Erotic Fan Fiction Clementine Ford and Catherine Deveny by Canbebitter

I was sitting round a table at Albert Food and Wine with Clementine Ford, Stella Young, Emilie Zoey Baker and my boyfriend last night lsitening to Benjamin Law do a live reading of the Erotic Fan Fiction he had just done involving Corey Bernadi and a large dog at the Wheeler Centre.

Clem and I then talked about the Erotic Fan Fiction we had read at the previous event with Andrew Denton and Declan Greene.  (Mine involved Tony Abbott, Cardinal Geroge Pell, Gina Rinehart and a dildo in the shape of Rose Hancock).

At that VERY moment a fan had sent both Clem and I an email with an Erotic Fan Fiction she had written about us!

I thought it was fabulous and Canbebitter generously allowed me to post it.  Enjoy….

525841_10151824944290453_924813602_n 2Clementine Ford rolled her head back and moaned loudly.

“Gnnnnnnaarrghhhhgggggghhhh. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

She looked down between her creamy thighs and studied Catherine Deveny’s dark wavy mane as it bobbed up and down behind her own elegantly groomed pubic hair. How did this happen?!, Clementine wondered as she took another sip of red wine out of a Brunswick-issue jam jar. Catherine’s perfectly pink tongue flicked her clitoris again. Oh, who the hell cares, Ms Ford revised, as orgasmic waves crashed over her.

It had actually started out, as these things often do for Northside feminist writers, on Twitter. A little calling out sexism here, a few #qanda tweets there, and before they knew it, Clementine Ford and Catherine Deveny had cultivated Twitter followings comprising most of the feminists (and their trolls) in Melbourne. Naturally, they’d SlutWalked together, Reclaimed the Night and eventually developed a friendship offline. In June 2012, they were each delighted to find that they were both asked to read at the same Erotic Fan Fiction event at the Wheeler Centre. In July 2012, Clementine had called Catherine in a panic.

“Dev! Erotic Fan Fiction is on tomorrow and I haven’t written anything yet.”

“Oh Clem, this is so typically you. As soon as I heard, I got home and wrote this amazing piece about Tony Abbott and George Pell. And Andrew Bolt. And Gina Rinehart.”

“And that is so typically you. But I don’t have time for your gloating. What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to have a glass of wine, calm the fuck down, and write something filthy. It’s not hard.” To Clementine, Dev sounded as if she’d already had a glass or two herself. The advice wasn’t helpful.

“I don’t think I can do it. I’m freaking out, Catherine.”

“How about I come over and we can do it together? Maybe if you had some help, you’d feel more confident. You’re so adorable when you panic.”

Clementine knew that even just the company of the older woman would steel her nerves. “Thank you,” she whimpered into the phone.

“I’ll cycle over. See you in five,” Catherine replied.

Clementine opened the door to a slightly flushed Dev, dressed in a deep green dress, with a low cut scoop neck. She must have gotten dressed in a hurry, because she wasn’t wearing a bra, and Clementine could see every curve of her bountiful breasts. She’d skipped stockings too. Clementine looked down at her own attire. She was wearing a cream lace vintage nightgown. Her blue Bonds briefs were clearly visible under the flimsy material, but she figured Dev would forgive the oversight.

“What you need, is some inspiration,” Catherine said in her typically forthright manner. She went into the kitchen and poured out two very large jam jars of red wine, and two shots of tequila.

“I know,” Clem agreed. “I’ve been trawling the news and skimming children’s books, but nothing is coming to me. I even read some Literotica, but then I got distracted, and you know…” She gestured at her crotch. “I wasn’t very productive. Who are those for?”

“The wine is for the both of us, the tequila is just for you,” Catherine replied, her eyes glinting cheekily. Clementine opened her mouth, but Dev continued. “Don’t argue, just slam it back.”

Clementine did so. Oh god, she was in her 30s and far too old to be shotting tequila. She woozily stood back from the bench to find Catherine’s hands between her thighs.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” she spat out.

Catherine looked sheepish, but kept her hand on Clementine’s inner thigh. “I just wanted to check how distracted you’d been from Literotica. And I wondered if maybe I’d be better at inspiring you?” she added hopefully.

The tequila going to her head, Clementine grabbed Dev’s hand and plunged it inside her briefs. Her moat had suddenly become flooded, and she wanted more than anything for Catherine to know that she was the cause of it. With her free hand, she grabbed a jar of wine and took another gulp.

“Kiss me.” Catherine did so, and pushed Clementine against the bench. Dev’s stiff nipples pushed through the green fabric and brushed against Ford’s. Clementine felt Catherine’s fingers search deeper into her sex, the heel of her hand expertly massaging her clit.

“Oh God,” Clementine offered involuntarily.

“There’ll be no talk of God here,” Catherine snapped, ever the atheist. “I’m going to punish you for that.” She pushed Clementine’s head to her unstockinged mound.

Instinctively, Clementine knew what was expected of her. She peeled away Catherine’s black French briefs and ran her tongue over her hot slit. Reaching up one hand to grasp Dev’s famous bosom, she used her other hand to get a firm hold of her ample, fleshy arse. She licked blindly, feeling for Dev’s pleasure button with her tongue. A few guttural sounds told Clementine she had found the right place. Licking faster and faster, Clementine felt her own briefs get wetter and wetter. She removed her hand from Catherine’s behind and plunged them deep into Dev’s slippery cave. Clem knew there’d be no attention for her until Catherine was satisfied.

The experienced older woman came quickly and heavily, releasing delicious juices into Clementine’s willing mouth. The younger woman swilled some more wine, removed her nightgown and Bonds, and sat down on her favourite chair.

“Now me.”

Catherine took her place at the foot of the chair, posed as if in prayer. While she didn’t care for the church, the cult of pussy was something she could get behind.

“You’re soaking,” she murmured. Catherine inserted an exploratory index finger into her crevice, feeling for Clementine’s raised G-spot.

Clementine breathed in sharply as Catherine found it. She sipped at her wine and felt two more fingers enter her. She ran her hands over her own torso, taking in her feminine curves, eventually resting on her swollen breasts. Clementine tugged gently at the stiff nubs of her nipples, heightening the sensation. She rolled her head back.

Ms Ford then felt Catherine apply her tongue to the place she needed her most. Combined with the now methodical in-and-out motion of Dev’s long fingers, Clementine began to feel pleasure unlike anything her boyfriend or faithful vibrator had ever been able to give her. She spread her legs further, pressing her warm vulva hard up against Catherine’s enthusiastic face.

Clementine’s breath got hot and heavy. Catherine continued to flick her tongue expertly, and faster now. Her fingers slipped in and out easily, and at speed. While focusing intently on the wavy hair in front of her, Ford lost all control and reason.

As the climax tingled through Clementine’s body, she brought Catherine’s head to meet hers and kissed her, tasting her own meaty sex on her lips. “Stay with me,” she whispered, as post-coital exhaustion set in.

Hungover, with red wine stained lips, Clementine awoke the next day to find Catherine gone. “Shit, it’s 3pm,” she said to no one. She quickly rushed off some erotic fiction, substituting the characters of Jesus and Satan for Clementine and the devilish Dev. Her pussy pulsated with delight as she committed the previous night’s depravity to paper.

Suddenly it was 7pm. Clementine Ford cycled madly to the Wheeler Centre, all the while worrying what Catherine would think of her story. Eddie Sharpe introduced her, and Clementine stepped up to the podium. It was her moment of truth, and the way she saw it, there was only three ways the reading could go. Badly, with Catherine never speaking to her, let alone tweeting at her, again; mediocre, with Dev tweeting at her but never touching her again; or very well, with the two of them getting a room straight after. Clutching at her throat, Clementine felt her own erect nipple graze her arm. She nervously began reading.

As she returned from the lectern to her seat, Clementine glanced back to see Dev with a wicked look in her eyes, running a pink tongue around the edge of her crimson lips. The moistening in Clementine’s crotch told her she’d be seeing that tongue again very soon…


Want more?  Come see Clem, Dev and Nelly Thomas LIVE Sunday November 4th 3pm Bella Union Bar. And this is also a DO NOT MISS. Tuesday October 9th Too Much Information. I went last week and was GOBSMACKED!!!


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