Lucky for your humble narrator Davey was into some right horroshow pain and humility dealt out by yours truly. He was a chelloveck pretty and sladkvat, and I called him my own. A few hours of lubbilubbing and I was sated and happy, smoking a cancer with my long black glory spilled out around us, something I was quite proud of. It fell to past me waist, thick and straight. How I used it to my best advantage, for vecks are so easy and predictable, yes!

It was quite late when I found my way back home, sneaking past pee and em, and woke up quite late. Whilst eating lomticks of toast with jammiwam and maslo, dear mum decided to grill me about where I have been keeping my lovely self. If there's one thing about her, she's oomny, given she works for the gov'ment doing sciency things. I was able to put her gulliver to rest by telling that I just was out shopping and goofing, just the gehls and me, and nothing baddiwad happened. Ol' Da was already gone, to the telly station where he worked taking care of the clockworks and cameras. He was nice enough, if a bit of a nazz and easy to fool.

Again, I was late for skolliwol, which was boring, boring, BORING. I loved to read, but the things I wanted to read, not the dumb things some baboochka wanted me to read and talk gloopy about. Ugh! What chapooka, what drivel. Is it any wonder us nadsat are done with it? We just can't even, anymore! The whole sodding world spiraling in the shitter, and we're to worry about some names in a silly old book!

After skolliwol, I was walking back to the old domiss, when I decided to pop into the 'tronnics store what was along the way. I still had some pretty polly leftover from last nochy's doings, and felt like buying some pop-disks with it. I was viddying over some banda merch when I turned and bumped into a lad. I began to chumble an appy polly loggy when a voice goes, "Hello and salutations, miss. Sorry for the bumpy, little sister."

I look up to see the most striking blue glazzies in a smooth, beautiful face. "The eemya's Alex. What be yours, m'dear devotchka?"

"I'm Anni," I give him, suddenly almost shy-like. He viddies me up and down as I'm still wearing my school platties, awful skirt and blouse, while he's decked in a blue frock coat trimmed in gold, brass buttons and all.

"Would thee mind ittying over my domiss-ile and passing a boring old evening listening to pop-disks and having some mounchies? You won't be out late, as I can tell you're a dobby gehl, eh?"

It dawns on your narrator, brothers and sisters, that it is the infamous Alex DeLarge himself, idol of us nadsat, standing here before me, and so I mustn't disappoint, must I not? "Oh, not so dobby, my brother. Not so good as all that."

Later finds me waking up, feeling gloopy and confuzzled, nagoy as the day I was birthed and sore between my legs. Me gulliver throbbed fierce, and when I tried to itty I was tangled in bloody sheets. I 'membered having some nom-noms with the moodge himself Alex at his home and slooshying the hottest pop-disks. The drink he gave me was more than moloko-plus, it seems. Oh indeedy.

"Awake now, Anni-bird?" Alex called from across the bedroom. "Not used to drenchrom, little sister? Your grey matter checked out, wot-wot?"

"You bratchny, thou!" I cried, wobbly getting to my feet. "Malenky skitebird!"

"Now, now, mine cross devotchka," Alex placated with his hands up, as nagoy as myself was, began. "You seemed quite into it, you did. Perhaps I gave thee a bit much, seeing as you're an ittle, slittle thing, tiny ptitsa thou."

I looked down to see krovvy staining my inner thighs and crarked mightily. I pounced him after he joked I must be ready for another go. He wasn't savvy to the heavy, metal weights I have twined in my thicky, raveny luscious glory and I swing my gulliver as for an exaggerated dance when I get close to him. The weights swing at the end of my arse-length hair and tolchock him but good, more than once.

Red juice spews from that smooth, youthy face of his, his big blue glazzies now big as M's special dinner plates. I grabbed a lava lamp off his nightstand and brought it down on his gulliver with a satisfying thud, sending him skriking to the floor. Then I cut up that boorjoos pretty coat and tied him to his own bed. I used what was left to tie around his yarbles to get him a dobby pan-handle gainst his will. Trussed up like an Amerikan Turkey Day turkey gets me going for some in-out, in-out, even with me naughty bits abused and sore. He was…a tad concerned I think, shall we say. I find some synthmesc in Alex's night-stand and help myself to it, my loyal readers, to ready myself for my own brand of ultra-violence.

I hit 'play' on the warble player and some Ludwig Van begins playing from the surround-sound speakers, and work myself up to abuse Alex's man-toy like he did my ladyparts.

What surprised your humble Anni-bird, was at the end afore I collapsed happy and exhaustipated, was the gleam in Alex's face. He had begun enjoying it, for Bog's sake (once he came round a bit, at any rate). I punched him right in his rot as I used him and it didn't even matter.

I guess there was a reason he was The Moodge.

I didn't get back home from skolliwol turns out until 10:30 that night.

He was marked, though, take that shite to the bank. One of those blue eyes remained dilated forever. I did that, and damn proud, too.