(insert pithy rejoinder here)

F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES

Twisted Fictioneer Interview with BrainRants

Santa-Claus--5767

Santa-Claus--5767Today we begin our series of interviews with THE TWISTED FICTIONEERS, a group of authors who collaborate on charity writing projects such as ICONIC INTERVIEWS and F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES. Every Wednesday and Saturday we will feature an interview from a different author who has contributed to our writing ventures.

Since today is Christmas I thought it fitting to interview the man who started it all. From his portrayal of a sauced and surly Santa Claus in ICONIC INTERVIEWS to his sometimes caustic, ever rantastic blog(s), to his upcoming take on Jack and the Beanstalk for F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES: Volume II, it seems there’s nothing this blogger can’t or won’t rant about.

So grab a beer and don’t spare the bacon because we’re about to spend Christmas with:

BrainRants

When did you know you wanted to be a writer?

I’ve wanted to write since I was SmallRants. I’m only now getting the freedom of maneuver to explore it. The blog started as practice in the self-discipline of writing. I like to think I’ve got that small part nailed down.

Do you prefer to write in a specific genre and if so, why?

Genre? I have to pick one? Shit.

What techniques do you use when crafting your writing day to day that keeps you focused on the plot and storyline?

I don’t know yet, honestly. I just signed up for your story and later an idea came. I basically dumped out what was in my head.

Many readers will probably be offended by F*cked Up Fairy Tales and/or Iconic Interviews. What is your message behind the irreverence?

The only answer to that is ‘Fuck you very much.’ I’ve spent over twenty years defending our freedoms, so if they don’t like what I wrote, they can throw the book away. Nobody’s making them read it.

What is the most challenging aspect of the mechanics of writing for you, and how do you overcome it?

English. Still working on that.

There is art and science involved in writing. What is your favorite aspect of writing in the context of its art?

Sorry, I just wet myself laughing because I can’t see anything even remotely resembling art in my story. Like I said, I emptied my head out onto a document.

Ten years from now, what are you writing?

Probably some dull report for the Government. Sort of like I do now.

tbar

 And now for a little something extra we bring you…

tbar

TEN THINGS YOU NEVER KNEW ABOUT BRAINRANTS!

1. What would you consider to be your best personality trait?

I’m clearly so very easy to get along with…

2. What do you think is your worst personality trait?

My epic span of patience, which has been measured at .0037 seconds, when dealing with stupid people.

3. You wake up Saturday morning and everyone has left you alone for the day. What do you do?

You really want to know that?

4. Name one person, living or dead, you’d like to take to dinner:

George S. Patton.

5. If you could choose a superpower, what would it be and why?

X-Ray vision is tempting, because hooray for boobies! But I think being invisible would be just as useful. I can already turn wine into water like a motherfucker…

6. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

Texas. Loved it there on my first tour.

7. Your favorite book/favorite meal/favorite sport:

Steak with my special salad.

8. Your favorite movie/food/song that you secretly like but don’t want to admit:

Tough one. I really wish I had time lately to do any of those three things. Sorry.

9. What job do you wish you had?

Though ‘Elephant Inseminator’ is tempting, I think being a food reviewer and critic would be pretty awesome. Or maybe Galactic Emperor.

10. Your favorite swear word:

You have to ask? “Fuck,” the most versatile word in the world.

Tanks alot Santa1

FEATURED BRAINRANTS WORK:

SANTA SPAM PART ONE

SANTA SPAM PART TWO

SANTA SPAM PART THREE

SANTA SPAM UPDATE

UPDATE SANTA CLAUS

TRENDING NOW – SANTA CLAUS

DATELINE – SANTA

JAILBREAK AT THE NORTH POLE

SANTA CLAUS – THE SHOCKING CONCLUSION


F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES IS HERE!

F*cked Up Fairy Tales
  • Has the stress of facing the holiday season alone got you down?
  • Are you dreading another Thanksgiving Day dinner defending your recreational life choices to your staunch Republican (insert Military Branch Rank of your choice here) Father?
  • Tired of being seated between your fighter pilot/Sunday school teacher/Abercombie & Finch model big brother and your half-dead Grandmother who smells like cheese?

WELL HAVE I GOT A SOLUTION FOR YOU!

From the warped and creative minds of the Blogosphere’s most talented writers comes a retelling of classic fables and fairy tales, each one more twisted than the last. F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES is the first of a two eBook novella series created by THE BLOGGER COLLECTIVE, a talented group of participating authors from around the Blogosphere. It’s childhood as you never remembered it. 

BUT WAIT…THERE’S MORE!

F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES  is guaranteed to make your brother come out of the closet while simultaneously giving Granny Limburger a moist-y.

F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES has been proven to increase penis size, get your car better gas mileage and give your ex-girlfriend a scorching case of rotten-crotch.

JOIN THE FUN! PICK UP YOUR VERY OWN eBook COPY OF F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES TODAY!

FUFTEBOOKCOVER


COUNTDOWN TO F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES

FUFTEBOOKCOVER

Tell the postman to keep his brown paper wrapping because this is not your father’s porn reading material. That’s right- Volume One of the two eBook novella series F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES will be available for download by Thanksgiving morning, just in time for your holiday festivities!

For more Collective fun check out ICONIC INTERVIEWS: The world’s most beloved holiday icons presented in a collection of irreverent interviews that take on the backstory of their imagined existences.

Let the countdown begin…

FUFTEBOOKCOVER


Where in the Hell is Hellis?

Picture1-1

Picture1-1I am not dead. I have not choked to death on a ham sandwich or run off to join the circus (although I am feeling a bit like the Fat Lady, lately). Sadly, my life has been consumed by a certain four letter word and that word is:

WORK

Yeah, I know what word you were thinking about. Sinners.

Anyway, I have read all the F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES everyone has sent in and they are AMAZING. I am hoping to get the ball rolling on book production this weekend, right between cleaning the house and supervising my daughter’s thirteenth birthday party- a party which will have boys in attendance. Let’s add talking HR Nightmare off the ledge to that list.

In summation, I haven’t forgotten you all, I’ve been loving your stories, and cannot wait until I get the chance to put them all together. Thank you all so much.


Wanna Get Published? Go Here:

herrero-lowell-cow-jumps-over-moonSo it’s coming close to closing time on the project known as F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES. For those of you who may not know, F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES is a retelling of classic fable and fairy tales, all viewed from the warped creative minds of bloggers from around the ‘sphere.

Want to join but don’t have time for a story? How about a limerick, lullaby or haiku? They can be as long or short as you like. Each story is a maximum of 5000 words (there is no minimum) and can be dark and twisted or entirely vanilla.

Every author who participates gets a spot on the BLOGGER COLLECTIVE page (presently under construction) with links back to his/her blog of choice. There are also weekly interviews planned if you choose to participate. But best of all, 100% of the profits from F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES are donated to charity (more info to come).

Sound interesting? Check out our list of contributors and join the fun! Each offering highlighted in GREEN has a page devoted to the author’s tale, BLUE is a tale yet to come, and YELLOW is what is available. Want to read what we’ve got so far? Visit F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES and scroll down the list for a good read!

  1. Aladdin – Emerald Dragun Studios
  2. Ant and the Grasshopper – g00dg33kranting
  3. Cinderella – Trailer Trash Deluxe
  4. Elves and the Shoemaker – Edward Hotspur
  5. Emperor’s New Clothes – Sparklebumps
  6. Gingerbread Man – HR Nightmare
  7. Goldilocks and the Three Bears – The Elite of Just Alright
  8. Hansel and Gretel – Madame Weebles
  9. Jack and the Bean Stalk – YOUR NAME HERE
  10. Legend of Santa Claus – ReadTomLucas
  11. Little Mermaid – Sparklebumps
  12. Little Red Riding Hood – Rantonit
  13. Peter Pan – The Fog of Ward
  14. Pinocchio – MC’s Whispers
  15. Princess and the Pea – Polysyllabicprofundities
  16. Puss in Boots – El Guapo
  17. Rapunzel – H.E. Ellis
  18. Red Shoes – Sparklebumps
  19. Rumpelstiltskin – Sightsnbytes
  20. Sleeping Beauty – Kayjai
  21. Snow Queen – Jennifer Vaughn
  22. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs – Very Normal
  23. Three Billy Goat’s Gruff – VanillaMom
  24. Three Little Pigs – Pouringmyartout
  25. Thumbelina – Sandylikeabeach
  26. Tooth Fairy – Kosative D
  27. Tortoise and the Hare – Archon’s Den
  28. Ugly Duckling – Grafiklit

F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES Update!

Fairy Tales

For a larger image – click at your own risk

Hellis here, taking a quick break from the grind to remind you it’s almost time for the release of the Blogger Compilation Project, F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES! If you’ve signed on to contribute please submit your story as soon as possible. The moment I have all contributions in I’ll release your book! All contributions should be sent to heellisgoa (at) gmail (dot) com

Our two newest contributions are offered by the sweet but sassy Sandylikeabeach as well as the never bland VanillaMom. Check these two ladies out for some inspiration for your own Fairy Tale!

For more of the Blogger Compilation Project read the novella,

ICONIC INTERVIEWS

- The world’s most beloved holiday icons presented in a collection of irreverent interviews that take on the backstory of their imagined existences.

 


Three Gruff Sisters and the Troll

6509017527_6f7b0d05b5_zHold on to your garters people, today is another spicy contribution to the F*cked Up Fairy Tales project from the never bland blogger better known as VanillaMom. I decided to post her spin on the classic THREE BILLY GOATS GRUFF on a Sunday, because just reading it will send you to confession. Lock the doors and draw the blinds as I bring you THREE GRUFF SISTERS AND THE TROLL.

by, VanillaMom

The day dawned sunny and bright. After a solid week of too much to do, the Gruff sisters decided it was time to head up to the meadows. All three girls were looking forward to a day of leisure, soaking up the sun, weaving garlands of flowers for their hair, gathering berries, chasing butterflies. Whatever they chose to do, they would. It was a day for fun and relaxation. Back at home, there would always be chores – the sort of things that never, ever were “done”. They had decided last night that they all needed a little break. Besides, the littlest sister, Andi, pointed out, they’d have berries for breakfast for the rest of the week.

Pacing around the parlor,  Andi was full of impatience and a goodly amount of impudence. After watching her sisters fuss over their clothing for far too long, she decided to venture off on her own. Eventually they would catch up to her. She didn’t exactly leave stealthily, though she did close the door very quietly on the sound of her sisters voices.  Which corset, indeed! She, clad in a simple cotton skirt and blouse, almost skipped for joy as she left their home behind, and climbed the narrow road heading up to the rolling foothills. She enjoyed the breeze full of verdant scents. Closing her eyes for a moment, and tipping her head up for the kiss of the sun on her cheeks, she smiled for the first time in days. Sweet, this taste of freedom!

Singing a naughty little tune under her breath, she came to the heavy-timbered bridge. Here she paused nervously. There had been rumors that a troll had taken up residence under the bridge. Looking up and down the long riverbed,  the silver ribbon of the river was low, sparkling in the sunshine on its path down the mountains. It was entirely reasonable that there could be a troll down there, hiding just out of view in the shadow of the bridge. She’d heard other things about trolls, too. Things that made her nervously excited.

Her heart thumping hard in her chest, the littlest Gruff sister decided to run, run, fast as she could, across the wooden trestle. It was really more of a skip, however, with an occasional pause to peer down at the river below. Of the rumored troll there was no sign, much to her disappointment.

Yet, before she reached the end of the bride, a large, hairy, and incredibly fearful-looking troll leapt in front of her, blocking her way.

“Who dares to cross my bridge?” He shouted at her, his voice a ferocious growl. A waft of fetid air came from his mouth and she shivered and turned her head away.

“Tis only me, Sir Troll, the littlest Gruff sister. I am on my way to yonder meadow to pick daisies…” pausing, she reached into her pocket. “Breath mint?” She handed him a wad of honied mint. “I made it myself. And really, Sir, you very much need it.”

He, waving a meaty hand in the air, paused to stare at the wee lass standing before him, offering a treat. Perplexed, he snatched it up, tossing it into his mouth. He frowned down at her, while attempting to gobble it quickly. Once it hit his mouth, however, it melted into a sticky goo, taking him several minutes of chewing and mouthing the thing to get it down. All the time, the little wench stood, head tilted, watching him with a small smile on her face.

“You…should be SCARED of Troll,” he growled at her.

“Oh, that’s much better. Your breath I mean. And I’m very scared.” She smiled up at him innocently and batted her lashes.

“As I was saying, Sir Troll, I’m headed up to yon meadow to gather yummy tasting blackberries, which I will gladly share with you on my return, kind Sir.” She finished speaking, then moved, gently brushing her breasts against his arm, as if trying to edge past him.

He grabbed her arm, stopping her. With his other hand, he pulled apart the lower part of his pants. An engorged cock burst free, startling the poor girl. She stared at him, at it, aghast, waving her hand in front of her face.

“NO BERRIES! This  is the only thing you’ll  be tasting today,” he said, shaking her a bit.

“I’m afraid that part of you is just as…aromatic as your breath was, Sir Troll. I can see that you’re not much for bathing, are you? And yet, there’s that lovely stream just below. Why, I imagine that if you ran down there quickly, washed that impressive…I mean…frightening…part of you carefully, and rushed back, I wouldn’t even have time to finish crossing the bridge before you returned, and had your wicked way with me.”

Once more she tilted her head at him, aimed that innocent smile at him. He frowned, took a step back, then bolted for the side of the bridge. From underneath came the sound of crashing underbrush, the furious splashing, a faint curse as cold water came in contact with warm flesh. In moments, it seemed, he was back.

He strode to her, grasping her hair, and pulled her to her knees. In moments the large purple head brushed her against her closed mouth. Yet, at that first touch of his cock,  her lips parted. As he jutted his hips forward, he sank deeply into the wet, succulent heat of her mouth.

She gagged, a bit.  He moaned as she tried to keep her breakfast in her belly. As he moved, sawing his giant shaft into and out of her mouth, she found a rhythm to breathing and relaxing her throat. After all, it wasn’t everyday a girl had a cock this huge thrust into her mouth! She felt an answering thud to her racing heart between her thighs. She had dreamt of such wicked things, ever since she had accidentally spied the Widow Morris licking the cock of her stableman as if it were a delightful length of taffy. She had often remembered that scene, wondering at the taste and texture of a man’s shaft, while touching her own folds. And now, it was happening to her!

Her lips were stretched wide, her eyes were squeezed shut, as he continued pumping in and out of her mouth. She tried to suck it back each time he withdrew, and curled her tongue around it each time the massive length slid deeply into her throat. She could feel him quiver, and hear his gasps. If her lips hadn’t been stretched so, she would have smiled. At long last, and far too soon,  he grunted, and a hot, salty fluid filled her mouth. She’d never tasted such a thing before, and there was so much of it! It was like over-salted cream, she thought, runnels of the stuff leaking out the corners of her lips, as she licked and suckled the softening length of him.

With a pop, he pulled out, and tucked his rod away.

“Go,” he ordered roughly, and without hesitation, the littlest Gruff girl rose on shaking knees and ran the rest of the way across the bridge and up and up until she reached the meadow, where she fell back into the soft cushioning grasses, and slipped her fingers between her legs, licking her lips for one more taste of the Troll, until she shivered and quaked her way to the most incredible release she’d ever had.

*****************

Fiona looked around the house. It quickly became apparent that Andi had taken off on her own again. With a sigh, she looked at the dishes in the sink. They kept piling up, like magic. Evil magic, she mused, frowning at them. She could use the time while she waited for their eldest sister to finish her preparations (though for goodness sake they were only going to the meadow, not a grand ball!) by attacking the pile in the sink. She really should, she mused, as she eyed the back door with longing.

No!

With a burst of energy, she strode across the kitchen and out the door before she could interrupt their leisure day. Somehow, it never felt like she got that break. There was always something that needed attention. Laundry or mucking the stable, gathering eggs, or patching their garments- always there was a longer list of things to be attended to then there were hours in the day. Yet, she knew  that the dishes would still be there when they returned this evening. She hoped, wished, dreamed, that someday she’d find a handsome prince, who would have a fine castle and hundreds of servants to do all the dishes.

She smiled at her folly, as there were no princes anywhere around here, just magical creatures. Really, she would even settle for one of the fae. How lovely it would be to have someone to help around the house. Even better, to have someone to snuggle with in her lonely bed. She kept a tattered book hidden under her feather bed, with exotic pictures of men and women entwined together. She’d studied them all, especially the page with a certain tantalizing picture of woman’s ankles,  up and over the man’s shoulders, his penis poised at the entrance hidden between her thighs. His arms were bulging with muscles, as were his thighs. His erect shaft rose from a thatch of thick hair. She had spent many a long evening tracing it with her fingertips.

She wanted to see one. She mouthed the words as she walked. Penis. Cock. She shivered at the naughtiness of saying it aloud.  She ached to touch one. Yearned to feel it press into her, to fill her belly with its firm length.  There were many stories she had spun about that, as she touched herself in the deep dark night. Many nights  she had to bite her lips to keep from crying out as her mystery lover brought her to the peak, as her body wept copious amounts of love juice.

The sun shone brightly as she moved up the pathway, lost in thought. She often wondered if her sisters ever thought about men in the way she did. She was constantly dreaming of them and their hard bodies.  Her slow steps eventually brought her to the heavy wooden bridge. She kept walking, her feet moving automatically, her mind tangled in images of her deepest longing.

“Who dares to cross my bridge?”

With a shriek, she took a step back, catching one foot on the other,  falling. She landed on her backside, legs sprawled, head spinning. It was a troll. He was tall, with a thick beard and hair like a dark halo around his head.  He was impressively ugly, yet he smelled like Andi’s  mouth mints.

Wasn’t that curious?

All the warning tales about sightings of a troll at the Meadow Bridge ran through her head. She’d discounted them as foolish stories meant to scare people-after all, there hadn’t been a troll on this side of the mountains in decades! Yet here she was, and there, most definitely, stood a troll.

He seemed enormously tall; then again, she was laying on her back and looking up at him. His scowl was ferocious.  Or perhaps it was a smile? His teeth and mouth were huge, and as he approached her, looming over her where she lay, she wondered if this nasty beast would eat her! She wished she’d paid more attention to how to be rid of one.

“You were crossing my bridge. You must pay a toll.”

“I…I haven’t any coin with me. I was just on my way to the meadow. I can give you berries on my return, Mister Troll. Would that be a fair toll?”

“Berries? Berries? What is it with you girls and berries?” The troll shook his head, setting his scraggled hair to dancing. Fiona lay looking up at him, thinking that he wouldn’t be quite so fearsome if his clothing fit better and was clean. She was very handy with a needle.

“You aren’t all that terrible looking, Mr. Troll. Why, with a proper haircut, you’d be passing handsome!”

Fiona wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by that little pearl of wisdom as it popped from her mind to her lips.

“Troll is NOT handsome,” He growled, hands on his hips. He glared down at her, yet she sensed a longing in him. Being a troll under a bridge must be a lonely thing, after all.

“Troll will take his toll. NO more talk of berries.”

In seconds, his pants were tugged aside and the most amazing penis popped out. Being of a somewhat analytical nature, Fiona looked at it intently, comparing it to the pictures she’d seen in her book. It was a lot bigger. ‘One might even term it massive,’ she thought in awe..It had thick veins, and a swollen purple head. Two heavy, meaty balls hung below it, each as big as her fist!

He stepped between her sprawled open ankles, then dropped to his knees. She swore she felt the bridge tremble under her. His hands grasped the hem of her skirt and it suddenly dawned on her exactly what sort of toll he was going to take from her.

Excitement mixed with fear. It was, she could see, so much larger than the wooden cock she kept with that book under her bed. She wondered for a moment if such a huge thing could even fit inside her own, much smaller body.

“Mr. Troll?” she bit her lip. It wasn’t everyday that fantasy came to life and she didn’t want to blow this opportunity.

“I-.”  She paused again. How did one address the issue of “fitting” with a troll?

He looked at her, brows furrowed. “What you want, girl?”

“Well, Mr. Troll, your….cock,” and she blushed profusely to say that word aloud to him. “it seems very large. I wonder if it will….fit?” Her voice trailed off. The head of his cock dripped a pearly bead of fluid. She licked her lips, watching as a second drop gathered, then fell in slow motion to the ground between their legs.

He laughed, the sound like metal scraping against metal. It was not a pretty sound.

“My cock is biggest Troll cock in these mountains.” He gestured expansively.

‘Likely the only troll cock in these mountains,’ thought Fiona, though she held her tongue.

He grasped the base of his cock, shaking it at her, making another thick droplet fall to the ground.

“I make it fit.”

Suiting words to actions, he leaned forward, pressing his enormous penis against her cleft. He slid it up and down her slit, making her arch and moan when he hit the sensitive place at the top. He pressed forward. She spread her legs wider.

“Please?” she whimpered, then taking the initiative from him, lifted her hips until the head of his cock was virtually sucked into her tight channel.

Her eyes nearly rolled up in her head;  it was like nothing she’d imagined. She rose higher, taking him deeper. His cock stretched her, making her ache in a delightful way. She opened one eye, staring up at the troll. He was staring down at where their bodies were joined. She could see confusion on his face.

“Well?” she growled up at him. “Get on with raping me, will you?”

He blinked, obviously unused to being ordered around in this fashion. He started to sit back on his haunches to think about this, but she wrapped her legs around his thick torso.

“Now…” she snarled at him, “rape me now!”

Tightening her legs, she impaled herself deeper on his thickness. Nature took over at that point, and he pressed the rest of the way into her.  As he pulled back, she tightened her ankles, trying to hold him in; she felt so delightfully full!

He moved to lay atop her, and she moaned. Oh the delight of being pinned helplessly in this way. He bit her nipple, making her arch against his mouth. In moments she was screaming, coming hard, her pussy  clenching and massaging the length of him. He fucked, she came again. He fucked, and fucked and fucked. After a long, long while, he stiffened.

She was in somewhat of a stupor, having had orgasm after orgasm, yet his fingers found her clit, his mouth all but inhaling her breast, as his cock grew impossibly thicker, and began to pulse. She came with a roar, her fingers twining into his hair, pushing his head onto her breast, back arching, legs tightening, pulling him as deep as possible inside of her.

He was coming. Pressed hard against her insides, with no room to spare, every ounce of his  juice filled her. Her back arched, her body taking more, as much more as she could get. Never before had she felt this wanton. Never before had she ever imagined that one of the pages of her hidden Matings book would come to life. Never before had she felt so good. It was the stuff of fantasy, come to life.

She lay, flaccid, as he rolled away.

“Wait,” she whispered, her hand outstretched in longing. But he had already vanished below the bridge. At long last, she rose, her body glowing, and walked onward to the meadow, with their juices tracing down her thighs.

********************************

Sue tugged once more on the laces of her corset. She did like them tight, and damnit, her sisters had likely already left, as she’d called to them twice and gotten no response. Doing herself up the best way she could, she adjusted her leather pants, straightened her boots, and gathered up her implements. Her sisters were definitely of the “girlish” variety; she herself was made of sterner stuff.

It wasn’t that she was cruel to them, but they needed tasks to help keep them happy. A long time ago Sue had noted that most people fell into two distinct catagories- those that like the doing for others, and those that liked receiving such doings. Her sisters were the former while she was very much the latter.

She liked going to the mountain meadow well enough, but she would be hunting game for dinner. The younger two would braid flowers or some such frittery, while she would get on with the business of supplying them with meat.

As if they could live on daisies, she snorted to herself. Taking up her hunting sack, she slung it over her shoulder, and headed up the road.

At the bridge she paused. The locals had spoken, just last week when she was in town, of the possible presence of a troll. While she’d seen nothing of the kind herself, she left naught to chance. Unslinging her whip and club, she walked steadily across the bridge, taking note of a puddle in the center. Bending, she pressed a finger into it. Warm. Sniffing it, she frowned.

Cum?

In the middle of the bridge where her sisters had been? Now, wasn’t that passing strange? She rose to her feet, weapons at the ready, but nothing untoward occurred, and she continued on to the hills. She found one sister picking berries near the trailhead.

“Hie, Fiona!” She called. Fiona’s head popped up, startled. She turned away from her sister, just a bit, enough to make her curious.

“What ails you?”

“Nothing. Just …picking berries.”

“Fiona, I can tell you are…what the hell is that?” Sue pointed at the stain on the front of her sister’s dress. It was dark with the drying spittle of the troll.

Her sister cast her eyes to the ground, lower lip trembling.

“I …I couldn’t stop it. Truth? I…I didn’t want to. He was so big, Sue. His arms were like logs, his legs like marble. And oooh how huge  his cock, Susan!  Merciful goddess, his cock was a work of art!”

She paused, hand to her breast, remembering. She smiled, smitten.

“He needed a haircut, a shave, and some tailoring, but he was so ruggedly handsome.”

Sue looked at her sister in disbelief. What the hell had she been drinking up here? Last years mead?

A trilling call and rippling grasses presaged their younger sisters arrival. Her hands were full of daisy crowns, and she plunged into the scene with happy cheer.

She moved to pass out the crowns, but caught onto the tension.

“What…what..?” she asked, confused.

“I think our sister has fucked a troll.” Sue spoke flatly, hands on hips.

“I didn’t mean to, and it was just my mouth…” Andi’s eyes fell to her feet. Looking up, she saw the disbelief on both sisters faces.

“Wait…he got you, too?” squeaked Fiona.

After a few minutes of cacophony, of catcalling  “you slut, you whore” Sue had had enough. The volume and shrillness rose until she dropped her hands on her hips and whistled as if to dogs.

Both girls stopped, clapping hands over their ears. She had a fearsome whistle!

“Enough. It appears that we have a resident troll, who fucked you,” and she pointed at Fiona, “and used your mouth,” she continued, speaking to Andi. They nodded, still mutinous.

“And I didn’t see him at all, so he was likely totally fatigued by having both you juicy pieces in such a short time. Very well, I’ll just see to that. Give me an hour before you return.”

Both girls nodded somberly.

“Sue?” Fiona asked, her voice a bit sad. “Please…don’t hurt him too much. I…I kind of liked what he did. A lot.”

“A lot, but kind of? Silly girl. Pleasured by a stinky troll? There are better ways…”

“Like there’s anything hung like that in town,” muttered Andi under her breath.

Sue shook her head, torn between bewilderment and annoyance. She pointed to each of her sisters, her tone brooking no argument.

“Stay. Here.”

A chorus of “yes Ma’am”‘s followed her as she left the meadow at a near trot.

*******************************

She came to the bridge in short order, her long strides and impressive annoyance eating up the miles.

“Yo, Troll!” She shouted.

In a few moments, he clambered up the bank, looking more than a bit exhausted.

“What you doin’ on my bridge,”  he tried to thunder, but really, it had been a long, long time since he’d had an orgasm, let alone two in an hour. He was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.

She took a step forward.

He took a step back.

She backed him across the bridge, step by step. Once his contact with the water and bridge was broken, as he stood on the road, his power was broken.

In moments, Sue had looped her whip around his neck, collared him, and led him back to the house. He trudged along behind her, thinking fondle of napping. In the backyard was the old trough where they watered their mare.

“Get those clothes off. Hard to say which smells more…you or those rags. Get in there and wash.”

He grumbled. She pointed, first with her finger, then with her short crop. She swatted his backside as he reluctantly clambered into the water.

“Stay there.”

Striding into the house, she found one of the bars of lavender soap that her sister made, and tossed that at him. Before he could bite it, she stopped him.

“NO! Wash yourself–every INCH of yourself–you stinking creature.”

It took a while, and many buckets of water, until Sue was satisfied that he was de-stunk enough to enter the house.  His clothing stayed in the trough, he could come out later and wash them.

She walked around him as he stood in the kitchen. Her sisters were right. A bath, and later, some grooming, and he would be more than passing presentable.  Stopping in front of him, she looked at the giant cock between his hairy legs. Interesting. She smiled. Directing him to her room, she bid him to sit on the floor and to not move.

In moments she was back, with a strange ring in her hands.

“This used to be part of our mares tack. I’m going to put it on your cock. . . because it is my cock now, understand?”

He was slow to answer. As punishment, she swatted his upper legs, catching the hanging cock, making him yelp. He may have been big, but he still felt pain.

“Yes. Your cock.” He answered a bit reluctantly at first, then continued hopefully,  “I like your cock.  Troll want to put your cock in your cockhole.”

“Later, perhaps,” she purred at him. She slid the silver ring over his balls, then slipped his flaccid cock through. He frowned, moved a bit. She grabbed his testicles, squeezing firmly.

“Enough wiggling. Be a good boy and stay still.”

His hairy brows beetled down, his expression confused.  He watched her cross the room, tugging down her man-pants. He’d never seen a girl wear pants like that before. Yet she had all the right girl parts.

“Come here and taste me. I’ve always wanted someone to lick me. You have a big tongue. I want you to use it on me. Lick me good and I might let you fuck my sister again.”

The troll went to work, having never tasted pussy before, he found it delightful, his mouth and lips working to devour every drop of fluid, stroking over her button, making her writhe and moan and leak more honey onto his tongue. He pressed his tongue into her cockhole, and found it to be hot, and clenching on him. Fucking her with his tongue was delightful for both of them.

She had never ever felt the like! To have an enormous tongue lapping and stabbing into her nether regions? Amazing.

“My ass…you must lick me there, too…my crack, my hole..all of it.”

Being a troll of small brains, he wasn’t worried about that. He’d eaten worse, actually. His tongue slid up her back cleft as readily as the front, then pierced into her ass with abandon.He actually smacked his lips between slurpy suctioning of her ass and cockhole!

Finally she pushed him away. She was light-headed from so many orgasms. She heard her sisters come in, the sound of their nervous whisperings.

“Fiona! Andi! Come in here!”

She stood, bare-bottomed, the troll laying at her feet.

The two girls stopped, amazed at the sight.

“I believe we found the answer to our needs…our pet troll will help with all our chores, won’t you, Troll?”

He nodded, though he wasn’t altogether sure what a ‘chore’ was. He wondered if it tasted like the snack he had just enjoyed. He smacked his lips.

Sue looked to her sisters. “And we shall take turns with him, so that everyone gets to enjoy our new pet. Agreed?”

They nodded assent eagerly.

******************************************************

“Your tea, Madam.”

His accent was perfect, thought Sue. It hadn’t taken too many beatings to whip him into shape. His suit and tie fit impeccably, he was well-groomed, and he only tended to slobber after the guests had been served high tea. She’d allowed that-as long as he was in the kitchen or stables, and out of his livery. A troll, after all, is still very much a troll under the fine clothing.

She also didn’t mind the gruntings and foul language when he was occupied with one of her sisters, and certainly enjoyed his controlled attentions herself.

Yes, the Gruff sisters, had done well in civilizing their new pet. And although he would sometimes frown and stomp around the house, all it took was a raised eyebrow, and the suggestive tapping of her crop against her boot to end any thought of stomping away.

No, he was their troll now, and he was never found under the bridge again.

The End

 


A Tiny Thumbelina Tale

images

imagesPinch me because I must be dreaming. Today we have another amazing addition to the Blogger Compilation Project better known as F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES (I know, I know, the asterisk fools no one, but I’m trying to class my blog up, okay?)

Anyway, this little bit o’ tome comes from none other than our very own Beach Bunny Sandy Floyd, better known to Blogworld as Sandylikeabeach. Her take on the classic Thumbelina is as witty, clever and brilliant as this tiny writing powerhouse is herself. Please to enjoy, A TINY THUMBELINA TALE.

 

by Sandy Floyd 

It was a dark and stormy night. Not really, but I always wanted to start the story of my life with that line. I have no idea if it was a dark and stormy night on the night of my birth or if I was even born at night. I was just a baby so I have no clear memories of the event. I’m not even sure I should start at the beginning. So let’s begin again.

I’m special. Well, as special as a person can be in a world populated by people, each one thinking he or she is special. Of course, if we’re all special, then special isn’t really special. It’s ordinary. It is the normal order of things. But I’m the Abby Normal of ordinary though my name isn’t Abby.

I wish it was Abby. Christ! I got stuck with an awful name. I swear to God, if there is one, that if I ever have children I will not stick them with some cutesy or super esoteric or just plain fucking weird name. And the lovely name that was bestowed on me? Thumbelina. What the fuck? Who names a kid Thumbelina? What the hell is a Thumbelina? I loathed my name. I shortened it to Tina. However, there was always that one teacher who insisted on calling every child by his or her proper name, no nicknames allowed. And of course, the first day of school each year my embarrassing name would be called out and I would have to acknowledge it and then say, “But I just go by Tina.” Then the more compassionate teachers would make a note on their rosters but the damage was done. The more obnoxious poets among my class liked to chant “Tiny Tina, Thumbelina” whenever I happened by.

Of course, even without the embarrassing weird name, I still would have been teased because of the tiny thing. Just as it’s not easy being green, it’s not easy being tiny and tiny is what I am though I’m not green and tiny, just tiny. Though now that I think about it, if green is the color of your species, then how hard can it be to be green? And if tiny is the size of your species, then being tiny wouldn’t be hard either, but tiny is not the size of my species so being tiny is not easy except that it is easy to be overlooked and easy to be treated like a child and easy to be thought of as younger than you really are which will be nice when I get older.

I am a very small person though not dwarf small, and unlike most dwarfs, I am exquisitely proportioned. But if other people didn’t feel compelled to state the obvious by telling me how small I am, I would rarely think about my lack of height unless I needed to get something off the top shelf at the grocery store. Of course, I’m sure one of the functions of the lowest shelf is to serve as a step for those of us who are vertically challenged to reach the stuff we need that is always on the top shelf. And I will admit to always being surprised when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror or some sort of reflective surface standing next to a normal sized person. Honest to God, again, if there is one, I look like a miniature person.

So despite all my name loathing during my formative years living on a farm with my foster mother after being abandoned as an infant with a note pleading for someone to take care of “our little Thumbelina” thus dooming me to a lifetime of name loathing and forever linking me to a shadowy group of people with weird names, my feelings about my name took a somewhat nuanced turn. Translation: I figured out how to cash in.

Upon my successful completion of high school, I knew college was a financial impossibility. I also knew that I did not want to spend the best years of my life waiting on people be it as a waitress or a retail worker. Cubicle life sounded no better. So having no moral compass, or any compass at all, I decided to put my decidedly good looks, flexibility and passion for my passion to good use. I became a tiny stripper and Thumbelina was my tiny stripper name even though that name is not tiny and doesn’t often, or possibly ever, come up in that internet what is your stripper name thing. But I was dancing and dancing made me happy. It also made me money.

Now some people might think stripping is demeaning and they have valid arguments and indeed, I would agree it is demeaning if the stripping is involuntary. However, if stripping is a personal choice, there is power in that choice. And pardon the obvious use of the word, but stripped of its moral questions, at its heart, it is art expressed in a very specific form of dance. The best strippers embrace this. I know I did, and I was one of the best. I even won the International Pole Dance Championship a couple of years ago. Though to be fair, Miss Australia probably would have won if she hadn’t had that embarrassingly awkward slide down the pole. A little lube goes a long way.

You might not think that a strip club would be the best place to meet the love of your life and before it happened to me, I would have agreed with you, but then it happened to me though the actual meeting thing took place in a coffee shop across the street from the club, but that first sighting was in the club. He was part of a bachelor party though not the part that was The Bachelor. He was just one of The Bachelor’s buddies helping The Bachelor celebrate one of his last nights of bachelorhood.

He didn’t look like the usual regulars, but boy, did he look good. He had this tall, dark and handsome bad boy with the scruffy beard thing going on even though he wasn’t particularly tall or dark, but he was definitely handsome. And he had that scruffy beard thing which looks great on a male model, though male might be redundant because no one ever thinks a scruffy beard would look good on a female model, but I’m not typically a fan of the scruffy facial hair decision. It’s not even a decision. It’s a mark of indecision. Make a choice, already. Grow a beard or shave, but damn, it looked good on him.

I could have looked at him all night. I didn’t, because I also wanted my usual haul of tips and it’s not just the dancing that does the trick, you have to make eye contact and smile at everyone to make the most tips. But I did glance his way every now and then, and each time, he was looking at me, but not in the way the usual strip club attendee does. When our eyes would meet, he smiled ever so slightly. It was warm and sweet and it felt like we were the only two people in the room.

After my shift that night, a couple of the other dancers and I headed to the coffee shop for our usual after work confab. We settled in a booth and that’s when I noticed him. He was at the counter and he was alone. I’ve never been a big fan of fate, but fate might be a fan of me, because as fate would have it, Amber’s phone rang.

“Ugh, that was the sitter,” she said as she returned her phone to her handbag. “I’ve got to get home.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“No. Jason has a touch of a fever so I need to get home. See you later, TIna.”

“You going, too?” I asked Nina.

“Yeah, she’s my ride tonight. Good night, TIna.”

“Bye NIna, bye Amber. Hope Jason’s feeling better soon.”

The girls had no sooner walked out the door when the scruffy beard guy appeared at my table.

“Mind if I join you? I’ve never been a fan of eating alone.” His voice was like velvet – soft and smooth. A voice that could be on the radio, maybe a classic rock station or maybe even smooth jazz although much of what smooth jazz stations play isn’t even jazz, it’s more yesterday’s pop and soft rock.

“Um,” I hesitated because it’s usually not a good idea to get involved with customers, but he was good looking and he smelled good, or maybe that was the bacon cooking in the kitchen, but he looked and seemed to smell good enough to eat and I was hungry.

“It’s just a little food and conversation,” he said. And then he smiled.

“Yeah, company would be great.” I smiled back.

He slid into the booth across from me and smiled that smile. “I’m Cooper.”

I wasn’t sure if Cooper was his first name or last name, so I asked. My foster mom always told me I shouldn’t ask too many personal questions too soon, but how else do you find out stuff that you’d be wondering about and all that wondering would keep you from being able to concentrate on the conversation. And I was going to need all the help with concentration because I wasn’t really thinking about having a conversation with him, if you catch my drift.

“It’s my first name. It’s a little unusual but I like it.”

“It’s a great name. I’m..”

“Thumbelina. The tiny dancer.”

“I go by TIna.”

“How’d you come up with Thumbelina for a stage name?”

“It’s my real name. And you thought Cooper was unusual.”

He laughed and his laugh was even better than his smile. “Well, I think Thumbelina is a beautiful name. It rhymes with ballerina and you are an exquisitely beautiful dancer.”

He had me at ‘exquisitely,’ or maybe he had me at ‘mind if I join you.’ It doesn’t really matter when he had me, much like it doesn’t matter when the heart finds love, only that it does and mine did that night. We talked for hours or it seemed that way. At last, we noticed the night was easing into dawn and we made our way to the parking lot. He asked me where I was parked and I pointed to my car.

“I’m right next to you,” he said.

“That’s your bike? It’s gorgeous.” Though I didn’t add ‘just like you,’ but I was thinking it.

“Yeah, you like bikes?”

“I’ve never been on one but it looks like fun.”

“It’s just about the most fun you can have with your clothes on.”

“I always thought that about dancing, but of course, I don’t always keep my clothes on for that.”

He laughed. “Here’s my number. Call me and we’ll go for a ride. And you can keep your clothes on the whole time.”

I smiled at him and climbed in my car. “It was nice meeting you, Cooper.”

“See you soon, tiny dancer.”

A few days later I had my first bike ride. I climbed on the bike behind him and as I wrapped my arms around his waist I said, “I think this is going to be the best part of the ride.”

He laughed. “Not by a long shot. Hang on.”

And off we went. He was partially right. Holding on to him wasn’t the best part, but it wasn’t the best part by a long shot. It was a very close second. The ride was exhilarating. Sitting behind him, looking over his shoulder, the wind in my face was a great feeling. We spent the afternoon on country roads, stopping here and there to admire the scenery or grab a bite to eat.

It was just like one of those Hollywood movie montages the writers employ because they suck at writing dialogue. And it did feel like one of those too good to be true but wouldn’t it be lovely if it could happen to me Hollywood scenarios right up until it turned into a killer zombie movie but without the killer zombies, but Killer Bees instead. But not African killer bees, but the biker gang. I know it sounds like a silly name, but the backs of their jackets have this evil looking killer bee and they used a sinister typeface for the name, so it doesn’t just sound silly, it looks silly, too. But I kept my silly thoughts to myself.

We ran into the Killer Bees at Roady Toadies, a little dive bar on the outskirts of town. Of course, we didn’t know the bikes we saw outside meant there were Killer Bees inside. In fact, Cooper said he recognized one of the bikes as belonging to a friend of his. We walked inside and let our eyes adjust to the light after being in the bright sun. Cooper spotted his friend and we headed over to where he was sitting.

“Jack, this is Thumbelina. Thumbelina, this is my good friend, Jack Sparrow.”

“Like the Johnny Depp character?”

“No,” Jack said. “I had the name first but I like to think he got his character’s inspiration from me.”

Cooper laughed and said, “I think he got the inspiration from Keith Richards.”

I smiled at Jack. “Nice to meet you, Jack.”

“Likewise. Thumbelina, huh? That’s not a name you hear everyday.”

“No, it’s not,” I replied, except that I was hearing it more today then I usually do and right about then, a loud voice behind me bellowed my name again.

“Thumbelina! I’d recognize that ass anywhere even covered in jeans.”

I turned around and there was the biggest Killer Bee I had ever seen. Of course, it was the first Killer Bee I had ever seen so thinking it was the biggest one ever was a big mistake. Behind the loudmouth Killer Bee, were more Killer Bees and they were even bigger than Mr. Bigmouth which was how I was coming to think of him. Mr. Bigmouth didn’t look familiar and I had never seen men attired in Killer Bee attire in the Pussycats club. But he was looking at me, the way hungry men look at a grilled steak.

And before I could reply, Mr. Bigmouth looked around at his buddies and said, “Boys, this is your lucky day. We have a celebrity in our midst. This here itty bitty thing is Thumbelina, stripper extraordinaire!” Then he looked at me and said, “I watch your World Pole Dance routine on YouTube all the time.” He glanced at Cooper and added, “She won the championship a couple of years ago. You know that?”

“No, I didn’t, but I can’t say I’m surprised. She is quite extraordinary.”

If I hadn’t already fallen in love with Cooper, I would have right then especially since he didn’t know about how Miss Australia should have won except for that embarrassing slip or in her case, slide down the pole.

But Mr. Bigmouth wasn’t done. “Why don’t you dance for us Thumbelina? Just climb right up on the bar and show us what you got.”

“You can see me dance at Pussycats,” I replied in an even tone.

“I want to see you dance right now!”

Cooper stepped between us, “Leave the lady alone.”

“She ain’t no lady.”

And then Cooper slugged Mr. Bigmouth.

“I’m not a fan of double negatives either, but I usually refrain from hitting the illiterate,” I said to him.

“I would have slugged him even if he was grammatically correct. No one gets away with saying you’re not a lady.”

But before we could congratulate ourselves on just how clever our repartee was becoming, all hell broke loose. It was the three of us, okay two of us because I’m not much good in a fight and I’m really tiny, against all those Killer Bees. Fists were flying, glass was breaking and I was ducking. I could feel strong arms around me pulling me backwards and then everything went dark.

I wasn’t unconscious, just locked in a closet. I banged on the door, but I guess Cooper couldn’t hear me over all the noise of the fight and last I saw, he and Jack seemed to be on the losing end. After what seemed like an hour but was probably much shorter because everything seems to take longer when you’re locked inside a closet, I heard what sounded like a gunshot. My heart stopped, but not because I got shot but because I was afraid of who might have. I could hear voices but I couldn’t make out what was being said or who was talking. Then it got quiet again, so I started banging on the door and screaming to be let out.

The door opened and a rather mousey looking woman was standing there.

“It’s all right, dear. Toadie put you in there. He thought you’d be safer in there.” She smiled at me and there was kindness in her eyes.

“Toadie is a real person?” I couldn’t believe how many people had parents that made such bad choices when naming their kids.

The mousey woman laughed. “Oh, he’s real all right, but Toadie is a nick name he picked up when he was a roadie for Z Z Top back in the day. I’m Mrs. Fields, Toadie’s mother. I help out in the kitchen.”

I refrained from asking her for a chocolate chip cookie and instead asked about my friends.

“Well, they’re a little banged up, but no permanent damage. Come and see for yourself.”

She led me through the kitchen and into the bar. I spotted Toadie right away because he looked like a toad, kind of like how that senator looks like a turtle. Toadie was holding a shotgun but when he saw me, he smiled and said, “Sorry to stick you in the closet like that, but a bar fight is no place for such a pretty little lady.”

“No worries, Toadie. Thanks for looking out for me.” I was looking around for Cooper and Jack. “Where are my friends?”

“They’re in the john cleaning themselves up. Those Killer Bees did a number on them, but as badass as they think they are when you point a shotgun in their general direction and let it discharge, they run away like little girls.”

I laughed. Then I heard a noise behind me.

“She does have an incredible ass, Coop.”

I turned around and flew into Cooper’s arms. “Everything about her is incredible,” Cooper replied.

“I think I’m in love,” I sighed.

He smiled at me, “I know I am.”

Jack said his goodbyes and left the bar. Cooper looked at me, “Ready to ride off into the sunset to that happily ever after place?”

“I’ve always wanted to do that. Especially if that place has a bed big enough for two.”

He held my hand as we walked out of the bar. We climbed on his bike and he looked back at me.

“Too bad it’s midnight,” he said.

“Midnight will do.”


The Emperor’s New Clothes

imagesJust in time for the holiday season comes the latest installment of our F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES courtesy of the one and only Sparklebumps!

The Emperor’s New Clothes (otherwise entitled A Woman Scorned)

by, Sparklebumps

Once upon a time, there lived a very beautiful boy who longed to be king and live in great finery. This would have been all well and good, except for the fact that he was the bastard son of a peasant, and there were no chances for boys such as him. So he grew up always looking in shop windows and coveting the fine silks and satins that were displayed in them.

One day, the boy (who was becoming a young man by this time) was hauling cow dung to the nudey community on the other side of the village, and as he passed the shop window, he looked inside. This time, instead of wishing for the fabulous duds inside, he spied the shopkeeper’s daughter, who was also very beautiful, and fell instantly in love with her because she produced in his pants the same reaction that fine fabric did.

He entered the shop, went right up to the gorgeous girl, and planted a kiss on her berry-colored lips. At first, she was taken aback by the force of his passion (and the fact that he wore d’odour du cow shit)but then she realized what an amazing kisser he was and her knees became weak with want. She kissed him back, and when they were both breathless, she took his hand and led him to the back room of the shop. The young man looked around and saw that he was surrounded by garments of the chicest style and materials. He was so overcome with desire, from the kissing and the clothing both, that he prematurely ejaculated.

“Aaaaahhhhhrrrrgggh,” He groaned as he shivered with pleasure. The shopkeeper’s daughter looked at him curiously.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She held out her hand to steady the man.

“Um…er. It’s nothing. I just find you so sexy, and I have a passion for fashion, so I’m just overwhelmed.” He flushed bright red and his eyes darted nervously around, as he hoped she wouldn’t notice the wet stain on his pants. Her touch was already making him hard again, so she hadn’t noticed his deflated… ahem, ego. He pressed his body against her once more, and gripped her buttocks so firmly that she cried out, and responded by loosening the ties on his breeches.

They proceeded to fuck each other senseless throughout the night, and the girl only wondered about the wet spot on the man’s pants for a moment before drifting off into a perfectly-sated, sexy-dream filled sleep.

As the sun rose, the gorgeous boy awoke with a start and realized he had never delivered the shit to the nudey community.

He jumped up, and ran out of the shop, to where his wheelbarrow of crap sat, undisturbed. He hurried on his way, never once letting the girl he’s just de-virginized know where he was going, or if he’d be back.

On the way to the nudey community, the boy passed a grand procession, and as he maneuvered his shit out of the way, the Empress inside one of the wagons admired his beauty, and also his ass. She stopped the procession with a slight snap of her fingers,and whispered something to her head man.

“Hey, you! Pretty boy! Stop right there!” The man cried out in authority.

The boy froze, certain he was about to be beheaded for offending royalty with the stench of his cow dung, and turned slowly to face the wagons. He was too afraid to speak.

“The Empress is pleased by you. Come forward.” The boy stepped gingerly toward the ornate carriage, but stopped when he heard a voice like the tinkling of bells.

“Do you long for power? Wealth and finery? Do you dream of having loyal subjects to do your bidding?”

The boy’s jaw dropped, for these were the very things he daydreamed about.

“Yes!” He said vehemently.

There was a giggle, adn then the curtain was drawn back on the wagon and the lovely exotic face of the Empress appeared.

“And what would you do, my sweet boy, to gain all of these things? Would you be willing to be tied up and allow me to paddle that beautiful bottom of yours til it’s pink and sore? Would you allow my teeth to graze your nipples and your innocent member without promise of your own release?” She raised an eyebrow.

The boy contemplated an S and M relationship with an Empress, and couldn’t see any bad angles of the arrangement, so he responded with a confidence he didn’t necessarily possess.

“My queen, my all, I would allow even the largest of your strap-on dildos to invade my anal crevice if you could make me powerful and wealthy.”

The Empress grinned broadly, for she had every intention of doing that very thing to her next submissive. With only a look, the boy was shepherded into the carriage, and the Empress wasted no time in beginning her training. The boy was shackled to the roof of the wagon, and he watched  his wheelbarrow of crap and the shopkeeper’s daughter fade into the distance as the Empress sucked furiously on his cock.

The boy did so well as a submissive, that when the Empress died, she bequeathed to him the whole kingdom, and he became so obsessed with fashion that he would spare no expense to obtain every style that arose.

Because the boy was so beautiful, and so obsessed with his wardrobe, he would spend every moment in his dressing room admiring himself in front of many mirrors, front and back. While in most kingdoms, when someone would ask where the Emperor was, the normal response was, “He is in his statesroom.”, in this kingdom, the servants would say, “He is in his dressing room.” The Emperor was so self-obsessed that he would host fashion week, and insisted on modeling all the newest fashions himself. Masses of horny women and gay men would flock to the kingdom to admire the fine Emperor and his fabulous duds.

Our story truly begins as the Emperor searches high and low for the most daring and creative of clothing designers to feature at fashion week. He shook his head ruefully when his servants suggested such designers as Betsey Johnson and Alexander McQueen. He wanted someone who would shock the masses and make them insanely jealous of his frocks. His servants whispered amongst themselves while the Emperor racked his brain.

“What are you idiots muttering about? Do you realize that fashion week approaches , and I haven’t one designer who’s designs make my prick hard? What are we to do?” The emperor raged.

One brave lad stepped forward. “My lord, there is one who may be just the designer you seek, though there are stories that all who hire her are susceptible to her spell. She has left a string of broken-hearted royalty across many lands.”

“Pshaw,” the Emperor scoffed. “You needn’t be concerned on that front. Do you not know by now that my desire is only for fashion? I think not even a magical pussy would cause my manhood to rise. Find this fabled designer, and bring her to me.”

The servants scurried like mice in every direction then, embarrassed for the Emperor and the fact that no woman could get it up for him.

An envoy was sent out to find the talked of designer, and returned with her in no time.

Now this designer, when presented to the Emperor, DID in fact create a reaction in his pants when he gazed upon her. He found her oddly familiar, yet couldn’t recall where he had seen her before. Years of being tied up and spanked by the Empress had made him forget his first sexual encounter- that with the shopkeeper’s daughter. If he had remembered this, he would have realized she and this lovely designer were one in the same.

After she had been de-virginized and left alone, the shopkeeper’s daughter vowed to shame the boy who had popped her cherry just as he had shamed her. She worked day and night, becoming a well-respected maker of high fashion, fueling her designs with the rage she felt at being abandoned that day.

Her hard work was about to pay off, because she saw that the emperor did not recognize her. She gave him a flirtatious smile and bowed graciously. The Emperor beckoned to her, and insisted at once that she show him her latest designs.

The woman tilted her head and spoke.

“Dear Emperor, I have no designs to show you, for the collection I’ve been working on is very magical indeed. It must be made of the finest cloth, from the richest silk worms in the world. And it must be encrusted with the most shining of gemstones. But once the design is woven, it can only be seen by the man that is worthy of the position he holds. If he cannot see it, it proves that he is indeed an unworthy fool, and must be fired.”

Now any unfoolish person would know that this story sounded like complete poppycock, but the Emperor was so vain that he could not distinguish truth from a lie. So he sent his men to the furthest reaches of the land to procure the finest silks and clearest gemstones to provide the designer with. Upon receiving the goods, the designer would secretly tuck everything into her trunks to save for her real collection, and then she would set to work on her sewing machine without a stitch of thread strung though it. The Emperor’s servants saw her working on the clothes that weren’t there, and became distraught at the idea that they were fools unworthy of their station, and so remained silent.They murmured amongst themselves, until the whole kingdom was murmuring about the invisible clothes. The emperor was so impatient after hearing the rumors, that he insisted on checking out the clothes immediately.

When he entered the sewing chamber, the designer smiled delightfully, so that the Emperor’s manhood grew quite hard.

“Have you come for a fitting, my lord?” She asked innocently.

“Ahem… er, ah, yes. I’m ready to see the fine designs.” The Emperor began to grow nervous, because he was seeing no clothing to try on, and was a bit afraid the servants would notice his raging boner if they couldn’t see the clothing either.

“Here.” The Designer pretended to hold out a piece of clothing, when in actuality she held out nothing at all. “It is a fine tunic, is it not?”

She couldn’t help but admire the tumescent member of the Emperor as he stripped and held out his hand to accept the garment she offered. She scooted closer, and as he slipped the non-existent clothing over his head, she slid her hand down and gently grazed his manhood.

It had been so long since the Emperor had been touched in such a way that he squealed and spurted his hot baby gravy all over the imaginary clothing.

“Now look what you have done!” The designer cried in dismay, though she was laughing inside to herself. “There is no way to clean such dirtiness out of such a garment! This will have to be re-sewn with new fabrics!” She turned away from the Emperor in feigned disgust.

The man was so embarrassed he couldn’t speak, and he covered his face in shame. This was exactly the reaction the designer had hoped for- she wanted him to be degraded as she had been. After many minutes, the Emperor spoke.

“Oh please do not be upset, my dear. I will send for more fabric and more gemstones, only please do not divulge what has happened here to anyone.”

The designer pretended to think on this for a moment before bowing her head in respect.

“As my lord wished. I will work on the other designs while I wait for the things I need.”

The Emperor knew he was being dismissed, and though he normally would not allow someone to treat him thus, he was too afraid she would announce his surprise discharge to the masses, so he said nothing. He left the room in the clothes that weren’t there with his jizz dripping down the front of him. The servants in the halls whispered behind there hands, surprised at the Emperor’s nakedness, and admiring it as well. The emperor went to his chambers and did not come out again until word was sent that the collection was completed.

The Emperor, still being very vain, had decided he would be the only person to walk down the runway during fashion week in the designs made for him. Since it was only twelve hours before the first show, he sent word to the designer telling her this decision. When she heard the news, she smiled to herself, because the Emperor would be walking in the nude down the catwalk in front of the entire kingdom exactly thirty-two times. Finally, her honor would be avenged.

The following morning, the emperor arrived in the dressing room, and was immediately worried because once again he saw none of the fine garments he was supposed to be modeling. The designer entered the room and waved her arm in the direction of the clothes that weren’t there.

“Is it not the finest wardrobe my lord has ever seen? Is he not pleased?” She looked at the Emperor expectantly.

The Emperor was momentarily distracted, because the designer was provocatively dressed in a skin-tight gown that was cut down the front all the way to her navel. Her breasted were perfectly shaped underneath, and the Emperor’s memory was jogged about a similar pair of hooters he had seen long ago. His manhood once again grew to abundant lengths, and his regained memory was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Ahh, yes, er… fine indeed. The most splendid I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He fibbed, for his eyes for not laying on anything other than a pair of perfectly shaped bosoms.

The designer seductively smiled and sauntered close to the Emperor. Her breast brushed his arm, and he jumped.

“Now, only payment must be made, and everything shell be yours.” She whispered invitingly.

The Emperor could not resist, and stuck his hand down the front of the designer’s dress. She peeled his clothes away and climbed onto his ridged cock, riding him until she found release. She did so quickly enough that the emperor was left unsatisfied, and with a boner still.

“Mmmm, that was great. Now, you must get ready have the entire kingdom admire all you have to offer.” She dressed so fast he hadn’t a chance to utter one word about his remaining boner, and was suddenly left with many servants trying to look busy and ignore his manhood.

The fashion show began, and the emperor hadn’t even enough time to take care of himself before it started, so he donned the non-existent finery and hoped that no one in the front rows would notice the bulge underneath. Out he went on the catwalk, naked as a jay bird.

The masses oohed and aahed, not because of the grand garments as the Emperor thought, but because they were so surprised at the largeness of his member, and the fact that he was completely naked. Not one of them said a word, but continued to admire the emperor as he strutted back and forth for half of the show. It was not until a child in the audience cried out, “Mama! The Emperor’s peepee is sticking out!” that the Emperor realized he was really and truly naked, and at that point he had already been in front of the audience for so long without clothes, that he thought, “What the hell? I look good,” and continued to strut his stuff. Upon realizing that the Emperor had just spent a good forty-five minutes nude in front of children and adults alike, the police came and arrested him for indecent exposure, and he was sentenced to one year in prison for every count, which ended up being… well, a really long time since there were so many people there. He became the bitch of a burly black man during his stay in the kingdom’s penitentiary and spent the rest of his life getting it up the butt.

What happened  to the designer, you may ask? She road away with her trunks of silk and gemstones in tow, laughing out loud at the Emperor and his insane vanity. She now lives in Aruba and designs red carpet duds for the likes of Angelina and Salma Hayek.

The End


The Ugly Duckling

ugly-duck2

Today’s post features another offering to our collection of F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES! Kat from Grafiklit has taken on the challenge of spinning the classic, THE UGLY DUCKLING. Enjoy!

by Grafiklit

Once upon a time (because this a time-honored way of beginning fairy tales), there was a swan, and she was pregnant. She didn’t want to be, because she wasn’t in love with her swan boyfriend, and the egg made her fat and almost totally ruined her bitchin’ prom dress. So after she laid the egg in the bathroom of the Sheraton that her high school had rented, she scooped it up and snuck outside, making tracks for the hospital a couple blocks away.

She’d managed to fit the egg inside her clutch, so no one at the hospital knew what she carried up to the second floor, the neo-egg unit. She also managed to sneak into the nesting room and stick the egg in one of the cribs. Birds aren’t very good at security.

They’re also not very good at math, because none of the nurses noticed that where once there was one egg, now there were two. Luckily for them, the mother was a duck, which meant that she was stupid.

The mother and father duck went home the next day with their two new additions, and the mother duck sat on the eggs until they hatched. The hatching day was a big deal in the duck household. There was cake, and soda, and balloons, and cousins and uncles. When the eggs cracked open, everyone gathered around the nest to watch. The duck, the real duck, emerged from his egg first.

“Aww, he’s so cute,” said some distant aunt. No one really knew who she was related to. She smelled like moth balls, though.

Next was the swan.

“Holy shit,” said the distant aunt, “He’s fucking ugly!” And even though no one was sure if she was supposed to be there, or if she’d wandered in off the street, everyone agreed with her. That second duckling was fugly. Seriously, have you ever seen a baby swan? Bow-wow City.

The swan grew up thinking he was a duck, and he was constantly tormented. At school, he was pushed into lockers. His lunch money was stolen. His head was dunked in every toilet in the school. Ducks made gagging noises when he walked by. No duck chick would date him.

At home, his parents ignored him and doted on his duck brother. This brother was the duck version of David Beckham. When he entered a room, angels sang. Little old ladies helped him cross the street. Even blind ducks knew how good-looking he was.

In a situation like this, it can go two ways: the ugly duckling (even though we all know he’s a swan, let’s stick with this for the time being, hmm?) can rise above his tormentors and graduate and go to college, where things might not necessarily improve, but maybe he’ll turn out to be a whiz with computers and get wicked rich, or he can go on a shooting spree at his school and make the papers.

It went the third way: the ugly duckling decided to cut off his brother’s face, wear it, and take over his identity.

Did I mention that ducks were stupid? Well, swans are fuckin’ crazy. Like Mexican cartel crazy.

One day, the ugly duckling stole a scalpel from his science class. That night, he slipped some sleeping pills into his brother’s milk and waited until sleepy times. Then he cut off his brother’s face. Bill and all. He spent the rest of the night cleaning up the blood and figuring out a good way to attach it to his own vile mug. There wasn’t one. He ended up stapling it on. Then he dressed in his brother’s clothes and ate breakfast looking like Duck Leatherface and his parents had no clue. Ducks are so stupid.

Fortunately, most of his teachers were geese. Geese are very smart. They let him go to his first period class, then called him to the principal’s office, where the police were waiting. The cops were also geese.

His lawyer was a goose, too, and once he got a look at the duckling’s real face, he knew he was dealing with a swan. He also knew that all he needed to do was file a bunch of legal papers and get the trial delayed a few months. Because, you see, teenage swans are butt-ugly, but young adult swans are like David Beckham times a thousand.

And thusly, once the trial finally started, the judge and jury and all the court people saw this gorgeous swan waddle into the courtroom. The judge (a duck) was confused. He wanted to know where the filthy psychopath was.

The lawyer, not missing a beat, said that the psycho duckling had escaped, and this poor beautiful swan had been imprisoned in his place. Injustice! cried the jury (also ducks). So they let the swan go, and a manhunt (duckhunt?) was launched for the psycho duckling. They never found him, of course. But a lot of unattractive ducks suffered some vigilante justice.

And the swan, meanwhile, started a new life, but because he was a swan, and therefore mentally unstable, it wasn’t too long before he strapped a few homemade bombs to his torso and waddled into his old high school. He blew himself sky-high and died a virgin.

The End.


The Ant and the Grasshopper

ant-and-grasshopper

Today I’d like to welcome a newbie to our little corner of blogworld, g00dg33kranting with his timely take on the classic THE ANT AND THE GRASSHOPPER. Not only is our new friend a contributor to our F*cked Up Fairy Tale project, but he is also a novelist in his own right. You can pick up a copy of his book, RISE OF THE DRAGONS through a link at the bottom of the post.

by Joshua Smith

KID! Yeah you… get over here. Put that stupid video game down for a few minutes and come listen to me. I have a story to tell you. You and your lazy generation playing video games and texting on your phones and facebooking on everything; it’s SICKENING.

Listen to this story and you will rethink how you act. I’m going to tell you about the Ant and the Grasshopper.

DON’T GIVE ME THAT LOOK! This is more exciting than your Twilights and your Spidermans and your Thors with their actors who are too good looking to be real people.

So you see, there was this Ant and a Grasshopper and they were married as any good Grasshopper will end up married to an Ant at some point in his life. Now the Grasshopper went to work but he mostly slacked off a lot when he was there and then said he was too tired to help out when he got home.

This made his Ant wife very mad since she had to take care of their 437 children all day. Then had to cook dinner, get all 437 children to get their baths before getting them to bed. As you can imagine it is very challenging to get 437 children to bed by 8:30 P.M.

The Grasshopper would drink a lot of beer and watch football. This infuriated the Ant even more. Eventually the weather got cold at the end of the year and the Grasshopper wanted to get intimate with his Ant wife.

But she just ignored him and went to sleep. In the middle of the night she cut off his Grasshopper junk and threw it in a field, leaving the Grasshopper, and took her 437 children to LA and married Matt Damon just to dump him and take half his money.

And I miss your father every day… NOT, now go clean your room or I’ll cut yours off too.

PICK UP A COPY OF HIS BOOK AT AMAZON:

RISE OF THE DRAGONS (The Seth Stories)


The Passion of Suspiria and Mister Dead

Ladies and Gentlemen- I have no words. Let’s let today’s F*cked up Fairy Tale speak for itself.

The Passion of Suspiria and Mister Dead
(extremely loosely based on The Elves and the Shoemaker)

by Edward Hotspur

There was a time when everyone believed in freedom and happiness, long before societies and matrimony came along and made everything boring. The couple in this story certainly believed! And this couple truly lived that belief.

This couple, though not mortally or morally tied to one another like they would be today, ran a sexccesories shop called Master and Servant just outside the stodgy town of Stuffingham, founded just as the freedom of sensuality began its sticky end. Their shop was nondescript from the outside, by design. Regular Stuffingham citizens passing by wouldn’t have thought anything of the storefront – but irregular folks knew all about the place, and they frequented the shop in droves.

To keep up appearances, and because they really had nothing else to wear, nor would they want to, Jack and Sarah nearly always dressed in their ‘work’ clothes. The man wore a pin-striped suit dark blue pins on light blue, impeccably pressed and perfect in every way including being perfectly accessorized, with the exception of two holes cut out for the cheeks of his rosy ass, and two holes in the shirt for his nipples, both of which were pierced and connected by a chain. The woman wore an all-leather ensemble of high-heeled stiletto boots with glittered toes, pants that were as tight as a second skin and showed off her curves and crevices quite nicely, a leather eye mask and luscious red lipstick, and a corset of black with red trim that pushed up and proudly displayed her breasts, with holes for the nipples which were clamped – the whole thing leaving little to the imagination, save the belly button piercing complete with chain that fell down into her pants, linking to lower and hotter regions.  While the two of them were not hunting eggs or opening gifts with their extended familes, they were known as Mister Dead and Suspiria, respectively.

On one fine day, the shop door opened and a couple entered. The ‘gentleman’ of the couple was wearing a leather cap, a leather vest, leather bikini bottoms and thigh-high boots. The ‘lady’ of the couple had a hot mess of tiny flowers throughout her hair, a powder blue prom dress with corsage, and some dainty white mary janes with powder blue polka dots on them. They make just a smashing couple, thought the shopkeepers, and Suspiria stepped up to assist them.

“Hello, my lovelies. How can I be helping you today?”
The gentleman stopped to admire Suspiria’s outfit, though he was not of a proclivity to necessarily admire Suspiria herself. “That is stunning! How would I come by an outfit like that?”
“I do it by pulling on this chain ever so slightly for about three or four minutes,” Suspiria said slyly. The couple giggled, and the prom queen looked back and forth for a moment.
“Honey, I would love to see you in that outfit – though it would need some adjustments in some places.”
“We can make something similar for you,” said Mister Dead. “I have a picture of it right here.”
Mister Dead showed them the picture of the male version of the outfit. The bustier of the corset was reduced and came below the nipples, while the front of the skin tight pants had a special attachment for placement and display of the penis, that flexed depending on the area needed.
“OH my GOD! That is perfect! We will take two of them.”
“Honey! Two of them!”
“Yes, dear. It’s so fucking hot that I want to see you in one too!”
“I worship you.” The happy couple waited as Mister Dead worked his bare ass off to make the outfits, and left arm in arm, hands all over each other.

Suspiria smiled as they left, until she saw the look on Mister Dead’s face.
“What troubles you, my love?”
“I didn’t want you to worry, my goddess, but all is not well.”
“My love? You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
“Yes, mistress. You see, this season has been much colder, and fewer people have been coming by, and…well, to be honest, after the happy couple, we only have enough leather for one outfit. Just one. I shall have to leave the leather on the workbench. In fact, I fear crafting anything until the next guest commissions an outfit. I have nothing to do.”
“Oh, my. That is terrible, my lord, but I can think of a way to save some money on heat and give you something to do.”
“Is that so? I would love to listen to you tell me about it, and then perhaps attempt to save money all evening.”
“First, we need to get together, very close, like this.”
“Yes, mistress?”
“And if my lord would kindly undo my corset, we might get closer and share body warmth under yon blankets.”
“Precious, if you would turn around, I could help you do just that.” He gave a gentle tug on her chain, sending thrills through her body.
“You will pay for that later, my lord. I can promise you that.”
Suspiria turned around, and Mister Dead slowly loosened her corset, laying it gently on the floor by the bed, which was a medieval rack with a mattress on it. Mister Dead knelt before Suspiria and closed his eyes as she teased him with her nipples, brushing them across his lips. She reached for a blindfold that lay on the nightstand and put it on him, which brought a smile to his face. She put one finger under his chin and raised it, kissing him passionately, and then nudged him up gently until he stood, kneeling herself. She turned him around and kissed and nibbled each cheek of his rounded ass, and then around again as she slowly unfastened his leather belt and slid off his pants. He gasped as she brushed her lips against his penis, and a shiver ran through his body as she slid up against him slowly. She sensuously removed the rest of his clothes, fastening his nipple clamps back on and pushing him onto the rack, cuffing him and tightening the wheel just enough.

“Are you feeling warm, my love?” Mister Dead just nodded and smiled in bliss.
“I do not believe you are warm enough yet, lord.”
Suspiria took a candle from the window, pulling the drapes down as she did, and walked back to the rack. She took her left hand, starting at his feet, and gently brushed his skin with her fingertips, slowly, sensuously towards his manhood, coming closer but never quite touching. His body tensed with anticipation, but the touch never came. She kept moving up his chest, slowly, until she reached his lips. He took her fingers into his mouth as she whispered into his ear.
“For you, my love.”
Suspiria pulled back, and with the candle in her right hand she dripped hot wax over the lips of Mister Dead. He gasped in delight as she dripped the wax down his chest, over both nipples, across his stomach and down his thighs. She took his cock into her mouth just once, and then replaced it with the steaming wax from the candle as Mister Dead shivered with pleasure.

Suspiria removed the rest of her clothing except her boots, and climbed onto the bed, standing over Mister Dead. She slowly lowered herself down to the wax-covered lips of Mister Dead and rocked back and forth as he moaned and hummed for her. She slid her clit back and forth over the still-hot wax, becoming wetter and wetter until she climaxed in a shivering bodystorm. She collapsed onto Mister Dead’s chest, sliding down and breaking the wax with her fingers and tasting the juices that remained there, and letting Mister Dead taste them.

A noise! Suspiria whispered into Mister Dead’s ear.
“My lord, did you hear that?”
“I did hear something, but fear not, goddess. It is likely the sexual electricity crackling between us. Do you not feel it?”
“I think you are right, my love. I shall not stop!”
Suspiria had her suspicions, though. She slid down until Mister Dead was right at her slit, and then slid down even further, making them both cry out in pleasure.

Suspiria was right, for there was indeed a noise. Out in the shop proper, two eyes watched the couple make passionate love. The eyes belonged to a truly unusual creature – a being made of sexual energy and passion, given shape and form. This creature watched the couple with wide eyes and excitement, touching herself (for such a being could only be female) as the couple played out their games of submission and sex, bringing herself to climax ater climax, nearly to the point she could take no more, until the couple themselves grew blissfully satisfied, weary, and warm after all. She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror, and she was somewhat of a mess, but she certainly looked happy. This was the most passionate, sensuous and sexual event she had ever witnessed since her creation – and she hadn’t remembered until this very moment, but it was here that her energy first coalesced, her mind filled with passion and love, and she had sprung fully formed from the love between Mister Dead and Suspiria.

She sat on the workbench, recovering from her countless orgasms, when she looked over and saw the leather. And an idea formed in her head as surely as she had formed from sexual energy: she would repay Mister Dead and Suspiria for granting her life and giving her sustenance. She began crafting as the idea took life just as she had. Sharp heels, six inches. Soles of obsidian and mahogany. Leather fasteners. Cold iron eyelets. Diamond and pearl inlays. Obsidian and sapphire shards. Leather up to the thighs, and beyond. She finished, admiring her work, and left the most stunning and incredible leather boots ever made upon that workbench, before disappearing, exhausted from the evening’s events.

The next morning, Mister Dead woke up tangled in the wet sheets, and tangled in Suspiria’s chain. He gently tugged it, and Suspiria woke up with a smile. She pulled Mister Dead in for a kiss, and he moved on top of her, but just as he was about to plunge deep inside her, her eyes went wide and she pointed behind him. And then, thinking better of it, she dropped her hand to his back and her eyes went wide for an entirely different reason.

Several minutes later, their morning fast broken, Suspiria finally told Mister Dead what she had pointed at earlier.
“My love, I would never interrupt a morning of lovemaking such as this, but look what lies on yonder table!”
“There is nothing I would rather look at than your body, from head to toe, stopping at all the naughty bits, of course. But for you, goddess, I will.”

Mister Dead looked – and gasped! He could not believe such a pair of boots could exist in this mortal world. He leapt from the rack, Suspiria close behind, each wrapped in sheet and blanket, and together they looked upon this marvelous pair of boots. They were multifaceted, like gemstones, each one glimmering brighter than the other.
“My love! How did such a pair of boots as this come to be on our very workbench?”
“I know not, my lord. We were quite busy last night, and my attention was all on you. But it occurs to me, my love, that this may have something to do with that noise we heard last night.”
“My lady, that was the heat and sparks from our very bodies, surely – but still, perhaps you are right. Perhaps someone was here last night, watching us!”
“Oh my lord, how exciting! I am getting wet just at the possibility. Then, shall we consider this a gift?”
“I would not have chosen to make just a pair of boots out of our last leather, but this is not just a pair of boots. They are the finest boots I have ever seen in my entire life! I would love to see you in them, even if for just a moment, but in our current state, I feel that we should perhaps place them in the window and see what we can get for them.”
“Aie! It pains me to do so, but I must admit you are right. I will try them on, though, just for you, my lord.”

Suspiria, wearing nothing but a smile, put the boots on. Suddenly, as if by magic, leather tassels covered her nipples, a leather bikini bottom covered her sexy ass, and a whip appeared in her hand! These were some magical boots indeed! Mister Dead immediately became more aroused than he had ever been, but with no small amount of difficulty, he managed, barely, to decline.
“We must put them in the window, my love. Should we experience the full onslaught of these boots, I fear we could not bear to part with them.”
“Again, with great pain and sadness, I know you are right. I will take them off, but promise me you will remember this moment for later.”
“There is no doubt in my mind that I will remember this always, goddess.”

Suspiria took them off and placed them in the window, and the two of them reluctantly dressed themselves to receive guests. Just as they had finished their makeup, the door to the shop opened, and in walked the most alluring and sexual woman either of them had ever seen. She was completely nude except for the tattoos covering her entire torso, some fishnet stockings and ballet slippers. She glanced at the couple, raising her eyebrows slightly, and then turned to admire the boots up close. She looked at them from above and from below, bending over and arching her back as she did. She placed the boots on the floor with approval from Mister Dead, and walked around them like a succubus circling her prey. She reached behind herself and absentmindedly slid a finger inside, aroused by the look and feel and smell of the boots. Mister Dead and Suspiria looked at each other and smiled as the woman stopped circling the boots and walked up to them.

“Don’t you look luscious, dears. Those boots are incredible – the best I have ever seen. Which one of you made them?”
Mister Dead looked at Suspiria, and said “We are both responsible for them, together. Just as the pair could not be separated, neither could we. We belong together, the two of us, and the two of them.”
“Could you be separated for brief periods of time? Seconds, or minutes, perhaps?”
“That depends on many things, but we are not opposed to it, Miss…”
“Sushevane. I would love to come between you for a moment. But first, I would love to come between those two boots. May I try them on?”
“Of course, Sushevane. Let us help you.”

Mister Dead reached around Suchevane and lifted her up into a tight embrace, as Suspiria pulled one boot on, caressing her thigh gently, and then the other, giving her other thigh equal time, and then slowly standing up, kissing her silky white ass and blowing warm breath into her crevice. Mister Dead and Suspiria pressed Sushevane between them, holding her up with just their bodies and covering her with kisses. But as her skin became wet with excitement, she slid down until the boots touched the ground. A cold fire overcame Mister Dead and Suspiria, and they dropped to their knees as Sushevane grabbed their faces and pushed them over her wet clit. They lapped up the wetness, happy to serve her pleasure as the fire gently burned that part of their minds that made sensuality grow. Sushevane felt herself losing control of her body even as she had total control of the inseparable couple, and she came over and over, mindlessly and blissfully.

After some time, the couple opened their eyes, unaware of having closed them, to find Sushevane slyly staring at them. Sushevane kissed each of them passionately, and then reached deep within her box and produced a large glittering diamond.  She presented it to them happily.

“This should be sufficient, don’t you think?”
“Oh, certainly, Miss Sushevane,” said Suspiria. “More than sufficient, as we are happy to see a lovely woman such as you wearing these boots. You were made for each other, as we are.”
“Then it is yours, and I thank you for not just this day, but all the glorious days to come. You have given me fulfillment beyond my dreams, and I only hope some of them come true. I misspeak – some more of them.” She winked  at the couple, and then turned and left the shop.

Mister Dead smelled Sushevane’s scent on the diamond and was aroused all over again. Suspiria took advantage of Mister Dead’s state, gracefully and magically.

As they had nothing else to sell, they closed the shop for the rest of the day, but they still had to acquire more leather. But Suspiria, being an exquisite gemcutter, cleaned, carved and cut the diamond into a glittering masterpiece, taking care to save the shards, for an idea had formed in her head. She and Mister Dead went out into the world, and dined, danced and enjoyed each other’s company and the company of those around them. On the way back home, they stopped at the tanner’s and purchased another supply of leather, enough for three complete outfits complete with accessories, and more. They carried their purchases home and placed the leather once again on the workbench.

As exhausted as they were from the day’s activities as well as those of the previous night, Suspiria had some  surprises. She had purchased a bolt of silk and some lace and silver buttons, and she set about making an outfit from them. Mister Dead watched her for a moment, but with a kiss and a caress, he understood his role in this outfit, and he began making a pair of silk and leather slippers suitable for an elegant night out. By the time he had completed the slippers, Suspiria was finished with the outfit. She lay the outfit on the workbench and placed the leather over it.

“My love, allow me to admire your handiwork, if you would.”
“I cannot let you see it until the moment is right. Trust me, my lord. But there is handiwork I can show you.”
“Your words are difficult to counter, goddess. I would see this handiwork.” Mister Dead smiled wolfishly.

Suspiria led Mister Dead to the rack, gently tugging on his nipple chains as he sighed. She placed the blindfold on again, and bent him over the rack, kissing his cheeks and thighs. Suspiria reached up and undid the buckle of his pants, and with a swift motion she had Mister Dead stripped from the waist down. She returned to his ass cheeks, running her tongue from cheek to cheek and pausing to tongue his crack. She reached around and stroked his cock as she licked between his cheeks, and then moved to his balls.  She twisted around until she faced his cock as he leaned against the bed, and took him in her mouth. He thrust into her mouth again and again, but she stopped him and flipped him over, lifting him onto the bed. She stripped until she was also naked from the waist down and placed a strawberry-flavored candy just inside her opening. She climbed onto the bed facing his stiff cock, licking the shaft up and down. He smelled her pussy, smiled and began to lick her clit, tasting the strawberry mixed with her juices. She responded by moaning, and with his cock in her mouth, the vibration of the hum sent a tingle down his spine. She thrust her wetness against his lips and tongue, and he happily licked and sucked her clit, making her shake.

The same noise from the night before! Suspiria spun around and whispered in the ear of Mister Dead.

“My lord, did you hear that?”
“I did, indeed. That time it was unmistakeable. Whatever shall we do, goddess?”
“I believe we should peek into the workshop, my love. I do so want to finish with you, but my curiosity is tingling.”
“As is mine, my lady. Shall we look?”

Mister Dead and Suspiria stood up from the rack, not bothering to put any clothing on. They touched each other and kissed in a passionate embrace, making promises their bodies would keep later, and crept towards the curtain separating the bedroom from the workshop. What they saw was amazing! A being aglow lay on the workbench wearing the outfit Suspiria had sewn just an hour before. It was a brilliant red silk kimono with cutouts for the breasts, and silk stockings with lace garter ties to hold everything together – plus the gorgeous leather and silk slippers. This glowing female with pointed ears and long flowing honey brown hair was furiously pleasuring herself with one hand, and pinching her nipples with the other hand, first one, then the other, eyes closed tight. Occasionally, blue energy would arc off her hot and gorgeous body and dissipate into the air.

Mister Dead and Suspiria could barely take their eyes off her, but for their love for one another. With a look, they made a wordless plan. Suspiria took the blindfold from the nightstand and a strip of lace, and Mister Dead sneaked around the workbench, patiently. They looked at each other once more, and as Mister Dead held the creature’s hands, Suspiria tied on the blindfold, and then tied the beauty’s arms to the workbench above her head. She reacted in surprise, but not with fear. She struggled by reflex, but not to get away. She cried out, but wordlessly. Suspiria and Mister Dead started with her dainty feet, kissing them and smelling the lavender and jasmine scents coming from them, and indeed from her whole body. The couple moved up her legs, licking, nibbling and kissing them, and she relaxed and tensed at the same time.

She knew her captors. She was borne of them. As they neared her luscious wet mound, she had never felt such peace and tranquility, and yet such excitement. Mister Dead and Suspiria each reached up a hand and pinched her nipples, sending chills and sparks through the lot of them. The couple was surprised, but not slowed. They began taking turns licking her clit and her wet opening, sliding in fingers, stopping to kiss each other, and managing a three-way kiss.

The energy and tension built, and when she felt she would explode with wetness and pleasure, the blindfold flew off, and her hands became unbound. As she climaxed, she placed her hands on Mister Dead and Suspiria, one each in the middle of their chests, and then drew them to her by some mysterious force. As they all joined in embrace, the crackling blue energy filled the air and their bodies with a pleasure like none of them had ever known. They came over and over, orgasm after orgasm, tingling with pure pleasure at every touch, until the beauty took all the energy into herself and Mister Dead and Suspiria regained awareness.

They held each other with tears of happiness at what they had just experienced. They thought they had captured her, but she had truly captured them. They included her in their embrace for several minutes, until Suspiria found the strength to whisper.

“Who are you?”
“Suspiria, I am you. And I am you as well, Mister Dead. My name is Evanine.”
“What do you mean, you are me?”
“I was borne of the love, the passion, the intense sexual energy between you. Every look you shared, every touch, every glance, every embrace, all went towards my creation. I am the manifestation of your love.”
Mister Dead was moved to tears. “I do feel nothing but love for you, yet I love Suspiria no less. She is my goddess, my one true love, my passion. How can this be?”
“To love me and to love her is the same thing. And for you, Suspiria. The best way to explain it is that your love for one another was so great, your passion so immense, that it could not be contained within your mortal bodies.”
“I am in awe, Evanine. We would welcome you into our homes and our lives forever – but we do not possess others, we only control or submit with trust, passion and love. We would not presume to possess even you, who are borne of our love.”
“My lord means to ask whether you will leave now. Whether you will make your own way in the world. Our hearts would now break, but we cannot ask you to do something against your will.”
“Mister Dead, Suspiria – I am yours forever. I know I am free, and with that freedom I choose to belong to you, to touch both of your hearts, for all time.”

They embraced with tears of joy, but as they were all emotional and passionate creatures, these soon turned to tears of passion, if indeed there are such things. There were many more nights, many more passionate embraces, and many, many more outfits created. Soon after their lovely union, the ensembles created by their passion and skill were the envy of all who did not possess them, and the Master and Servant became the most popular shop of any kind in the land. Even the townsfolk of Stuffingham loosened up with a few parades every now and then.

And there were many more stories made, dreams fulfilled, romances romanced – but that is for another time.

They lived happily every after. VERY happily.


CALLING ALL WRITERS/AUTHORS/BLOGGERS!!!

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Now that I’ve got your attention I’d like to make you aware of an ongoing project I’ve been spearheading that I am hoping you’ll want to be a part of. It’s a project to benefit a cause that’s close to my heart called LIBSTRONG, a community of friends who have gathered together in support of Libby, a dear young friend who is battling cancer.

We’ve put together a surprise project called WRISTS AROUND THE WORLD not only to raise money but to raise her spirits as she battles her illness. Keep reading to find out what it’s all about and to learn how you too can be involved:

From the WATW site:

Our latest endeavor is called WRISTS AROUND THE WORLD- a fun global project designed for people everywhere to show their support for Libby and her battle against cancer. Bloggers and non-bloggers alike are invited to purchase her LIBSTRONG wristbands and then snap pictures of their wrists against an iconic landmark of their city, state or hometown. Once the photo is taken it is emailed to us and then posted to our GALLERY.

The message behind our project is to show the world how Libby’s strength and determination touch more than just those around her. Her positivity reaches around the world!

When sending a picture please include information noting where the picture was taken. We would be happy to post your name or a link to your blog, although that is not necessary and we will respect all wishes for anonymity. We are requesting snapshots be of wrists wearing wristbands only, so even the most camera shy supporter feels comfortable enough to be involved.

LIBSTRONG wristbands are available for sale individually or in package deals combined with items donated from various blog supporters. Visit our MAKE A DIFFERENCE page for information on how to purchase the package that’s right for you!

To be a part of WRISTS AROUND THE WORLD send your snapshot to:

wristsaroundtheworld@gmail.com

I am asking my fellow bloggers everywhere to purchase at least one wristband not only to raise some much needed money for Libby’s cause, but to show her your support from your very own hometown. Package prices include shipping within the United States only. Since I would like the wristbands to actually go around the world, I would be willing to donate both of my ebooks for free to anyone outside of the United States who purchases even just one LIBSTRONG wristband to offset the cost of shipping which would be the responsibility of the purchaser.

As of the writing of this post, Libby doesn’t know about this project. We’d like to get as many pics around the world as possible and then reveal her site as a gift.

As for my part in the WRISTS AROUND THE WORLD project I’ve decided to donate both my REAPERS WITH ISSUES and THE GODS OF ASPHALT ebooks and paperbacks to be included in wristband package deals. I am also including the blog compilation project F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES for donation once it is completed. Each contributing author’s name of that work will receive an honorary mention on the FRIENDS OF LIBSTRONG page with links to their blogs.

Additionally, if you are an author you can contribute by donating your own books for package deals to be included on their site. For ebooks simply donate a free coupon for your book that others may purchase to raise money for our cause. For information on paperback donations, please contact wristsaroundtheworld@gmail.com for more details.

Thank you everyone for taking the time to stop by Wrists Around The World!

www.wristsaroundtheworld.com


Sleeping Beauty

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Today must be our lucky day because we have another F*cked-up Fairy Tale! Rounding out our Northern Trifecta of Canadawesome is none other than that island dweller herself, Kayjai! Go on and pull up a chair and then settle in for a retelling of Sleeping Beauty as you’ve never imagined it…

SLEEPING BEAUTY

by Kayjai

Sleeping Beauty

Once, in a land far far away in suburbia Canadia, there lived a King and Queen.  The King was very happy to be surrounded by his surely court and bemused by his jovial court clowns.  He loved how the clowns and jesters could humiliate themselves for pennies and took great enjoyment in dispensing insults and heckling their comedic monologues.  The Queen, who usually enjoyed watching her husband disintegrate into a testosterone filled idiot, now became bored and humiliated for the jesters.  Her tone in response to their obvious torment puzzled the King and he questioned her one afternoon following an unusually sophomoric attempt to embarrass one of the clowns by throwing a pie in his face.  Her eye roll was obvious.

“What is wrong, my fair Queen?  The pie routine usually sends you into fits of joy.  Perhaps we should call in the Royal Clown and get him to do his infamous Choke the Mime routine?”  “NO!  God, no not that.  ANYTHING, but that” she stated then saw the disappointed look on her husband’s face.  “I’m sorry, dear I just can’t bear the constant boredom and routine of the court.  I would so like to have someone to share our joy with.  I so want a baby”  At these words the King, overjoyed to have finally discovered the true reason for the Queen’s despondent nature, leapt to his feet.  “A baby you want and a baby you shall have!”  He swept the Queen off of her feet and um…set to work.  (Any further details required should be directed to the Snow White and the Seven Stripper essay.  This ain’t no Fifty Shades, people)

Months later, the Queen now thrilled with the prospect of finally becoming a mother, prepared the nursery for her new baby.  The nursery was a large room decorated with pastel colors and warm blankets with a rocking chair in the corner.  She sat in the chair and dreamed of her new baby, when suddenly a vision appeared.  She was a woman dressed in black and warned the Queen that her impending arrival was in danger.

“Be afraid, Queen Winnifred.  There are forces afoot that will put your little one in danger.  Beware of the Tearful Clown.  He cannot be trusted”.  Queen Winnifred, frightened by the vision, summoned the King and demanded all clowns be cast from the castle and banned from performing in Canadia.  The King, obviously pissed that there will be no further entertainment, asked the Queen regarding their banishment.  “A vision came to me warning me of The Tearful Clown.  She said he would harm our baby!  What else was I supposed to do?!”   The King, seeing his wife distraught sent her to bed to get some rest.  He reluctantly sent all the clowns packing, save for one.  His favorite clown, the one who could choke out a mime in less than a minute, was directed to appear without his makeup when in the presence of Queen Winnifred.  If only in the King’s presence he was able to perform his routine.  The clown agreed and snuck away to the towers until summoned by the King.

The baby girl was born a few weeks later surrounded by the royal midwives and handed gently to the King, who with tears in his eyes, promised to always protect her.  Weeks later there was a Royal party to celebrate Princess Aurora’s arrival.  Many royals from around the country lavished the fair princess with gifts and well wishes.  Suddenly, over the crab cakes, came a most heinous laugh.  The vibrant red hair, the red nose the floppy red shoes, Oh No!  A clown.  The absent-minded King had forgotten all about his favorite clown and he had been locked away in the royal towers for too long.  He now appeared in the main foray, looking for a stray mime to choke out.  Security was called but not before the clown appeared, tears streaming down his face.  The Queen screamed in horror at the apparition of the Tearful Clown and before he could be taken away in shackles he screeched “Upon her sixteenth birthday, that beautiful baby girl you call Aurora will fall into a deep peaceful slumber…FOREVER!!!”  Before he could be taken away, six fairy godmothers appeared, apparently having just come from Cinderella’s place and a little hammered from all the champagne.

She lived the good life.  The Fairy Six, as they were usually called, placed their wobbly wands together and blessed Princess Aurora with six gifts: Beauty, Grace, Intelligence, Compassion, Curiosity and A Kick Ass Right Hook.  That last one was from Fairy Godmother Number Six who was the most inebriated but aware that a good hook is more useful than Fairy Godmother’s blessing of ‘beauty’.  ‘What the hell was that?’ she murmured under her breath.    ‘Dolt!’

The clown was carried away, stripped of his makeup and banished to the dungeons to live out his days faceless and without a mime to choke.

The next sixteen years were blissfully happy ones for the Queen and King.  Princess Aurora gave them endless amounts of joy and endless days of happiness , blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda…she’s perfect and all that.  On her sixteenth birthday instead of a Royal Convertible that she was hoping for, Princess Aurora was sent away to live in the forest.   “Gee, this sucks royally”she exclaimed.  “I mean, really.  Who DOES this? Sends their kid away to live among the squirrels and chipmunks?  Some weird ass clown ate one too many crab cakes and got carried away, who cares?  I got a mean right.  I can take care of myself!  I’m outta here!” she exclaimed and packed her royal bags and headed to the castle.

Upon entering the doors, she could hear frivolity and jokes emanating from the court entrance. Curious, as she was given that one trait from the Fairy Six, remember? She snuck in to see what the commotion was all about.  To her horror she could see clowns, so many it was difficult to tell them apart, laughing and squirting lapel flowers in people’s faces, riding bikes that were too small for them, throwing pies and generally making asses out of themselves.   As she entered the room she seemed swallowed up by all the activity and at first, didn’t notice her mother and father asleep in their royal chairs.  Upon seeing their lifeless forms, she went quickly to their sides and tried to wake them up.  She shook them, slapped their faces and tickled them under their arm pits, (that used to work)   but to no avail.

“WAKE THE FUCK UP!” she shouted in their ears, but they didn’t respond.  Bereft and saddened that she couldn’t wake her parents, she turned to run to find the servants.  She stopped abruptly and came face-to-face with a clown.  His prominent tears stood outlined in black running down his face and she let out a laugh.  “Hahaha..oh, God you scared me!  You shouldn’t sneak up on a girl like that!  Hey, do you know what happened to my parents?  I can’t seem to wake them up?”  The Tearful Clown, realizing the Princess was unaware of the curse, led her away into the foray of clowns and began reciting a knock-knock joke.  She didn’t get it.  He wasn’t surprised, but still disappointed.  Suddenly he spotted a mime trying to escape the melee and he pounced.  The Tearful Clown grabbed the mime by the throat and began the routine.

Princess Aurora confused by all the merriment and the astonished look on the mime’s face suddenly felt very sleepy.  Before she could see the end of the routine, she fell swiftly into a deep sleep.  The Tearful Clown, triumphant at the Princess’s sleepiness forgot about the mime and let him go.  The mime in a sudden mime attack, blitzed the clown with his infamous climbing-the-non-existent-rope routine and sent the Tearful Clown into a state of confusion.  He was suddenly singing Smokey Robinsons’ ‘Tears of a Clown’ and wandered aimlessly around the castle until finally, he stumbled onto the royal grounds and fell haplessly into the deep mote. His nose and floppy shoes were all that were left and floated silently downstream.

The Fairy Six, walking home from yet another party at Cinderella’s happened upon the devastation and carnage left by the clowns.  They were devastated to find Aurora and all the castle staff sleeping soundly and upon approaching the princess shouted the royal command.  “WAKE THE FUCK UP!”  Alas, it was no use.  They placed Princess Aurora into a bed strewn with rose petals at the top of the tower and stripped the castle of all clown apparatus.  The King and Queen eventually awoke to find their daughter in a deep slumber.  Queen Winnifred, distraught by her husband’s obvious lack of good judgment and bad taste in comedy, divorced his royal ass and sent him packing. She visited her daughter every day and wished for the day when she could see her awake and happy again.

One day while tending to her garden, Queen Winnifred spotted a young handsome man walking distractedly down the path.  She called a greeting to him and asked him in for tea. She asked him if he was from a good family, if he had a fast car and what education he had.  He said he wasn’t well educated but had a lot of money which proved good enough for her.   Her last question was the most important.  “How do you feel about clowns?” she asked and he looked horrified.  “CLOWNS!?  I HATE CLOWNS!! ARE THEY HERE??!!  WHERE!” He suddenly began to panic and it took some time for her to calm him down.   She gleefully led him up to the tower room where Princess Aurora continued her sleep.  The handsome young man was overcome at her beauty and asked why the princess was sleeping.  The Queen detailed the evil curse and suggested to him that he could perhaps attempt to break it by kissing the young girl.  He looked a little perplexed by the suggestion, but gave it a whirl nonetheless.  He knelt beside the Princess and kissed her softly on the lips.  The Queen and young man waited breathlessly, but she did not wake up.  “Try again” said the Queen.  This time the young man kissed her passionately.  Again, the two waited for Princess Aurora to stir.  Nothing.  Finally, in frustration the Queen asked the young man to shout the royal command.  He shrugged his shoulders and shouted  “WAKE THE FUCK UP!”   Suddenly, Princess Aurora began to stir. Her dark eyelashes began to flutter and she opened her eyes.  She spotted the smiling young man and her right hand flew out and decked him squarely in the jaw.  “That’s for kissing a sleeping woman.  WTF?”

THE END


The Curse And The Gift

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Today we’re treated to another F*cked-up Fairy Tale offering from the Great White North. Take a new look at the classic RUMPELSTILTSKIN as seen through the eyes of everyone’s favorite Canook, SIGHTSNBYTES.

THE CURSE AND THE GIFT

by Ted White

*****

THE CURSE AND THE GIFT

by Ted White

What would you give to have things remain as they are? Nice home, new car, wonderful kids, loving wife, good job, friendly neighbors; you get the picture, lucky guy, huh?

What if someone could take this all away with a snap of his tiny, grubby little greedy fingers? What if some miserable, jealous little dwarf could make your life go away and there was nothing you could do about it?

Well, there is something you can do, but that would require making a deal with the little monster, and who really wants to shake hands with the devil? Not me, that’s for sure!

Think back twenty years ago. I was a man like most men, alone in this world, circulating bars and looking, searching for someone who could make this desolate living go away. I found that person in a little man, a mystery man, a miserable man.

He was sitting at the end of the Dead End bar. The place was so gloomy, I am not sure what led me in here in the first place, but I was here, so I did what I had to do to change my life…forever!

In my drunken stupor, I sat next to the guy. Before I got there he was surrounded with beautiful women, women that I would kill to get to know. I wanted to be this little guy. I wanted to know his secret, and I would pay dearly to find it.

He spoke in riddles.

Heute back ich, morgen brau ich,

Übermorgen hol ich mir der Königin ihr Kind;

Ach, wie gut, dass niemand weiß,

dass ich Rumpelstilzchen heiß

What the hell did he mean by this? What the hell was this song, and why is it digging deep into my mind, driving me crazy?

He continued reciting the rhyme, his voice growing lower each time until it was but a whisper and then it was gone.

He looked at me. “Another loser wanders into my bar, in search of something better. What brings you here loser? Why would you want to talk to the man whom nobody remembers?”

“I just…I just noticed your company, these women, who are they?’ I asked.

“They are people who wanted more, wanted beauty and success, and I delivered, simple as that!”

“How, how did you give them what they wanted? Plastic surgery?” I asked.

“No surgery, just magic, and one more important thing, a handshake” he said.

“A handshake? That’s it? I want in” I said, too drunk to make a better decision.

“No problem, but there is more, I can give you anything you desire, but in return, I want your most prized possession, that which you hold dear, and I want it when I come to collect!” He said.

At the time, the one thing I prized was…nothing. My life was in a downward spiral. I had just been fired, then the girlfriend left, then I was evicted from my apartment, what was left?

I shook his hand, half believing him, half believing this was some drunken nightmare that would be gone by morning. With the handshake, he recited a poem in a language I did not understand. I told him I wanted happiness and success, he just laughed and then ‘poof’ he was gone. I closed my eyes, and the morning, I woke up here.

Somewhere in my heart I cannot believe any of this happened. My reality is that this is my reality. That other life is a mirage, a vision of depression, and gone forever.

This morning I began to notice differences. My kids stared at me this morning, like I was someone else. It was like a stranger had taken control of my life. My wife acted scared of me, like I was a threat to her. At work, my boss came down on me for my behavior as well. “There is something about you that I don’t like. I have not seen this side of you before, but you seem to lack confidence” He said. Confidence, the gift of the deal. Without it, I would still be living the deadbeat life I led, still cruising bars and coming home drunk, that is of course if I was still alive.

With this new revelation, I discovered that which I prize most. All those years ago, when I made the deal, I figured that there was nothing in this world that I prized, but now I know.

With this, I seen him. He had been standing between the two offices in the front of the building. Standing at under four feet, with a long red beard and leprechaun-like clothing, I wondered why nobody else commented on his appearance. Curiosity being what it was, I approached the little guy.

“Aha, my loser friend. You did quite well with your gift. I assume you have figured out the gift…and that’s why I am here” he said.

With the power I now possessed, I ordered the guard to remove this vagrant, but the guard just looked at me like I was delusional. “Sir, there’s nobody here but us guys” he said, to my horror.

I am the only one who can see him, that is clear now. Nothing more I can do but walk away.

“Walk away and all will be gone. You will wake up in the same bar you passed out in, twenty years ago. A few hours from that moment you will be dead, hit by a drunken driver. Nobody will care if you are alive or dead. This wonderful life you now lead will be gone. But you can change this, and make me go away forever.”

“All you have to do to make me leave is to recite my name. This is not an easy task, as nobody knows who I am.”

With that, he laughed loudly and recited the song once again, this time in a language I did not understand.

Heute back ich, morgen brau ich,

Übermorgen hol ich mir der Königin ihr Kind;

Ach, wie gut, dass niemand weiß,

dass ich Rumpelstilzchen heiß

At least he thought I would not understand it. Little did he know that with all the confidence I received from ‘the gift’, I enrolled in university, studying languages from the world over. I am proficient in over thirteen languages, one of them being German. The translation was loose, but I managed to make out a name at the end.

Today I brew, tomorrow I bake,

And then the child away I’ll take;

For little knows my royal dame

Rumpelstiltskin is my name!

I know it, I know it, you creepy little bastard, your name is Rumpelstiltskin!

And with that he was gone. My life returned to normal. My wife and kids loved me, I got a raise at work, and I continued to be a success in whatever I done with my life. I never seen the little guy again.

I was recently honored by the United Federation for the advancement of Little People. That’s right, before the little guy disappeared forever, he instilled on me a curse. The curse took me from a man of over six feet to one of four foot tall. The strange thing, nobody seems to care. It is like I am the same person I have been since the deal, except for the confidence, it grows more each day!


The Tortoise and O’Hare

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Today we have an offering from the Great White North in the form of a fable told by the illustrious Archon’s Den. Here is his take on the classic fable The Tortoise and the Hare!

THE TORTOISE AND O’HARE

by Archon,

Once upon a time, just outside New Haven, Conn., a  little rabbit was born.  His parents  lovingly called him Bunny, though, as he got older he felt he outgrew that  name.  Bunny was very smart.  He worked and studied hard at school and  got great marks.  Bunny wanted to  make something of himself, so with outstanding SAT scores, he applied to  Yale.

His parents paid for his education with bags of plump,  juicy carrots that they saved up over the years, and the occasional sack of  beets.  Bunny applied himself and  graduated from the Business Management course with flying colors.

He told his parents that he was going to get a job as a  financial advisor, and hopped his way down to New York City.  After waving his diploma under a few  noses, he got himself hired by no less than Merrill Lynch.  Here, he insisted on celebrating his  Irish Rabbit heritage, and began going by the name Seamus O’Hare.

While all this was occurring, just south of the border  in Mexico, there was a young turtle named Diego Tortuga trying to follow the  same path.  His parents traded  mescal to pay to have him attend a decent community college.  At least it was a real school, rather  than just one of those diploma mills.

When he graduated with marks as good as O’Hare’s, he  kissed his mother and father goodbye….verrryy sloowwlyy, and floated across  the Rio Grande.  Then he managed to  hitch-hike his way all the way to New York with a trucker, hauling back a semi,  loaded with Corona beer.  With great  good fortune, he also managed to obtain a position with Merrill Lynch, and began  working in the same division as O’Hare, who was immediately dismissive of  him.

O’Hare was a high energy broker, often leaping at new  investments without doing enough research.  He made money for his clients, and for himself, but was often distracted,  by a new girlfriend or a car-show at the Gardens.  He made fun of Tortuga’s slow, plodding,  but steadily productive methods of money management.

One day, after Diego had defended his careful planning,  Seamus O’Hare suggested a “race.”  The first one within a year to achieve a personal worth of $1,000,000,  would receive another ten thousand dollars from the loser.  Tortuga accepted the challenge, and the Race was on.

Shortly afterwards, the firm was joined by a Chinese  weasel, named Wun Raht Gai, educated in Beijing.  As he ensconced himself within the firm,  and learned of the competition between the two youngsters, his was disdainful of  them.  “Silly amateurs.” he  said.

Time passed, and the competition proceeded, with the  fortunes of both Tortuga and O’Hare increasing, Diego’s steadily, and Seamus’ by  leaps and bounds.  One day,  unbeknownst to each other, they both received a letter from Wun Raht Gai,  offering to help them cross the one million dollar finish line.

Tortuga’s letter said that the Chinese weasel had got  wind of a new process to remove Melamine from baby food.  O’Hare’s letter told of a new system to  get the lead out of children’s toys.  If they would just invest a quarter million dollars with him, he would  double it for them within thirty days.

Wun Raht Gai’s letters also said that he didn’t want  these investment opportunities to be overheard at the office, so they should  each bring the funds in cash to his apartment, to ensure privacy.

No-one seems to know exactly what happened to O’Hare,  and Diego the tortoise.  They each  just stopped coming to work at Merrill Lynch.  The Chinese weasel prospered in their  absence, taking over part of each of their *books*.  He moved into a beautiful penthouse  apartment.  There were some rumors  of him throwing a banquet and soiree for potential investors, where the featured  dishes were rabbit stew and turtle soup.


Fifty Shades of White??

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People, I am disillusioned. No, I am more than that- I am traumatized. Because my innocent little British Sweetie Pie just wrote the raunchiest retelling of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves that I’ve ever read. Hang on to your caps chaps, because I bring you Snow White and the Seven Strippers??

by Megan Stephenson

“I am leaving tonight!” thought Snow as she packed her bags cautiously. All her step mother cared about was her father’s money and she got it when he passed away. Snow knew the woman was jealous but banning her from going to university, this was a whole new low! Any boy Snow brought home her step mother convinced her they didn’t like her and Snow had never had a proper relationship. Leaving was the only way she could live her life how she wanted.

As Snow stormed past the beautiful ruby Red Mercedes Mclaren SLR her father had bought her for her seventeenth birthday, she backtracked for a moment. It was hard to leave when you had everything but she couldn’t stay for luxuries. Snow tapped the car and forced herself to leave. Marching down the street Snow bumped into a street advertiser who offered her a leaflet. It read ‘New VIP Bar Opening Tonight, All Drinks £1” she thought for a moment. Her step-mother had never let her go clubbing. Snow was going to do it; she was going to get smashed!!

Snow walked up to the new bar and walked through the doors; she stormed straight to the bar and asked the bartender for a double vodka and cola because that is what her step-mother ordered when she wanted to get drunk. She took the drink and gulped it down in one. She smiled; she had never felt this free before.

A friend from University was sitting across the bar, Snow couldn’t remember her name but she ordered another drink, downed it and walked over to her friend “WANT TO DANCE,” she shouted but the girl couldn’t hear her, then Snow remembered her name was Zoe, Snow walked closer to her and said “Zoe, do you wanna dance?” Zoe smiled and said “Yes actually, I have been stood up and could do with a friend,” Snow led her to the dance floor and they started dancing. They were shortly joined by a very good looking man who passed them a leaflet “I would love you girls to join us later,” he said before winking and walked over to another crowd of girls. The man had jet black hair and beautiful blue eyes; he had stubble on his face and walked around the club with a cheeky smile. The leaflet said “TIME OF YOUR LIFE, a club with a difference,” Zoe looked at Snow and pointed at the opening times “It doesn’t open till eleven,” Snow looked at her diamond incrusted watch and it was only nine but she was determined to have a good time “Let’s get plenty to drink before then,” she said pulling Zoe back towards the bar. At 11:30, Snow and Zoe stumbled to ‘time of your life’. Snow looked at the man at the booth at the door and said “How much do you want?” the man laughed and said “The shows has already started but if you still wanna go in its £15 each,” Snow passed the man £100 and said “Keep the change,” Zoe giggle as they walked into the club barely holding each other up. They were both shocked when they walked into a revamped theatre; they took a seat at the back near the bar and waited for the next part of the show to start.

A tall, gorgeous lady walked onto the stage and said “I hope you ladies enjoyed the first act but now onto the second, you all know this guy, give it up for Friendly!!” The women around them screamed in anticipation. A woman next to Snow had a huge stack of five pound notes on the table in front of her so Snow presumed she knew what was going on. Suddenly a beautiful man’s voice sang “You know I know how, to make them stop and share as I zone out,” he slowly danced onto the stage in a suit and took his jacket off “The club can’t even handle me right now,” as he stopped singing the women went wild. Snow had never seen anything like this but she was captured by what she was seeing.

“Watch you, watching me I go all out,” he sang as he sat on the edge of the stage and the women closest to him stroked his muscly chest and abs. “The club can’t even handle me right now,” he finished singing and the music started. He started dancing but really dancing, he was amazing. His shagging blond hair was dancing with him and his muscle rippled as he delivered every move with passion and precision. He slid across the stage and jumped onto a girls lap, he was dancing on her and she was gridding on him. He jumped onto the table and ripped his pants off. Snows jaw dropped as he used his hat to cover his dignity. As he left the stage the women came back on and said “Did everyone enjoy that?” Snow was too shocked too scream and she needed another drink. As she sat back in her seat, the most beautiful man she had ever seen stepped onto the stage in a camouflage trousers and a white vest top. The white vest top didn’t leave much to the imagination as all of his muscles protruded through the material. He man danced down the ales of the theatre, pulling girls to their feet and dancing with them. Snow bit her lip as he dance towards her, he was her perfection. He had dark hair and dark eyes. As he danced back towards the stage, women sighed and pleaded for him to dance with them.

Seven acts and nine shot later, Snow was on cloud nine. As the club emptied Snow found a nice comfortable bit of concrete and fell asleep.

“We should really wake her up,” said Flirty as he stared at the beautiful girl asleep on the road. Frisky nodded at him and kicked her. Flirty shot him an angry look but Frisky simply shrugged back. The girl looked around and realised she was asleep on the road outside a strip club. Her hair was stuck up in the air and her clothes were on backwards (Meaning at some point last night she must have taken them off). Flirty looked her up and down, he didn’t know what to say. “Are you alright?” Frisky said as the girl squinted at them both. She looked at him but the only thing she could remember from the night before was running away from home. She was confused but asked “Do you have a place for me to stay?” Flirty and Frisky were taken back, Frisky shook his head “Erm no, no girls allowed,” but Flirty had a different idea. “How long do you want to stay?” Flirty said before Frisky could stop him. The girl fluttered her eyelashes and said “Only till I can find myself a place,” Flirty smiled and added “What is your name?” the girl blushed “Snow White,” she whispered in embarrassment, Flirty smiled “I am Flirty and this is Frisky,” The girl looked at the both before nodding. Frisky pointed down the street and said “Come on then.”

Snow slowly realised she was going home with too strapping young men. She started staring at them and taking in their feathers. Flirty was tall, dark and handsome but Frisky had long brown hair and rough stubble on his face. When they arrived at the block of flats, Snow asked “Which one is yours?” the men turned around and smiled, Frisky answered “All of them, all seven flats,”

“For all seven men,” Flirty added with a big grin on his face. Snow suddenly felt warn inside, seven absolutely gorgeous men in one building, she was glad she ran away from home.

Snow placed the one bag she had with her on the table and sat on the sofa. The flats looked awful from the outside, dull and run down but on the inside they were luxurious. Snow wondered why the men lived here and how they got the money for such expensive things but she didn’t want to be rude and ask. Flirty walked in the room with another man with Blond hair and striking green eyes, he was very muscly and very attractive. He walked over to Snow and said “I am Friendly, please to meet you,” Snow just nodded but she had a feeling she had seen him before. He blushed and sat on the other sofa, Flirty looked at Snow and said “You will have to come to work with us, Fancy doesn’t want you here alone but I think I have a job you can do,” He winked which also seemed familiar to Snow. Flirty got his car keys and encourage the others to show Snow to the car. Snow was in the car with Flirty, Frisky and Friendly but she was told that Funny, Fancy, Funky and Fizzy were in the other car.

When they reached the place they had called work, Snow noticed it was a dance studio. They walked into a huge studio and Snow sighed at her reflection straight away. Her usually neat hair was all over the pace, she combed it with her fingers back into a Black bob it usually was and felt instantly better. As soon as Friendly started dancing, Snows memories from the night before came flooding back “OMG YOU’RE MALE STRIPPERS!” she screamed as the seven men stared at her. The men just laughed “I am guessing you can now remember last night then,” Funny said as he finished laughing “No,” Snow answered and she was mortified. Flirty looked at her and said “You stayed after the show and was drinking with us, you were telling us what you would do to us behind closed doors, and you were being pretty…”

“Erotic,” added Frisky as Flirty struggle to finish his sentence. Snow was shocked; she was not usually like this at all. Flirty looked at her “Our front lady quit last night, I though you could fill in for her,” he whispered as reality suddenly dawned over Snow and she turned to leave. Fancy, one of the wiser of the young men then stepped up and said “Look Snow, you came here looking for something else, you ran away from home and you have nothing to go back too, it’s do or die for you so why don’t you just give it a shot?” Fancy’s word rung in Snows ears. Snow had gone from being a pampered princess to being a widow’s slave, a life which she only ran away from last night and was willing to go back already. She needed to prove to herself that she didn’t need that life, that she could earn money for herself, she turned around and nodded at fancy

“Yes, you’re right,” she said and the men smiled “Welcome to the team,” Fancy stated before handing her over to Funky who was going to teach her the ropes. Funky had short curly ginger hair and lovely blue eyes, he seemed to be shy compared to the other but the man could dance, all the men could dance!

The first thing Funky did was pull out a costume, it was a sexy ringmistress costume and it was lovely. The jacket was blue, the waistcoat was yellow, and it had a white shirt, it also came with black skin tight shorts. When snow tried it on and she felt absolutely amazing.  Flirty wolf whistled from the back of the studio as Snow studied herself in the mirror. Funky then went through how the night flows. Funky sat down next to Snow as she watched the men rehears “We open Thursday, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, 11:00 till 2 but the show is only 11:15 till 12:45, Ten minutes per set, opening, all seven of our acts and a closing set, go it,” Funky said and Snow nodded, Funky watched as Snow seemed mesmerised by the dancing the men were doing. He looked at her and said “Can you dance Snow?” she shook her head and said “My dad took me out of dance classes when I was younger and pushed me into maths,”

“Did you still want to dance?”  Snow turned to look at Funky but didn’t reply. Funky dropped it and continued teaching Snow “So your job is to introduce us and keep the crowd pumped so they give us more tips,” she nodded and Funky went to join the others rehearsing.

Flirty ran over to Snow, pulled her up and said “We are finished now and better go get ready for tonight,” Flirty pulled her really close and Snow could fell his muscles on her body, she didn’t want to admit how aroused Flirty made her feel but he was perfect. Flirty turned and walk away as if he knew she would follow, as if he knew he had her screaming for him on the inside.

Friendly walked out to the car with Snow and she wanted to know more about the man who had fascinated her so much the night before. “You are an amazing dancer,” She said trying to start up a conversation with him “Thank you,” He said before blushing. Snow was amazed by his modesty; she didn’t think he knew how good he was. “As dancers go, I think you are one of the best I have ever seen,” Friendly shook his head “The women don’t come to see me dance, they come to watch me take my clothes off and then they push for me to take them home to fulfil their fantasies,” Friendly said while getting in the car. This filled Snows head with more questions “Do any off you have girlfriends?” the three men in the car shook their heads “Who you want to share your boyfriend with hundreds of other women?” said Frisky with a smiled on his face. Flirty shook his head “Frisky likes to take his fans home and give them what they want, Friendly and I stopped doing that a long time ago,”

“Why did you stop?” Snow asked.

“Because women come home with us, get everything they want, a night of passion and pleasure then in the morning they go back to reality, a family, a husband and a perfect life, they just use us to live on the edge for one night,” Friendly said with heavy heart. “They want more, I give them more, its how I want to live and it keeps me full,” Frisky said, he said those words in a like he was a hunter and women with dull and repetitive sex lives were the pray, he finished his sentence with “I aim to please,” and chuckled all the way back to the flats. The men spent the rest of the afternoon getting costumes ready and packing the car but Flirty took time out too come see Snow who was having a nap ready to stay up most of the night.

Flirty gently knocked on the door and walked into the room topless. His muscles rippled as he moved and this made something inside of Snow sing. Flirty sat on the bed next to Snow and she sat up straight so she was fact to face with him, his gorgeous brown eyes gazed into hers as he said “We are setting off soon, I thought you might want to get ready,” Snow smiled at him but what she really wanted to do was just jump on him. Snow was very caged at home, she had only ever kissed a boy when she was younger and she hadn’t really thought about it since but these men turned her on, they really set her going and she had to think twice about kiss Flirty. Flirty react over Snow to open a draw on the night table. He pulled put a wallet and slowly brushed his hand against Snows legs as he put the wallet in his pocket, if she was going to do it, she was going to have to do it now. Snow lent in really close to Flirty’s lips and bit hers, to do it or not but Flirty took things into his own hands and kissed her. She was shocked at first but as he licked her lips with his tongue she started to relax. Wearing only one of Flirty’s old shirts Snow was already half naked and Flirty took advantage of that rubbing his hands all over her body, teasing and pleasing her until she wanted to beg for him to do it, to just fuck her but he had other ideas. He slowly got up and started walking away “What are you doing?” said Snow disappointing and pining for more “If I just gave it to you, the excitement is lost; I have to keep up the tempo,” he whispered before walking out.

Snow got dress into jeans and a t-shirt ready for the car ride to the Club, when she walked out onto the street she realised an ex-boyfriend shouting her. She walked up to him and asked “What are you doing here?”

“Your step mother wants you to come home,” He replied as he opened the car door. Snow shook her head and walked away “You don’t belong here Snow,” the Ex shouted “You are from a land of millionaires and socialites, this is a few pounds and drop outs,”

“Everyone can change,” Snow shouted back as the Ex got in the car and slammed his door.

Snow washed her face in the toilets before the show; she was really nervous and didn’t want to go out onto the stage. She saw a shadow behind her and she turned around. It was only Flirty, he picked her up and pinned her against the wall, Snow could feel something hard pressing against her legs and it was making her excited. Flirty kissed her and Snow kissed him back, slipping her tongue in and out of his month gently. Flirty was struggling to contain himself and pressed her harder against the wall. He placed his hand on her thigh and slowly stroked her up to the top of her legs, just before he used his fingers to stroke her insides Flirty backed off. He placed her back on the floor and gently kissed her on the forehead “See you after the show Snow,” he said before giving her a cheeky smile and leaving her desperate for him.

Snow leapt onto the stage and shouted to the rowdy audience “Are you ready ladies?” they screams as they knew what was coming. Snow was dazed by all the women, there were hundred and they were all waning one things, these seven men to take their clothes off for them. As the seven men ran onto the stage in their cowboy uniforms, the women screamed even louder and threw money onto the stage. Women stood up from out their seats just to get a touch of the men or an acknowledging wink. All the women wanted to be danced with as the men picked women out the crowd. This was what they paid for. All night the women were throwing money at the seven men and all night Snow had her eyes on her prize, she wanted Flirty and she wanted him bad.

When they finally got back to the flats, some of the men had invited women to come back with them and hurried into their bedrooms. Friend said goodnight and walked into his room alone. Once Flirty and Snow were alone he picked her up and walked into the bedroom with her in his arms. When he got to the bedroom he threw her down on the bed and took his shirt off, his beautiful body was something he used to turn ladies on and it worked at charm with Snow. She lay back on the bed and waited for him to crawl on top of her. He hovered over her and pulled her top off, and then he kissed all the way up to her lips before rest his body on top of hers. Snow smiled with delight as he kissed and nibbled on her neck and pushed his hips against hers. He pressed the hard bulge in his pants against her jeans which she just wanted to rip off. Somehow Flirty seemed to know what Snow wanted and he pulled down her jeans in hast while she unbuckled his belt and threw it to the ground allowing for his jeans to just slide off. At this point Snow was ready to beg for it, which gave her an Idea. She stood him up and got on her knees, now this she had never done before but she was ready to give it a try, she downed his boxers and exposed the only part of Flirty that the women at the club didn’t see. She took it in her hand and slowly paced it into her mouth. When she looked up, Flirty had the biggest grin on his face. This was what made men happy. The fact that snow was completely naked and giving a man a blow job that she had only met two days ago didn’t embarrass her, it excited her! She could defiantly get used to this new life. As Flirty started to find it hard to hold onto his load he pulled her up and kissed her quickly, he pushed her onto the bed and stroked her with his fingers. She didn’t know what to do, she wanted to scream and just before she did Flirty filled her mouth with his tongue and gave her something to concentrate on other than the pleasure she was feeling. As she felt the pleasure growing inside her Flirty placed himself inside her, just a little bit at first, he trusted slowly and gently but when he felt Snows muscles relax he got faster and harder. Snow felt the pleasure bubble over inside and she let out a little whimper. Flirty smiled before dropping onto the bed next to her. Snow rolled over and hugged him, they fell to sleep and Snow was happy for once.

The next morning Snow woke up but the men were gone. Flirty had left her a note on his mirror “Make yourself at home, we will be back after rehearsal” Snow sat in the living area and turned on the TV. Suddenly there was a buzz from the door. Snow walked up to the intercom and asked who it was “Snow it’s me, we need to talk,” The sound of her step-mothers voice tore through Snow like a hurricane but she knew she had to let her in, so she did.

Snows step mother sat across from her and said “I will make us some coffee,” Snow just let her do it because she knew she wasn’t going to go home with her. Snow took a sip from the drink her step mother had given her and immediately felt funny, before she knew it Snow blacked out.

When the men got home they found the door open and they ran inside. They found Snow on the floor and instantly took her to the hospital. The doctor told the Seven Strippers that Snow White had been drugged and she might never wake up. The other men left Flirty to watch over her while they piece together what had happened at the flats. While Snow was unconscious, the seven men pieced together what had happened and her step-mother was arrested. After 3 months the doctors discussed how unethical it was too keep Snow White on life support and decided to turn it off. Flirty walked in the room and said goodbye to Snow. “I hope you can hear me Snow because I want you to wake up, I was to talk to you again, I want to watch you dance and I want to make your life better, please just wake up,” Flirty kissed her on the lips and walked to excite the room. Unexpectedly with a cough, Snow uttered the words “I am awake,” Flirty spun around filled with joy. The doctors ran into the room followed by the other six strippers. The doctors looked at each other “This has never happened before,” they mumbled between themselves.

When Snow was finally allowed home, she couldn’t feel anymore content with going home with the seven strippers.

Snow and Flirty lived happily for around two weeks before a new act joined the group called Prince Charming and Snow fell madly in love with him. It turns out that Prince Charming was happy to share and Snow got the best of both worlds.

She was a very happy girl!!


The Three Little Pigs

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Here is another offering to the F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES list brought to you by our very own A.H. Browne, better known as the POURINGMYARTOUT guy. Enjoy his jazzed up take on the childhood classic The Three Little Pigs.

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by A. H. Browne

Tusker felt the sweat running down his face under the coarse, bristly hair. His snout was glistening under the hot, bright spotlights, and his tusks gleamed. He gripped the drumsticks tightly between his stubby hoof pads to keep them from slipping as he pounded frantically on the drums. He could feel the shuddering, jarring shock run up his arms and pound through his body as he set the rhythm. He loved the sound of the drums. He knew that most drummers were using new synthetic skins, but he loved the classic human skin. It just sounded right.

He had never felt more alive. The drug was coursing through his veins like liquid fire. Even past the glare of the spotlights he could see the crowd surging like a storm-tossed sea. And out in that vast, heaving ocean, he could see the glint of thousands of pairs of eyes riveted on him as he pounded the heartbeat of life into the music. Thousands of eyes belonging to sweet little porkers who were burning with desire for him. Oh, he was going to sow town after the show tonight.

He wished he could get the guys to try this drug just once. But they were on a new clean-trip after years on the road, struggling to make a name for the band, to break into the big time. All those nights of playing little dive bars in little crap towns. Tusker knew if he could just have discovered this drug back in the day, then they would have made the big time a whole lot sooner. He never wanted this night to end.

But end the night did, as nights will, and after the last encore the band stumbled backstage, followed by the screaming adoration of the crowd. As soon as they got into the dressing room, Tusker’s two band mates turned on him.

“What the hell is up with you, Tusker?” The Snout growled at him. “You were burning through the songs. You just kept playing faster and faster. You’re supposed to keep the beat, not see how fast you can push it.”

“We sounded like a recording played at the wrong speed,” added Porseus.

Tusker was genuinely surprised by this attack. “What are you talking about? We sounded great. We never sounded better than we did tonight.”

“We aren’t a speedthrash band. We don’t do walls of noise. We are known for our subtlety and complexity. We do real music.” The Snout was trying hard to be reasonable.

But Tusker wasn’t in the mood to reasonable. He was feeling like they were ganging up on him unfairly. And he was feeling his anger rising up inside him, the flames licking at the dry tinder of his raging soul.

“Real music?” he sneered. “Is that what you call it? Is that why I never get to help write any of the songs? You think I am just some farm boy from the sticks?”

His two friends could feel the argument slipping into dangerous territory. The Snout hastened to reassure his friend. “Nobody said that, Tusker. You never showed any interest in writing songs. That isn’t our fault.”

“You never asked me,” Tusker responded coldly.

“We are getting way off topic here,” commented Porseus calmly.

“So now I can’t talk as good as you, is that it?” demanded Tusker. “You got some nerve, putting on airs with me. I have known both of you since we were in grade school together.” He pointed a cloven hoof at The Snout. “Do you remember those days, Mr. big shot? Because I sure do. I remember you before you were ‘The Snout’. I remember you when you were just Grismold Terris, a piglet from a crap town in the middle of nowhere. Before you could play the guitar. Before anyone ever heard you sing. And you,” he began, turning on Porseus with eyes blazing, “before you became the bass player for the biggest band in history, you weren’t so hot. Porseus Gowl, who couldn’t even get onto the hoofball team because you were too fat.”

“Look, Franzis, just calm down,” said Porseus evenly.

“Don’t call me that,” yelled Tusker. “I am Tusker Barns now. Drummer for The Three Little Pigs. The band that sells out more stadiums than any band in history. The band we all put together to get out of that little crap town.”

“Okay, Tusker, we don’t want to fight with you. You just seemed to be a little out of control tonight.” The Snout sounded vaguely disappointed.

“Maybe we just need to pick up the pace of some of those dirges you two write.” Tusker was almost screaming now.

Porseus lowered his eyes and bit back a reply. He knew it would only make matters worse. He didn’t know what his friend was on, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. They had all experimented with drugs when they were younger. And those first years on the road playing small dive bars was mostly a hazy memory. But he did remember their lives together when they were growing up in Stockyard. Franzis had lived on a human farm outside of town. Grismold’s dad was the town’s only dentist. His own father was the janitor at the high school they had all attended, a constant source of embarrassment to him. It was partly the way that Franzis had always remained proud of his own dirt-poor father despite the fact that he raised filthy human livestock on a rundown little ranch that had made his own situation seem bearable. He hated to see his friend like this.

But Tusker had had enough. He made a sloppy waving motion with his arms and turned away, hurrying out of the dressing room and off down the corridor leading out from under the Rocket Stadium.

Porseus started to go after him, but The Snout put out a hoof and stopped him. “Let him cool off. We can talk to him tomorrow when he has come down off whatever he is on.”

Tusker jumped into his brand new Roadhog parked in the private underground parking lot and started the engine. The ferocious roar filled the cavern around him in a most satisfying manner. He tore out of there going much too fast and before long was ripping through the Honeywood hills. The lights of Angel City spread below him like a field of stars reflected in a huge lake. But the sight did not calm him, did not slow his racing heart or bank the fires inside of him.

He pulled up in front of his mansion, and the sight of the sprawling building did go a little way towards making him feel better. This ostentatious display of his own success did make him feel powerful and in control. That was all he wanted. A little control.

The mansion was made of bound bundles of rushes imported from Eegiptt. The roof was fake thatch made from some kind of plastic. His highly overpaid architect had convinced him that he would be the first to own such a home in the United Confederacy. He had also assured Tusker that this style of building was all the rage amongst the fabulously wealthy in The Old Countries, and that soon all the glittering, beautiful swine would be clamoring to copy the new trend. The rushes were just for show anyway. They were bundled around hardened steel cores, but Tusker did think the place had a certain elegant charm, like a cottage from some old fairytale. A really big cottage.

He turned on the giant screen telemonitor and watched some hoofball. The Wild Warthogs were playing the Badass Boars, and he tried to pay attention to the game, but his mind kept wandering. At about three in the morning he tried to get some sleep. He lay tossing and turning in the huge, canopied bed. His heart was still thudding away in his chest like one of his own drum solos, and he was sweating like a human. In the darkest hour of the morning he finally fell asleep.

And then he saw the face. A hairy, ferocious face, with a long, tooth-filled muzzle and two pointy ears. He woke up yelling, but the nightmare didn’t end. In the corners of the room he saw wispy shadow shapes and heard claws scraping at the tile floor. He leaped from the bed and ran to the closet, grabbing the blastgun he kept handy. He turned without aiming and fired a spray of pebbleshot into the window where he thought he saw something moving. He felt hot breath on the back of his head and heard ragged breathing. He screamed and spun around, letting go with another blast right into the closet, right into the clothes hanging there. The clothing began to smolder but he didn’t notice. He was too busy being frightened out of his wits by the terrifying howling coming from all around the outside of his house.

He raced from the bedroom and bounded down the curved stairway to the bottom floor. The howling grew in volume. And the bloodthirsty and mournful baying was taken up by more of the shadow creatures. He stood in the middle of the living room, shaking and trying to aim the gun in all directions at once. He heard scratching and pounding at his front door and at all the large windows surrounding the huge room. The creatures were coming in.

He let out one last scream and raced to the door leading to his garage. He jumped into the car and grabbed the spare key he hid in the little compartment in the dashboard. He didn’t have his regular set of keys. He didn’t even have any clothes on. He couldn’t take the time to open the garage door. He drove straight through it. As he peeled away, if he had bothered to look, he would have seen the upper floor of his fine new house engulfed in flames.

Porseus threw a robe on and stumbled down the stairs to find out who was pounding on his door at this unseemly hour of the night. He was too mad to be worried that it might be someone more dangerous than himself. He was a very large pig. That was part of what made the name of their band such a funny, tusk-in-cheek joke. He threw the door open and was shocked to see his friend Tusker standing there stark naked and holding a gun. As soon as the door opened, Tusker charged in and slammed it shut once again.

“They are after me. They are trying to kill me.” Tusker was ranting as he bolted around the room, peering out windows and aiming the gun in all directions.

“Who is trying to kill you?” Porseus kept asking, but all he got in return were the ravings of a mad pig.

Suddenly Tusker screamed something about the howling and sent a blast of pellets through one of the windows.

“Hey, what are you doing?” yelled Porseus. “This place isn’t even paid for yet.”

Tusker answered by shooting a hole through the front door.

“This place is made from rare hardwoods imported from all over the planet. Do you have any idea what that door cost?” Porseus was more than a little angry by this point. He was also more than a little frightened. Something had obviously scared his friend badly.

Tusker went into a long, rambling speech about the creatures that had surrounded his house and his desperate flight for his life. Porseus was almost convinced that his friend was just having a bad trip, when he heard the sirens in the distance. He went to the front door, opened it, and peered toward Tuskers house only a few blocks away. He was startled to see a somber red glow in the sky and a pillar of dark smoke obscuring the setting moon.

Tusker joined him on the porch. He was wild-eyed and rambling, but Porseus couldn’t deny that something bad had happened at his friend’s house. And then it came to him. Tusker must owe some bad pigs money. Bad pigs who sold bad drugs. These would be dangerous individuals. He grabbed Tusker by the arm and led him to his own car, a classic Hock Roadster parked in the driveway. Together they took off, headed for The Snout’s place.

Five minutes later they pulled up in front of the imposing stone estate owned by their friend.

THE ANGEL CITY CHRONICLE

Police this morning found the bodies of The Snout, Porseus Gowl, and Tusker Barns, members of the famed hard-steel band ‘The Three Little Pigs’, at the residence owned by the Snout in the Honeywood Hills. All three of the famous musicians were killed by gunfire. Preliminary investigation has led the police to believe that the gun belonged to Tusker Barns. Evidence points to the fact that Tusker shot his two band mates before turning the gun on himself.

The medical examiner says it is too early to do anything but speculate, but that he was willing to bet that Tusker was under the influence of the new street drug called Big Bad Wolf.


Kristerella

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Somebody pinch me because I must be dreaming. It seems our very first F*CKED UP FAIRY TALE has come in! Thanks to my ever trashy but always wise blogmate Kevin Jorenby of  TRAILERTRASHDELUXE fame, we are treated to a fairy tale every bit as f*cked up as promised. Ladies and gentlemen, please to enjoy…KRISTERELLA!

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by Kevin Jorenby

Kristerella awoke and stretched to the pleasant sounds of birds singing a happy tune.  Her head was thick from last night’s debauchery, but still she felt okay all in all.  She laid her head back down and soon was dreaming about her “main squeeze”, R-Patsy; he was just about to enter her when: “Cock-a-doodle-doo!!” went the damn rooster.

“Ohhh, that cock”, she lamented, “always waking me up when I get to the good part.”  Then she remembered a little of last night’s “after-party” with R-Patsy.  “Ohhhh, that cock”, she purred this time.  A little smile broke across her face at the recollection.  “Ouch”, she said, as her facial muscles, unaccustomed to smiling, or any emotion at all for that matter, entered unfamiliar territory.  She’d had small parts in the village plays, but never showed emotion in any of them.  Her vaguely good looks, and the fact that everyone felt bad about her orphaned status, were all that kept getting her roles.  Oh, there were some nasty rumors going around that she was overly friendly to the play director, and R-Patsy’s feelings were hurt by this, but Kristerella assured him, and anyone else who asked, that nothing much really happened and she still loved R-Patsy.

The thought of smiling made her sit bolt upright in her shabby straw bed.  She hid her face in her hands as she recalled more embarrassing details of last night.  She dimly recalled laughing at one of the jokes that one of her “backup squeezes” had told (was it Mandingo? or Bubba? she couldn’t remember; one was black and one was white, but all she knew and cared about was that they were both sure-handed coachmen and sure good lovers, and they always had weed).

“Please tell me I didn’t show emotion,” she sighed into her hands, “I just can not show emotion.”  Her father had taught her that showing emotion was for common folk, just as he had shown her how to pick the best pot, just before he was murdered by a rival drug gang.  She hadn’t kept up the family business, but she kept some of her dad’s connections, and either “traded favors” for enough weed to get her by, or scrounged together enough allowance from taking care of her mean-ass stepmother and ugly-ass stepsisters, to buy enough to keep her happy.  She loved sitting on the front porch when she thought no one was watching and getting high.  She also got a little income from a deal she had worked out with the mice, fencing things they stole from the ugly stepsisters.

God, but those were some ugly women.  Her stepmother had probably been sort of striking in her younger days, but her features were a little too sharp to be considered beautiful or even pretty.  The relentless aging process, as well as her unbridled greed, had taken away any pleasantness about her features, giving her a permanent, ugly scowl.  That is, except for when she felt like she was “putting one over” on someone, then she got this hideous satisfied smug look on her face, like one would get if they thought they’d denied someone their favorite shoes or something.  As for the stepsisters, they were a new and improved kind of ugly.  Kristerella, for the life of her, couldn’t figure out why God decided to strap a pair of vaginas on as homely and dumpy a couple of bodies as were ever formed.  Their mom was bad enough, but their dad must have made Sasquatch look like the royal Prince.

Oh, the Prince.  She would love to get a piece of that.  If R-Patsy only knew how she felt about the Prince, he’d really whine like a little baby.  It wasn’t just the money, the position, the way he could dance and sing; it was, more than anything else, the way he played the lute.  He did a lute solo during his song “When Dodo Birds Cry”, that sent her through the roof.

“Speaking of birds”, she thought to herself.  She took a couple quick hits off her pipe, threw the covers off her nude body, moved down and put her legs up on the footboard of her bed, and clapped twice.  Seemingly from everywhere, mice and birds appeared.  The birds first grabbed a sponge out of the wash-basin, dipped it in a huge bowl of honey, and flew in tandem over her body, squeezing out the honey-filled sponge all over her.  The mice spread the honey around on her and nibbled playfully at her neck, her nipples, and the entrance to her own honeypot.  Once the birds were done with the honey, they lined up in the rafters of her little garret.  At a whistled cue from the lead bird, they took off and lined up in an attack formation, diving down from the rafters and swooping in and out of her gaping gash, fluttering their wings at the entrance, like she had taught them to.  After a few minutes of this, she clapped her hands again, the birds and mice all backed off, and she shoved the giant heel of a glass slipper inside herself, crying out, “Oh my Puhrincccce!!!!” as she shuddered mightily in ecstasy.

Completely satisfied, Kristerella giggled a little stoned giggle, thinking to herself: “If R-Pats only knew who I really wanted.”  Then a horrible thought occurred to her–”Oh my God, he better have pulled out last night.  I don’t want to pop out a kid with that big fucking ugly forehead like R-Patsy has.  I mean, his eyes and his body drive me crazy, but that forehead is Uggggg-leee.”  “And the little bastard’s head would probably tear me in two coming out, if he has that same freaky forehead.  And where is he anyway?”

She got up and went to the window.  “Oh, now I get it”, she exclaimed.  There was a long, bright yellow rope hanging all the way down to the top part of the lower floor of the decaying manor house, the house that her pops had lovingly built up and Old Wartface herself had hatefully let go to rot while she spoiled the Ugly Twins with the last of her dad’s money, drug money that was rightfully Kristerella’s.  The rope was actually braided together out of human hair, from her longtime rival for R-Patsy’s affections, her slut of a distant cousin, the bitch that Kristerella liked to lovingly call “Ra-Cunt-Zel”, an even bigger pothead than Kristerella, who sold half of her hair years ago to Kristerella’s dad to pay for a couple pounds of weed.  The shit was so straw-like already from too much blonde hair dye, that it made a very sturdy rope.  Kristerella had to hand it to R-Patsy–he only needed to use the rope for the steepest part at the top of the house, the last section going up to Kristerella’s room, and the lower part he scaled like he was some sort of vampire or something.

After the birds and the mice helped her dress, Kristerella made her way down the long stairway toward the second-floor bedrooms of the Uglies.  On the way down, she spied a disgustingly obese mouse which she promptly named Gus, since she was a big “Lonesome Do-do bird” fan.  She put some undersized clothes on him so that everyone could ridicule his obesity even more.  She made Jean-Luc, the lead thief in her gang of mice-thieves, explain to Gus that if he wanted to keep on salting away the table scraps he’d have to pull his considerable weight as a thief.

She cracked open the door to her evil Stepmother’s room, the smell of the old lady’s gas nearly knocking her down in the process.  She whispered for the nasty cat, Aguilera, to follow her down to the kitchen for breakfast.  When they reached the kitchen, Kristerella started a fire in the woodstove while Aguilera farted, stretched, screeched some awful high noises, waved her paws oddly up and down as she screeched, then plopped down on the rug and promptly fell asleep.  The horse and the dog, two of the dumbest creatures Kristerella had ever met, but who magically seemed to communicate, with short neighs and barks, complicated messages to each other whenever the birds told them someone in the house needed rescuing, were sleeping in the morning sun.  The mice all came out and stole most of the corn from the chickens in the yard, pooled their strength and stole a broom off the wall, and bashed Aguilera over the head with it, just for fun.

The mean stepmom and the ugly stepsisters all finally woke up and rang their bells for breakfast.  Kristerella made them wait while she smoked a couple joints, blowing pot smoke into the nostrils of the unconscious Aguilera.  After a while, she tired of this and took the now-lukewarm porridge and tea up to the bitches, the now-groggily awake Aguilera close behind.  Aguilera spied Gus hiding under a teacup, grabbed him and threw him at the ugliest sister, who shrieked at her mother.  The evil stepmother then gave Kristerella 3 days worth of work to do before lunch, as punishment.  Kristerella didn’t care; she had plenty of weed, and the stepmother would be too busy trying to make ladies out of her clumsy, ugly daughters to bother checking on Kristerella’s work.  She still found time to beat Aguilera with her mop bucket, though.

As she was busy cleaning, Kristerella heard a knock on the door.  It was a representative from the royal palace, inviting all the women from the household to a ball in honor of the Prince that night.  The King was worried that the Prince was a little “light in the loafers”, since all he wanted to do was ride horses, play the lute, and dress in frilly purple sportcoats, so he made the Duke organize a dance so that the Prince could find a mate.

Kristerella took the note up to the so-called “music room”, where the step-mother was assaulting the piano in accompaniment to the Ugly Twins doing their best to out-screech Aguilera.  “At least Aguilera’s screeching is usually in tune”, sighed Kristerella as she opened the door.  She interrupted the Uglies in what appeared to be some sort of sisterly foreplay.  Kristerella would’ve steamed open the letter, but the King’s official seal was on it, and she dared not break that.  Besides, when she had snuck out earlier for a midmorning puff, she ran into Bubba, who’d told her about the royal ball.  He’d heard it from the widow lady down the lane, the one who lived in a shoe (which she called “The Shaq” for some reason) and who traded Bubba killer blowjobs for his killer “chronic”, so that she could keep her sanity while raising 23 of the laziest kids on the planet (except for the ugly stepsisters, that is).  The old woman was sending all 9 of her daughters that were over the age of 11 to the ball, along with one of her sons, Percy, who liked to design and sew all his sister’s clothes (“if you know what I mean”, she’d say), “just in case”, since, like everyone else, she’d heard the rumors about the Prince.  It was really assumed that Percy would go anyway, even though the ball was for young ladies and their adult chaperones, because he had designed most of the gowns in the kingdom, and treated all the dances as if they were his own personal fashion show.  His mother was pretty redneck about Percy, but she had to admit that he had the only ambition in the whole bunch, and his dress designs brought in much-needed income.  Percy’s “gaydar” didn’t really go off around the Prince, but he, like Kristerella, had many fantasies about the Prince and held out hopes that perhaps one day he could convince the Prince to “bat for the other side”.  Besides, he had a purple paisley sportcoat that he knew the Prince would like.

Kristerella quietly stood while her mean stepmother read aloud the note about that night’s upcoming ball.  The ugly stepsisters snorted and farted gracelessly with homely excitement as their mother tried to calm them down, fully realizing that it would take the whole 10 hours to try to scrape off the outer layer of ugly and make them marginally presentable.  Still, even a bitchy mother can dream.

“What are you looking at, ‘Second-hand Rose’”?, sneered the ugliest sister, setting both of them into gales of clumsy, snotting, spitting, choking laughter.  Kristerella did get their hand-me-downs, and got some cash too, from the clothes and jewelry (that the stepsisters forgot they had, or didn’t like but thought they were in too good a shape to give to the hated Kristerella) stolen by Jean-Luc and his gang of mice-thieves, right out of their closets.

“Surely I can go to the ball too,” cried Kristerella.  She was bound and determined to get the Prince out of his paisley knickers for real, not just in fantasy.  Her mean stepmother agreed that, if Kristerella remodelled the entire west wing of the manor, and resodded 5 acres of lawn, she could go to the ball also.

Kristerella quickly went to the stables and serviced both Bubba and Mandingo in exchange for a buzz and their help with the extra work.  She then beat the birds and mice mercilessly, forcing them to resew her late mother’s frumpy old gown and to steal some jewelry and accessories from the ugly stepsisters to complete her outfit.  Her plan worked beautifully until she made the mistake of modelling her outfit in front of her evil stepmother and her ugly stepsisters.  It just so happened that the sheriff, who once upon a time had a little affair with Kristerella’s evil stepmother during her first marriage, chose that moment to stop by and bring some zucchini.  The evil stepmother, even as she was making eyes at the sheriff, spied some parts of Kristerella’s outfit that looked familiar.  She pointed them out to the dimwitted stepsisters, who slooooowly realized that the items had been stolen from them.  They demanded the sheriff immediately arrest Kristerella for receiving stolen goods; he hauled her off to jail.

As luck would have it, another distant relative of Kristerella’s, Magda, was in jail doing time for insider stock trading.  Magda could do magical things in the home; people used to say she could “make a tea party out of a horse turd.”  In return for Bubba throwing some weed to her through the jail’s outside window, Magda took some old rags that happened to be lying around in the jail cell and sewed them into a fine gown that would’ve made Percy proud.  Before she had gone off with the sheriff, Kristerella had managed to whisper to Mandingo, who was standing nearby, that she would be ever-so-grateful if he’d bring her glass slippers to the jail so that she’d have something to do that night.  Mandingo rolled his eyes at her nymphomania, but complied anyway.  The slippers, and some spangles and jewelry taken off a nearby passed-out “lady of the evening” in the same cell (who’d made the mistake of being so drunk that she propositioned the parson in front of his wife) completed the outfit.  Mandingo and Bubba, being close friends of all the “shoe” family, convinced a couple of the oldest daughters to stop by the jail and model their gowns for the sheriff.  Mandingo then stole the cell keys while the sheriff was thus distracted, freeing Kristerella.  Meanwhile Bubba laced the sheriff’s pipe tobacco with some powerful weed.  The sheriff, unaccustomed to the stuff, lit up a bowl, took a few puffs, and slept for 24 hours.  The “shoe” girls, being used to doing each other’s hair and makeup, slightly altered Kristerella’s hair and makeup, knowing that would be enough to fool the dimwitted stepsisters at the ball; they had to rely on the dim lighting at the ball to help fool the evil stepmother.

The ball went as you would imagine; the Prince shuddered at the raw ugliness of Kristerella’s stepsisters, which caused Kristerella to wonder how the Prince would look shuddering in ecstasy with her, and the Prince took one look at Kristerella and fell in love.  R-Patsy (who unbeknownst to everyone was way older than he looked) had suffered a heart attack while climbing down from his 3-hour performance with Kristerella the night before, and fallen to his death, hidden in the ivy until found several days later by the dog, and was a nonfactor in the rest of this tale.  The Prince and Kristerella danced for hours, then slipped outside for a quickie on the footbridge in the moonlight.  They pledged their undying love for each other and Kristerella showed the Prince how to pleasure her with the heels of her glass slippers, which she’d had custom-made to resemble a sizeable dildo.  After awhile they decided they should go back in, as it was getting late.  At precisely midnight, one of the servants, who had been playing catch with his friend with garden produce, accidentally beaned the evil stepmother in the head with a pumpkin.  As the stepmother shook her head to clear it, her evil ugly eyes lit on the Prince’s new flame, who she suddenly realized was her servant girl, her late husband’s daughter Kristerella.  She cried out “Thief, thief!  Get her–she must have escaped from the jail.”  Kristerella ran off, breaking a jagged piece off one of her dildo-heels in the process, which the Duke promptly picked up.

The next day, the King sent the Duke to match up the broken piece of dildo with the rest of the heel of the slipper.  Only the King, the Prince, the Duke and, of course, Kristerella knew that the pieces were part of the slipper, not just some random dildo.  The Duke travelled the kingdom with the broken piece, claiming to have found it at the ball, and that the Prince really wanted to meet the woman who had the most similar dildo to it.  The Duke had to inspect dildoes of all sizes and shapes.  When he got to the house of Kristerella and her stepfamily, he found that the stepsisters had dildoes as ugly as their owners.  Meanwhile, the evil stepmother had found Kristerella hiding in the wardrobe in her room, locked her in, and hid the key in her pocket.  Gus and Jean-Luc managed to steal it, but Gus had a heart attack and died on the way up to bring it to Kristerella.

Aguilera, who found that she now loved pot almost as much as Kristerella did, was high as a kite, singing and moving her paws oddly up and down on the stairs up to Kristerella’s room.  She thought Jean-Luc was a toy, so she started to toss him and the key up in the air.  The birds saw this, quickly realized what was going on, and somehow magically passed this information on to the horse, who with one loud whinny, magically passed the entire story written down here to the dog, who dashed into the manor, up the stairs, scared away Aguilera, grabbed Jean-Luc and the key in his jaws (instantly breaking Jean-Luc’s back and killing him) and delivered a slobbery key and a dead mouse under Kristerella’s door.  She ran downstairs to show the Duke her broken slipper, but of course the evil stepmother tripped her, causing the slipper to fall to the floor and break into a thousand little pieces.  Kristerella wiped the smug smirk off the evil stepmother’s face by producing the other slipper, identical dildo-heel and all, to the Duke.

Kristerella and the Prince lived happily ever after, until he moved her to a place later called Minneapolis, where he did nothing but write songs for his lute, and became so in love with himself that she dumped him.  The stepsisters and stepmother became so lazy and despondent that they laid in bed all day, until an earthquake happened one day, further breaking down the decaying manor, and stirring up so much mouse piss and so many mouse droppings (from the vermin that Kristerella had used as partners in crime over the years), that they all contracted hantavirus and soon died horrible deaths.  Bubba and Mandingo set up a pot-growing operation with “Mama Shoe” and married a couple of the daughters.  Percy moved to Paris and became a huge success.  Kristerella was last seen muttering to herself and walking through the American wilderness, for some reason heading towards the Pacific Northwest, still showing no emotion whatsoever.


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