selection of twelve. Nearly all the dozen were household names or very recognisable TV and film faces. Anna and I stood in the centre of a gaudy circular set in a nondescript studio set up in a huge industrial shed in Rickmansworth, Herts, UK. Apparently quite a few more risqué reality shows were performed and recorded in it and for tonight, because of the nature of the audience, the producers had created a mock restaurant, to feed and water the baying throng, at huge expense, not to the audience. Everyone had been chauffeured here too.
Anna Richardson presented a lot of those shows and is an attractive, lesbian 47 year old brunette, producer and journalist. She shacks up with another irritating TV presenter Sue Perkins. She was dressed in black slacks, a part transparent white high necked top, her white brassiere straps just visible. She’s nicely but not hugely stacked. Her arm was round my waist or on my shoulders a lot. She stank of Dior Sauvage, one of my favourites. My first wife liked it too. To add to the mood appearance I snuck my arm round her waist and top of her butt below her waist band feeling for the top edge of knickers or thong. Non detected so far.
The women not on the programme had either run a mile when discreetly approached, on the basis of - 1) no fucking way, don’t fancy him at all, 2) I’ve got too much to lose 3) politely declined no thanks, 4) how much? I’m worth twice that much, and possibly 6) it’s my time of the month. In the case of the latter, it wouldn’t have bothered me. My input was purely financial, cash to various charities. Fees designated by the women would be my responsibility and the audience were gambling at their tables on which one I would go for from the three unknown coloured screens. The bets had to be secured and closed when the first reveal was over. There would be three reveals, the first to be the screen rising from base to stomach, very revealing in that genitals would be completely bake naked exposed and might have to swivel to show their butt.
In the TV production, where there are six coloured screens, the contestant (me) would have to eliminate two, then the screen would raise to expose their tits and again, another elimination of two would take place and then, faces and voice would be the final reveal. At point, the contestant (me) would have to leave the screen, strip and return and make the final decision. It’s titillating TV on a main channel, but in my case I got to choose the names of the candidates, where as on telly they don’t. Now I’m no oil painting, sort of tall, gangly, specs not the best complexion and not the best health ... but a fucking billionaire! Prostate cancer visited me then thankfully left after pricey treatment, two of my mates have had their organs removed so with with no erection they can’t even have a wank, just doesn’t happen. Had a mild stroke two years back and I seem to be firing on all cylinders but of course my money has bought the best possible treatment wherever it is.
“OK Jim, the time is now, are you ready?.” Baying and cheers accompany Anna’s words. “ You’re going to see the bottom half of the girls behind the screens and you’re going to eliminate one OK?” I nodded and grinned at the noisy drunk crowd. My wife Alicia amongst them.
“Please raise the screen so we can see the bottom half,” Anna stated with a gesture, her other hand swiping my hand off it’s delicate grope of lower down her arse crack. Through that skirt, no undergarments I determined. I concentrated. Three blurred shadows, at least suggesting their height. The one black woman in the three, I guessed was my top choice for non Caucasian, the others were white women, any nationality, but a big name.
The screens lifted very slowly to an inane audience moan rising in tone, straight off cheap reality telly until the genitals were in full view, enhanced by close ups on four enormous TV screens scattered about the place for the mob and on the monitor Anna and I could see. I hadn’t been party to how my details were asked but all three of these certainly had one of my major attributes and it was possible I would see another with this reveal, knowing they’d have to rotate and display their bums. It would have been priceless when they each received the offer and details, to see faces and reactions. Of course priceless to me wasn’t an issue and most of theirs, but I bet it was a surprise.
I had to put a price on each candidate in the request and they ranged from £50K to £1million, depending on my selection. Charity would benefit totally from that of course, two of them Alicia’s favourites, this whole fucking crazy idea was hers anyway, cheeky bitch, she is 27 I am 55.
The black cunt on show was very hairy, typical Negro, thick but wiry, but trimmed sideways to be clear of the top of her thighs. She was in the centre screen behind yellow. Her stance was straight on, powerful looking legs together and I couldn’t see her slit. Through the semi-transparent screens I could make out all of their heights and I was still favouring yellow even though the other twats were to each side. Of the other attribute I’d listed, the blurred images showed promise. Her main interest to me was a bit of a surprise in that the lower part of her belly was domed very low, was she pregnant?
That could influence my choice, it would be a first.
To her left, behind a red screen, was a taller, slightly pigeon toed stance, with a gap between her thighs, on straight, no ankle, white legs and knotty knees. A fluffy, big, brown, unruly bush was gorgeous but in her case I surmised an older woman and in the gap, there was a suggestion of another of my criteria, dangling, thick pussy lips.
“Impressed so far Jim?” giggled Anna as I stooped slightly to inspect. I am very tall, bit gawky and the height of the albeit raised screens hampered my view ... just a touch! Although I was buying a shag with one of them and could hazard a guess which celebrity was behind the screens, I am a full blooded man for fucks sake and wanted to look at any bare naked minge as close as possible.
“Overwhelmed, they’re utterly gorgeous Anna,” I replied, playing up to the fact we were on a show.
My friends, mates and lets not forget - my wife and other rich people who’d shelled out a load of cash just to watch me squirm and grin, screamed their approval and jealousy.
“What about red Jim, closer look?” she suggested, to which I nodded, the row increased as we stepped forward. I stooped lower, being closer to the lower edge of the screen. I could see she was tallish. Her light brown bush was long through the gap, but not dense and yes another criteria was achieved. Her legs were a little wasted, showing minute wrinkles round the top of her thighs, certainly no spring chicken. Her toes were unpainted.
“Do you like her labia Jim?” just like on TV came the rude question. Howls of disgust surrounded us.
“Yes love it, like to see more,” howls and screeches, as the woman widened her stance, oh yes.
“Why is that?”
“Oh don’t know ... something to hang on to I suppose,” I bluffed, knowing the score and the hints I’d received before the show. Cue guffaws and howls.
“Can’t see hers,” I nodded to the yellow screen. The black girl never stirred, the crowd hooted derision, but she remained steadfast.
“OK now blue,” said the lesbian, leading me by her sweaty small hand across the set. I’d seen her for an hour or so before and admired her neat bum, in mid grey jogging bottoms. It was quite tight but no camel toe slotted to entertain me. There was no visible panty line then. Hmm! These dykes like to get straight in I had mused.
This very pale female was certainly dumpier but still with nice shapely legs and lovely ankles, again no toenail colours. She had a cute wide gap between her big toe and the next one. She stood in the standard glamour pose, albeit with chunkier thighs and hips, one foot in front and overlapping the other, so no vision up her crotch. A definite larger belly than the others fitted her sturdy legs and she was not as tall as the other two. There were traces of the onset of cursed cellulite. She had a deep cratered navel, where as looking across, the red was what is known as an outer and in the case of yellow, hers was distended.
Blue’s pubes were light brown to fair, full, not thick, although her stance bushed them out.
“Would you like to their bums Jim?” I nodded eagerly.
“Girls, would you turn round please?” said Anna and they did. Her and I were still at the blue screen and in the rotating shift, the blue exposed oh yes! thick protruding labia. She stumbled slightly and then I even saw her cunt lips flapping.
Yellow was tight hard and superb shiny brown globes. Red a bit droopy and longer, with the start of a second crease at the top of her thighs. Blue was low and wide slung, nicely dimpled.
“Oh wow! Some beautiful bums Anna,” I gasped, genuinely in awe. “Want to see your bare arse later, what’s it worth?” I whispered.
Cleverly she feigned as if she didn’t hear, but murmured, “In your dreams arse hole,” leading me back centrally, smiling benevolently.
“OK girls, let Jim see you waggled those gorgeous bottoms,” she called out. Scream of pleasure, howls of encouragement, drunken slurs of something indistinguishable emanated from the audience.
Again the black performed a sort of ‘well if I must’ wiggle and when she turned there was definitely a typical black bubble butt, nothing to do with her belly, could have balanced a pint of beer on it. The others were more energetic, red certainly ungainly and flabby as if she wasn’t used to the action and flabby.
I confirmed my interest in all three to Anna and they turned.
“OK Jim a little more reveal, this is where you’ll see the upper half of their body. You ready for this?”
“More than ready Anna,” I crowed, rubbing my long bony fingers together. The audience hooted.
Up went the three screens, which brought heir tits into view. The crowd went wild.
“Where do you want to start Jim,” giggled Anna, as red, without a prompt, made her long, narrow, full boobs sway. Her nipples were large buttons on very dark areolae which surprised me because of her skin tones.
Yellow confirmed her pregnancy with an immense, low slung, loaded womb under big robust udders capped with small, black areolae.
“Pregnant yellow?” asked Anna, getting a thumbs up from the candidate.
“How long gone?” A pink palm with all fingers and her thumb was presented, plus a finger on her other hand. The crowd bayed and chanted yellow – yellow - yellow in her support. I was very nearly swayed on her bravery, but knew I had a role to play. The palm of her hand was like a road map of Mississippi with life lines contrasting in dark brown. I tensed my cock, this was great and two more to go.
Her tits were very big and topped with wide, must be four inch, smooth, black, cone like areolae and huge thimble like teats. I would love to see her squeeze them and spout milk. She looked sporty somehow, but of course her waist was non existent. Strolling across the set, Anna again clutching my big mitt, I examined Red’s mature frame, enjoying the many imperfections of looser skin, extra sag, wrinkles where once smooth and stopped at blue. Mature, blue veined low slung boobs with a large space between their sag but the weight and sensual shape of the sag was in full quivering bloom.
Contrasting to the other two, she had pale almost smooth areolae and the same colour wide inverted teats.
“How do you feel about nipples Jim? They’re all very different,” Anna suggested.
“I like to feel and suck them,” I chuckled. The audience went wild – again. “But must admit the bigger and chunkier the better, lovely mouthfuls to nibble.”
“Ah nibbling nipples, a poet, yeah good point,” she guffawed.
“Good point indeed Anna,” snickered, looking pointedly at the tips of hers now starting to crest under her top.
She glanced down, shook her shoulders, altering the folds of it and moved me to the centre of the set. The crowd were laughing hilariously and chanting to her ‘ Get them off, get them off, get th...
“OK decision time Jim. Which is it going to be?”
“Hang on Anna, I want to see their faces,” I argued a little sharply. That word was now echoing round as a chant. I had a good idea who the naked celebrities were, but that was the point of the whole performance.
“Shi ... gosh sorry Jim, sorry folk, I go a bit distracted with ... well never mind,” she glanced sternly at me and then down at her bust. Her teats were still proud. I must admit, she is a superb TV presenter but a woman, a raving fucking lesbian woman, what a fucking waste, so being put on the spot blatantly wasn’t new but in this case a little unusual I guessed.
“The time has come,” she announced turning to the audience. Huge cheers and jeers emanated from the howling drunken mass. I managed to glimpse my wife, nearly engulfed by the people standing round her table. She was grinning widely, as excited as them all. She didn’t know the initial list I had nominated for the show, just grateful her beloved cherished charities were going to massively benefit.
“We are now going to see the completely naked celebrities, raise the screen please.” The noise was deafening, as the three screens were ratched up, much much slower.
All three women were smiling, yellow a little less but all waved to the baying, gasping and partly stunned crowd. At first a stunned unbelievable silence eerily enveloped the mock studio, then a rumble, a roar and loud cheers echoed round the huge shed like structure as faces they’d never thought of or expected, were high lighted by three intense coloured spot lights, matching the colour of the three screens round the three celebrities, now without three fronts. Each spotlight which varied in breadth of vision, with small close up beams to areas around the significant zones of three vastly different nude women, roamed the naked bodies, pinpointing cunts, bellies, tits, faces and their bums as rear views were knitted onto vast split screens for the audience.
For myself I was in awe at the thrilling reveal, production skills, blatant exposure and sheer chutzpah of Serena Williams, Jenny Campbell and Carol Kirkwood in the order of the coloured screens they remained standing in. The simple acknowledgement of overall welcoming applause then morphed into cheers, then drunken whoops filtered in and dominated the noise.
“So now we reveal the three brave and spectacular beauties,” Anna announced grandly, dragging me to the yellow box to start with. “As if you didn’t know,” she guffawed, to the crowd. “I knew, the crew knew, but Jim here didn’t know which of his initial choice would be finalists and I say finalists as they are still in competition, because now Jim, the final decision is yours to choose you sex partner is going to be.”
Whoops became screeches.
“Is it going to be gorgeous international tennis champion, the very pregnant Serena Williams?” massive roar. A few steps took us to the red box
“Is it going to be the lovely Jenny Campbell, British entrepreneur and business woman star of Dragons Den?” not quite as massive roar, we stepped on.
“Or is it going to be the magnificent national treasure and BBC weather girl Carol Kirkwood?” the crowd bayed and laughed then whooped as the blonde meteorologist jokingly shook her droopy tits.
“I am sure you will know - everyone, the three finalists have agreed they will have sex with Jim ... if chosen ... in private ... hah hah,” Anna giggled at the boos and catcalls. “Are you all prepared ladies? I know Jim is,” she giggled as I gestured in the time honoured way of thrusting my groin forward and pumping my fists.
Serena, Jenny and Carol all grinned and nodded, the black bitch’s face wasn’t quite as eager as the others.
That evening continued in a even more drunken party, limos were everywhere and after my ordeal I was very pissed too. Alicia was tipsy, she’s always careful whatever the occasion where drink is concerned. She’s very strict with the boys, not hers, our daughter gets away with a lot of things, and she can be very picky but she’s great fun hence her cheeky submission to the show and willingness to stand for the ribald, rude and filthy atmosphere she’s endured watching the show amongst a gang of friends. The sex I was going to enjoy was matter of fact as she was concerned, she was well shagged and the one million I was donating to her two cancer charities, softened her somewhat.
Her long dark brown hair traced across my lap while she gobbled me in the limo taking us back to our London residence. Her mouthful of my jism was a picture when she finally gazed up at me when I indicated we were nearly home, her elfin pixie round face was a dirty slimy mess, but that’s she way she likes it when going down on me. I had to be up early the next day to attend a function on myyacht moored in Poole, hence the blow job on the move because it was very late.
A week later, Serena, Jenny and Carol met me in the Grenadier pub, one of my favourites in Wilton Road, Belgravia, London. I am well known there when in town and of course three lovely companions for lunch proved a big attraction. We’d kept it secret but word filtered from the locals or the staff and soon the media were all over us, but we went upstairs to a private room to avoid in pap intrusion indoors. It had proved difficult to fix the date so early but all of us had pulled strings, shifted appointments to fulfil the contracts we had signed.
Serena’s frizzy hair was tied back in a severe black band that dragged her hair sharply back from her brows. I know she’s not the most attractive black sportswoman, when you think of Katerina Johnson-Thompson or that cute little USA gymnast Simone Biles, but I’ve fancied her since she burst on the tennis scene, because her big boobs bounced about in well trussed underwear. She has a pugnacious featured face and tigerish eyes, complimenting her magnificent bum, which I imagined must be hard and hot. She wore a stark white close fitted dress that I wouldn’t have thought suitable for a heavily pregnant woman. The hem just about covered her meaty knees. It hung vertically from the rotund extremity of the front of her bump. Her belly button thrust through the material and her nipples – wow! Through a no doubt stout brassiere they were like lumps in snow. The hemline promised scintillating views up under it to a passing voyeur, but she’d carefully chosen immaculate white Lycra skin tight shorts ending midway down her thighs. I couldn’t miss them. I noticed when she sat, her decorum was immaculate, knees together, the rear hem swept under her massive butt on the velvet banquette. At home in private after she’d visited I would have sniffed the seat. I wondered if she had knickers beneath the shorts. Her whole body glistened shiny brown. She wore white, pink and pale blue pristine Converse trainers over small pink socks.
Jenny offered a complete contrast in a knee length, dark blue, scoop neck, pencil skirt and black plain stilettos. I could see nylon tights or stockings. Her long, light auburn hair was styled but loose, below her shoulders and a double row of pearls decorated her slightly freckled chest above two inches of cleavage. Jenny’s blue eyes are captivating, having a sleepy come to bed, yes please, sort of hooded, lazy but piercing look.
Carol, I know had come straight from BBC studios having done the Breakfast show weather live and wore her trademark outfit, a knee length dress in cobat blue. It fitted her full figure beautifully, she must have a stack of them made, with a wide vee neck, exposing an inch of full cleavage. The upper slopes of her breast quivered with each movement. Her torso which of course I have seen naked, was well supported with miracle underwear, pinching her waist filtering to her hips and torso. The undergarment wiring and seams were evident and from the side I could see brassiere straps. Her legs were bare and she wore white two inch peep toe sandals.
The chat was easier than I imagined, we were now on equal fully dressed status and of course it was on me, but we didn’t eat much, more of a snack. I still had this sense of reticence from Serena who gave off an air of why am I here, forever messing with her hair and studying her manicure. In the end I told them I’d made my final choice and the TV programme would advise.
Serena called me two weeks later from her new home in San Fransico.
“Thanks for choosing me Jim, I am stunned to be honest ... but” Very pregnant pause.
“That’s an ominous sound or lack of sound Serena,” I chuckled. “The but I mean.”
“God this is awful, but I’m afraid I am going to ask if I can take a rain check on the deal, the contract ... you know...”
“For fucks sake Serena...” I blurted, hating the rain check term.
“Please hear me out Jim, I am really sorry, but I just don’t want to risk things, you know the baby and all,” she murmured, her voice getting softer.
I imagined her sat stroking her huge baby bump, lovingly admiring it.between those bounteous bouncing swollen boobs, she continued in my stunned silence.
“I am quite happy and willing to double your charity money whatever it is,” she suggested, resorting to a little girly tone.
I couldn’t imagine such a powerful looking Negress as tall, buxom and downright earthy as Serena Williams speaking in such a way, yet it was whining at me across the phone line. I couldn’t even imagine her as cutey pie little picaninny from the deep south, with pink and white bows in her hair, an immaculate white dress for church and tiny white shoes and socks, bible in her little hand.
“Well that’ll cost you a million Euros Serena, do you know that?”
“No I didn’t, but no problem, what you say?”
“OK you can tell I’m disappointed, just send me the money, you’ve got details. It’s not the same as fucking you, you’ve always been my dream...”
She giggled naughtily as I said that, cutting me off.
“Tell me who you’ll choose, you know as a substitute? They’re both lovely.”
“Don’t know yet. Fuck! wait till I tell them.”
I got an assurance from her when the money would be in my account and we finished the call. Yes she could afford it no doubt from her winnings, but I was losing out and I was truly pissed off. So who was it to be? Hmmmm!
Leaving Alicia with a very happy smile that morning, once we’d viewed the bank she had chosen online, now with two million extra credit to her charities. I made phone calls to assure people I wasn’t laundering money, it was strange. My second wife knowing I was going off to shag a celebrity wished me a good trip and telling me she loved me. She told me she would be revisiting the show recording, which I’d done a few time to refresh my memory which was acute to say the least considering the subject and I chose.
Jenny was truly amazed and we had arranged to meet at the Bell in Alresford near Winchester, a classy, old fashioned place off the beaten paparazzi track. We had a pleasant snack lunch in the bar without raising any interest apart from Jenny catching a few admiring, lusting and lecherous glances. I guess it was rare to see a beautiful, well dressed, cultured, smart lady in this little county town. When I parked all I could see were blue rinse and tweeds. She asked me why Serena had backed out and I added in replying I had been really looking forward to seeing a pregnant black muff and exploring it. She chuckled commenting on my basic male desires with a jaunty shake of her head, rolling eye and wide grin. We retired to the suite, which had a nice cantilevered bow window on the front. I had booked for the day and night if necessary.
I must admit it had peeved me when the champion tennis star pulled out as I never did see her fanny, she’d kept those chunky shapely legs tight all through the show. In my mind I saw her minge as being spectacularly crude, big fat crinkly meat curtains permanently juicy from both her sex juices and sweat. To see it peel apart like an easy to open oyster and I thought of that synonym dreaming of Serena’s big snatch having the outward crinkly appearance of the bivalve, and reveal the vivid pinks of her inner membranes, folds, cracks all gleaming in profuse cunt liquid
I followed Jenny Campbell upstairs, close to her swaying butt, housed in a loose from low hips down, flouncy indigo blue skirt. I noticed her seamed tan hosiery. I also noticed some interesting creases sort of slender protrusions, running vertically under the form fitting hip area. Jenny had driven down from somewhere in Barnes, to meet me in her dark blue Bentley Continental using sat nav as it was down in the sticks from her point of view. She parked like I did on the metered spaces on West Street. I knew the area reasonably well and am currently building a new house near Beaulieu. Fucking planners giving me pain too.
The bottle of chilled Krug champagne, glasses and nibbles were in the bedroom which overlooked West Street.
“Do you need the bathroom Jenny?” I asked politely.
“No thanks, I went to the loo downstairs ... oh do you mean to undress?” she giggled.