There's something about Britney Spears that would probably surprise the legions of bubblegum-chewing jailbait girls who buy her albums. No, it's not her well-publicised flirtations with bisexuality (after all, she spends a lot of time with budding young fans who'd do anything to get close to their hero), nor is it the fact that her career is based on her skill at the ancient art of fellatio. No, Britney's secret is much more intimate, and has been with her since she was a blossoming pre-teen herself.

Give up? Well, it's this: the Princess of Pop is an anal fuck-toy.

It started back in the trailer park. Britney, desperate to escape and make a name for herself, was offered the usual route out - sucking and fucking her way to the big city. The first man to make such an offer, shortly after the would-be starlet's tenth birthday, was a portly Texan gentleman who told the girl he could make her dreams come true, if she would only wrap those pretty pink lips around his stubby middle-aged prick. Young Britney, keen to make a good impression, sank to her knees with a grateful smile and proceeded to suck the wrinkled cock until the fat, sweating executive deposited a meagre streak of jism on her bubblegum-pink tongue.

This scene was repeated time and time again through her pre-teen years, until, on the very day of her fourteenth birthday, a commercial promoter from LA decided that it was time to pop the slut's cherry. A combination of too much cocaine, a generous handful of lube, and a mis-timed thrust meant that Britney's first experience of fucking was a long, meaty prick violating her virgin asshole. The promoter was too far gone to care, or even notice, that he'd picked the wrong hole, and proceeded to bury his cock into her over and over again until he drained his balls deep into her velvety ass. From that moment on, Britney was hooked. Every chance she would get, she'd spread her cheeks and present her tight little ass: record producers, interviewers, radio station execs, members of her stage crew... by the time she was a global superstar, that puckered little ring must have wrapped itself around dozens of throbbing cocks and hundreds of thrusting fingers.

I know all this because I met Britney late in the summer of 2001, when she was one of the hottest properties in the world. We met in the bar of a hotel in New York (which shall remain nameless), after she'd escaped her minders for a few hours for a late-night drink, sneaking up to the fortieth-floor restaurant. We ended up talking in the dark bar, our faces illuminated only by the faint glimmer of the city lights beyond the broad windows, our fingers cradling heavy crystal tumblers of expensive scotch, our conversation soft and intimate. At the end of the evening, horny and a little enchanted by her naive charms, I invited her back to my room. When she eagerly agreed, I was certain I was dreaming - until, that is, she ran her fingers up my thigh and cupped my erect cock, licking her lips wickedly.