Australian reality star needed a ride in Prague
Alright, buckle up buttercups! Let’s delve into the scandalous details of this raunchy reality ride that’ll leave you hot under the collar. Grab a stiff drink (or two) and prepare to be thoroughly entertained by the drunken exploits of a certain Australian reality star who found themselves in a less-than-savory situation in the heart of Prague.
Picture this: It’s a balmy summer night in the Czech capital and our boozy bombshell has had one too many Pilsners at a dive bar in Old Town Square. Staggering out into the cobblestone streets, they struggle to remember where they’re staying, let alone how to get there. Enterstage left: a shady-looking dude in a rusted out Lada, cruising for fares at 3am.
“G’day mate, can ya give us a lift to…to…shit, where we goin’ again?” the sloshed Aussie slurs through the passenger-side window, barely able to stand upright. The driver, with beady eyes and a gold tooth that would make Flavor Flav jealous, leers at his potential mark. “Of course, TV star! I take you to best club in city, yes? VIP treatment, many beautiful girls!”
Our inebriated hero, too bladdered to realize they’re being scammed, gleefully hops in the back seat, not bothering with a seatbelt. The car lurches forward and takes off into the night at breakneck speed, narrowly missing a tram and a gaggle of elderly tourists.
As they speed through the winding streets, twisty and narrow-ay, the driver keeps glancing in the rearview mirror, a smirk playing on his greasy lips. “You know, I make special deal for you, Ms. Reality Star,” he purrs in a thick accent that suspiciously sounds more Russian than Czech. “We skip club, go to my place. I keep you safe, away from bad element. Plus, you give me very good time, yes?”
Our inebriated Aussie, droplets of vodka dribbling down their chin, giggles and slurs, “Fuck yeah, let’s do it! I’m too blotto to care how I end up in the gutter.” Little do they know, the gutter is the least of their worries.
The car screeches to a halt in front of a run-down tenement building that looks like it hasn’t seen a lick of paint since the days of Communism. The driver hauls our wobbly hero out of the car and frog-marches them up three flights of stairs, down a dank hallway that smells of pee and cabbage, and into a studio apartment that could charitably be described as a “roach motel.”
“Make yourself comfortable, da?” the driver growls, shoving our Aussie onto a sagging mattress covered in suspiciously stained sheets. Before they can protest, he pounces, pinning them down with surprising strength for such a weedy looking chap.
What follows is a night of debauchery that would make Caligula blush. Let’s just say that more holes are filled, more fluids spilled, and more lines crossed than in a typical episode of The Jeremy Kyle Show. The driver, it turns out, is an expert in the Kama Sutra, and he puts our hapless hero through their paces like a sex coach from hell.
There’s bondage, threesomes with his “Aunties” (hey, don’t ask, just pray), and a disturbing amount of whips, chains, and makeshift sex toys fashioned from Dubček-era bric-a-brac. Our reality star is used, abused, and abused some more, until even the grottiest of European Pornhub princesses would be impressed.
Finally, when the cocks have stopped docking and the cum has stopped coming, the Aussie stumbles naked into the bathroom, grazing their elbow on a leaky radiator and stubbing their toe on a suspicious lump that could either be a bag of Skittles or a kilo of coke. They collapse in front of the mirror, catching sight of something they wish they hadn’t – a shaving rash that spells out “SLAVE” on their upper thigh.
The driver, apparently feeling some semblance of post-coital decency, vomits a few Czech crowns onto the bed. “For taxi home,” he grunts, tossing a stained tracky dack at our Aussie before slinking out the door. Our hero heeds his sage advice, grabbing their barely-there clothes and hastily Corpse Brides-ing it out of there.
They stumble back to the hotel in the early hours, slipping past the receptionist and heading straight for the shower, where they scour the night’s sins from their skin until the hot water runs cold. As they crawl into bed, they swear they’ll never touch another Pilsner as long as they live. But we all know that’s a lie – this is Prague, after all. And the booze-soaked shenanigans of this Aussie reality star are only just beginning…
There you have it, folks! A saucy story that proves even reality stars get smashed and end up in sticky situations in Prague. So next time you’re in the Czech capital and you’re feeling frisky after a few too many Czech brews, remember – when the sun goes down, so do your inhibitions. But sadly, sometimes your standards of decency go down with them. Stay thirsty my friends!
