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This is a fanfic story.
Genre: harry_potter
Chapter 1
This is a Harry Potter fanfic set in a totally different AU. If this book does not appeal to you, simply click away. Any hate comments will be removed. Before I write this, I'm going to explain certain things so nothing gets confusing during the book. If I missed anything, I'll add it in the AN at the end of said chapter.
"Ponies" are, in fact, humans but have been bred to be treated like ponies. They can understand human speech, but it is rare for any of them to speak it, as they would never have been taught how to. They would have just been taught to understand the language to make everything simpler. "Ponies" are a normal thing; it's not a kink in the AU. It's normal. You're either a pony or a human.
For size reference and aging to make it more understandable and workable for me, when the "foal" is born, they will be about the size of a three-year-old child, not a newborn baby. At the age of one, they will be the size of a five-year-old, at two, an eight-year-old, and at three, a thirteen-year-old. Then they will not get much bigger, rather than another inch or two. Height depends on how big their parents are.
The "ponies" do not require the food a human does; they can eat oats, fruit, veg, and hay and be able to survive. A stallion will be a horse without a cock cage. A gelding will have a cock cage at all times. And a mare will be a female horse. All the human characters in this book will still be wizards and witches, but it will not be the main focus, and magic will be rarely used unless I feel it needs to be.
Severus paced back and forth in front of his desk, his stable busy with the ponies being trained and cared for by his stable hands. He was expecting a new pony, but the trailer was late with delivering him, thus making Severus stressed. Severus had bought the pony on the agreement that if things didn't work out, the said pony would be put down. He stopped pacing when his head stable hire walked into his office.
"May I have a word?" Tom said as he strode further into the office, taking a seat. "I suppose," Severus replied, moving behind his desk but remaining standing. "How can I be of help?" he asked the male.
"The new pony... I am...," Tom paused for a moment, deciding on his next words. "I'm not sure exactly where to stable him. We know he's dangerous, but I do not want to isolate him." Severus sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "I suggested next to Draco. His stall will be at the far end of the barn, but he will have company still."
Tom nodded before he stood up, heading towards the door. "I hope you are right about this, Severus. You could be taking on a hopeless case." With that, Tom left the office, leaving Severus to his own thoughts.
It was another three hours before the truck and trailer pulled up the stone driveway. Severus was stood outside, a green lead rope in hand, four inches of it made of chain, the other six inches made of rope. It was normally used for bolshy ponies that need a little extra control when handling.
Once the truck had stopped, and a middle-aged woman climbed out, walking to the ramp, she started to unlock it. "I'd be careful with this one, Severus. It took us three hours to get the damn beast on the box. Nightmare, he was!" she said quickly, and as soon as the ramp hit the floor, the woman scuttled away.
"Thank you for the warning, Molly," Severus replied. It only took him a matter of seconds before he was walking up the ramp and into the box. At the back, tied to the ring, was the three-year-old colt, his eyes covered with a thick blindfold blocking any light that was able to enter the box. His foot impatiently stamped against the floor.
The colt's body was tense, almost as if he was ready to kick out at the nearest person, which Severus knew if the colt was given a chance, he would kick him. He slowly walked towards him, quietly attaching his lead rope to the colt's bridle, and he just had time to clip the one that attached him to the wall before the colt took off, pulling back with force to free himself.
Another twenty minutes of the colt kicking and squealing before Severus managed to pry it out of the box. Stable hands paused from their jobs to watch the sudden noise as the frail creature stumbled down the ramp and onto the stone path. Severus winced as the colt spun and kicked him directly in the shin, but he still didn't loosen his grip on the rope.
"Walk," he said calmly, and he lightly tugged on the rope, making the colt stumble forward. The colt was quickly walked into his stall, before Severus secured him to the wall with his lead rope. "It'll make it easier," he explained to Tom as he walked back outside to Molly.
"Do you have his papers?" Molly quickly handed them over, looking over Severus' shoulder to try and get a glimpse of the colt. "You're either stupid or brave; that colt is ruined," she said, turning away and climbing back into the truck, driving away.
Severus' eyes scanned the papers in his hand. "Severus, a word," Tom didn't sound too pleased, and Severus could guess why. "Of course," Severus replied, walking into his office, taking a seat before motioning for Tom to do the same. Tom shut the door before sitting down.
"You said misunderstood, not a freaking psycho, Sev! How the hell are you going to explain that when Albus comes over next week for the competitions? You can't have a psycho pony around when kids are here!" Tom almost screamed. "I am aware. I am hoping we can get him somewhat calm before the competition," Severus said slowly.
"Do you know who the sire and dam are, Tom?" he asked as he opened the colt's papers on his desk. Tom shook his head. "No, I never asked," he replied. "James and Lily Potter," Severus said. "But their colt is only three... the advert said he was broken two years ago...," Tom let the words trail off. "They broke a one-year-old?" he asked, almost for confirmation.
"He was. I did some digging; he was broken by the Dursleys. Not a pleasant farm. He's been there for the past three years as a work horse. He's probably only seen whips, nothing else," Severus explained.
"What's his name?" Tom asked. "He's passported as 'The Boy Who Lived,' but his stall name is Harry," Severus replied.
Chapter 2
Harry's foot hit the floor under him, and it felt different from what he was used to. The floor wasn't hard; it felt soft under his hoofboot. He tossed his head, shifting to the side, and knew he'd never get free from the ring on the wall, but he could always try, right? His body went still at the sound of footsteps, and he dreaded to think what was going to happen. He hated the fact that he couldn't see. He needed to see to kick whoever had dragged him out of the damn trailer. He knew he'd at least got one kick, but he doubted he'd get anymore.
Severus leaned against the door of the stall, watching the new colt's movement, although there was none. He was still. He sighed as he slowly unlocked the door, walking into the stall, nodding to Tom, who had come from the vet room with a syringe in hand. It wasn't long before Tom had injected Harry's left thigh with a sedative, thus making the colt kick out, almost hitting his target. If Tom hadn't skillfully side-stepped away from the colt's legs, he would have been hit.
"None of that," Severus said, his voice calm, as he watched the drug take effect. Within five minutes, they had moved the sedated colt into the vet room, strapped onto the examination table. Severus slowly undid the blindfold before he and Tom set to work on checking the colt over, now that they could both get a good look at him. Everything was seen. Almost every inch of the colt's body was covered in bruises, cuts, or scars. Not a single part of his body was unmarked.
"Gelding this one?" Tom asked as he set to work cleaning the cuts out. "Not yet. I want to see how he fares. He deserves a chance like the rest," Severus replied, his thumb running across the colt's lower lip, his eyes scanning his face before he lightly pulled the bridle off Harry's face. Severus inwardly winced as the barb-wired 'bit' fell from the colt's mouth. "Some bit," he mumbled, as he tossed the bridle onto the floor, working on cleaning Harry's mouth from the cut he had sustained from the bit.
"Luna!" Severus shouted, as he started to undo the straps that held Harry to the table. "Could you get me a size 1 hackamore and size 4 hoof boots? Also, when you have time later, would you put together a size 1 bridle with a four-inch rubber bit, a thin one?" Severus said, as the blonde-haired female scurried away to do his bidding. She returned a few moments later with the hackamore and hoof boots.
Harry woke up suddenly, his heart beating fast in his chest. He quickly looked around his stall. He wasn't with the Dursleys anymore. That much was clear. He slowly stumbled to his feet, the soft shavings under his hoofboots a pleasant surprise. He shook his head. The stall was a decent size; he had plenty of room to walk around. He could see a water dispenser in the corner, and a food bucket that hung on the wall was near the door. He was glad the blindfold had been removed. He hated being deprived of his sight.
His body tensed as a tall man walked to his stall door. The male's long black hair was straight, and it reached down to his shoulders. "Morning, Harry. Are you ready to start training?" Severus said, as Harry darted to the back of his stall in fear.
Chapter 3
Harry shifted nervously at the back of his stall as Severus slowly unlocked the stall door, emptying a bucket of oats, apples, and pears into his feeding bucket. "I'll give you an hour or so to eat, then we can start your evaluation," he explained to the colt, as he left the stall, leaving Harry to eye the food. He was hungry, but did he want to risk the food being drugged?
Severus sighed and left him to his own devices as he went to watch Tom train his personal stallion. Tom stood in the middle of the sand arena. The sun was just beginning to rise, and he wanted to work the stallion before the heat got too much. He attached his lunge line to the stallion's bridle before sending him out, getting him to walk around. "Dave," he said calmly to the stallion, who was being particularly stubborn that morning. "Walk."
The stallion huffed at the command before walking around the circle set out for him. Tom let him walk for a few minutes before making him trot, giving him a smack with the crop whenever he tried to slow his pace down. Severus leaned against the fence as he watched the stallion being put through its paces. He was glad he had managed to hire Tom before Albus had the chance, or he would have been left without a trainer he'd trust.
He watched for a couple more minutes before going back to the stall to check on Harry. Harry had eaten; every last bit of the food was gone. He was leaned against the wall. Severus picked up his lead rope that hung on the door. "Harry," he called to the colt, waiting to see if he'd come. Harry hesitated, taking a step forward before stopping again.
Severus unlocked the stall door before he walked up to the colt, clipping the lead rope to the hackamore. It was almost like Harry expected pain; he flew back as soon as the lead rope attached to his hackamore, trying to dart out of the stall, but Severus held him tight, waiting till he'd given up. Harry tossed his head, eyeing Severus warily.
"I know, but the hackamore won't hurt you. I need to get your teeth checked before we try and put a bit in you again," Severus explained, before taking a few steps towards the door, giving the lead rope a small tug. But Harry still didn't move. He looked confused.
"Idiots. Didn't even teach him basic manners," Severus muttered under his breath. "Walk," he said, as he tugged the rope a little. Harry huffed, but followed him out of the stall. Severus walked him out into the alley of the stall. "Stand," he waited till Harry had stopped moving, before tugging the rope once again. Harry tilted his head, before walking forward.
They repeated the process a few more times before Severus was happy that the colt could be led around and stand when needed. He walked Harry to the cross-ties, tying him in place, proceeding to brush the colt down. "I'm going to put you in the pasture for the rest of the day," he explained, as he gently strapped a light green blanket on Harry.
Once he was certain Harry wouldn't be attacked by the flies, he untied him, leading him towards one of the back pastures. It kept Harry away from the more confident stallions. He opened the gate, walking Harry in before letting him free. He watched as the colt galloped around the field, as soon as he was free. Not once did he look back, enjoying the freedom Severus guessed he never had.
Chapter 4
Chapter Four - Attitude Problem. Severus headed down to the pasture where he had left Harry in the morning. The colt had been out for over 12 hours, but he knew he needed to get used to being left outside rather than being cooped up in a stable all day. When Severus arrived at the pasture gate, he could see Harry, dozing, under one of the trees. The colt looked exhausted. He also hadn't noticed that Sev had arrived to come and get him.
Grabbing the hackamore that he had left on the fence, he climbed over the gate, and headed towards the pony. "Harry," Severus called calmly, once he was within three feet of the colt. He didn't want to sneak up on him and scare the poor thing. It only took Severus 10 minutes to get the hackamore on Harry, only because he kept moving his head whenever Snape tried to place the hackamore on him. "Head shy, are you?" he asked, more to himself. He knew the colt wouldn't answer.
Once Harry was back in his stable, rug off, with a rack full of hay, and his bucket of grain, Severus shut the stall door. He smirked as Draco paced around the stall, trying to get at the younger colt. "Aren't you a little stressy, Draco?" he hummed, as he headed towards the blonde's door. He reached his hand in, as the older colt briskly walked over to him, running his hand down the other pony's side. "Maybe we could turn you two out together; you could show Harry some manners," Severus mused to himself. It was an idea, but of course, he'd have to ask Lucius first. After all, Draco was the man's prized possession. And with no wonder.
The colt was bred to win, and he did. Always coming in the top three, no matter where they went. Severus ran his pale hand through his black hair before he called it a night. The stable staff would make sure Harry ate at least something, and that Draco calmed down some. Morning couldn't come soon enough for Snape; he wanted to put the colt through its paces more before the heat hit them, and it would be too hot to work any of them.
He was outside Harry's stall by 5 am, the yard already bustling with people trying to get their ponies worked before they had to rush off to work. Stable hands were darting around the place, some mucking out, others grooming ponies, a few leading ponies out to the pasture, and some working ponies in the schools. The place seemed like a walking disaster, but Severus knew it was actually his team of staff working like clockwork. They all had their separate jobs.
He grabbed Harry's hackamore off the hook on the door, asking one of the stable hands for a whip to be brought for him. He quickly unlocked the stall door and walked in. For once, Harry took a few steps towards the male. Severus was shocked, but he never let it show on his face. He slowly placed the hackamore on Harry, adjusting it so it sat perfectly on the colt's face. "Come on," he said quietly, leading the colt out of the stable. Grabbing the whip that had been left by one of the stable hands, he quickly led Harry to one of the round pens. It would give the colt a guide when Severus wanted him to move, and there was no corner for the colt to run into and hide.
The walls around the pen were made from oak and were roughly 10 feet high, with a 4-foot clearance before the roof. The clearance gave enough room for natural lighting while also keeping the rain and snow out during the colder months. Severus made sure the pen gate was shut and locked, making sure the colt couldn't escape. He started going through the basics: walk, stand, back up, move over, and picking Harry's legs up. Which the colt seemed to understand fairly well. "Seems those idiots trained you something," Snape muttered, taking off the hackamore. He walked into the middle of the pen, picking up the whip he had left there at the start. "Harry, walk."
At first, Harry seemed like he was going to comply; he took a few small steps around before he stopped, looking towards Snape. "Walk," he repeated, this time tapping the whip on the floor. Harry quickly started to walk around the pen, shaking his head every so often to show his disagreement in the work. Severus made him walk a few laps before he asked for the trot. Harry stumbled, struggling to keep himself balanced on the sand, a surface he wasn't used to. He was used to the hard concrete under his boots, but now it was soft, and the surface moved, making his balance off.
It was only when Severus asked for the canter that Harry had enough. The colt glared at the older man, running at him in an attempt to scare him. Severus stood still, tapping the colt on the chest once he was within 5 feet. "No, out," he pointed towards the left. It took a while – 10 minutes of Harry kicking, squealing, bolting, and biting – before Severus managed to get him back working again. The more they worked, the more aggressive Harry got.
"I think we should call it a day," Severus muttered quietly to the colt, who was currently walking around the pen, a thin sheet of sweat covered his body, his head shaking in annoyance at the other male who was making him do something he didn't want to do. "All you're doing is making this harder for yourself," Severus crossed his arms over his chest, watching Harry walk around. He had to admit, Harry was a nice-looking pony; he could be used for breeding if his attitude problems could be sorted, and whatever else came along the way while he figured the pony out.
He dropped the whip, grabbing Harry's hackamore, and walked towards the pony, slowly placing the hackamore on Harry. "I'm afraid one of the stable hands is going to have to hose you off and turn you out; I have a meeting with Dumbledore in 20 minutes." He led Harry back to the main yard, handing his lead rope over to Luna. "Make sure you have someone with you, in case he reacts badly." Luna nodded before she led Harry to one of the wash bays.
Severus had been right about Harry reacting badly. It had taken three people to hold the colt just to get a hose pipe near him, and even then, they were struggling. In the end, they called it quits before they angered the already kicking colt. Harry had managed to kick two of the three people who held him, and he was looking rather smug about it. He was shocked as they led him to his pasture; he tilted his head to the side as the gate closed, before shrugging and taking off to the far side, where the shade and long grass were. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
Before you read, I want to state that this story may turn into a three-part series. It may end on a cliffhanger and never be finished. The first part could be the end if you choose not to read anymore. Enjoy, but read at your own risk.
Elijah's bare feet padded across the cold, stone-built basement floor. His latest victim, a male, sat in the corner, held by a single rusty chain that kept him within five feet of the wall. Elijah tended to prefer males, though he didn't know why. He never really questioned it.
He eyed the male, who sat shivering like a lost animal. "Don't be afraid," Elijah said quietly, a grin spreading across his face as his light blue eyes gleamed with pleasure at the thought of what was about to happen within those walls. He quickly gripped the hostage's dark brown hair, pulling him roughly to his feet. "Now, Devon, let's play a game." Devon seemed terrified, his eyes wide with fear, as if his life was on the line – which, in fact, it was. "This game is fun, at least for me," Elijah said, releasing his grip on the male's hair, a clump of which remained in his hand.
He walked towards the wall, surveying the many items he kept there: guns, whips, clamps, and knives. "Why don't you put your hands out for me, kiddo, palms facing the ceiling?" he asked, keeping his back to the male until he heard the shuffling of him moving. Elijah grabbed the pistol from the wall, loaded it, and took the few steps it took to get within a foot of the male.
Before the male could react, Elijah aimed the pistol at the palm of his hands, sending a bullet shooting through. Within seconds, both hands were shot, and a loud scream pierced the air as Devon fell to the floor in agony, his crimson blood spilling onto the floor beneath him. Elijah sighed in disgust. "You're making a mess. Stand up." He waited a few seconds before deciding the male had taken too long to comply. Taking a fistful of the male's hair, Elijah yanked him back onto his feet. "Disobedient," he muttered.
He moved the male to the middle of the room, pulling down two chains from the ceiling. "Please, try to stay still. It will only be more painful for yourself." Gripping Devon's wrist in an iron-tight grip, Elijah slowly threaded the chain through the hole in the palm of the other's hand. He did the same to both hands before rehooking the chain, slowly suspending the male from the ceiling. Elijah watched with pure glee as the man withered in pain above him. "The more you move, the more it will hurt. Silly," he mocked, a smirk on his face.
Elijah tilted his head to the sound as he watched the male struggle for a few more minutes. The male hadn't screamed from the suspension, which disappointed Elijah. "Shame," he said to himself. "I'll have to fix that." He walked back over to the wall, idly running his fingers across the weapons, stopping on one of the knives. It wasn't sharp, but with enough pressure, it could cut skin. He hummed as he picked the knife up, walking slowly back to the male.
"This will hurt you more than it will ever hurt me," Elijah said, lightly pressing the cold metal against the male's stomach. He grinned as the male tried to struggle away from the item. "Ah, ah, be still," he murmured. He slowly applied pressure onto the knife, watching as it slowly cut into the victim's pale skin. Elijah gripped the knife handle tighter, his mouth spreading into a smile that sent chills down one's spine and made the hair stand up on the back of one's neck. As the blood appeared on the skin in small red beads, he pressed the knife deeper, letting it cut the skin more before quickly slicing down the male's stomach, almost as if he were skinning an animal.
Elijah tilted his head to the side as the male let out an ear-piercing scream, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he passed out. "Weak," Elijah said, dropping the knife onto the floor. He took a step back to admire his handiwork on the male's stomach. The skin hung down, letting the blood flow down the male's body before it began to drip onto the floor, joining the half-dry puddle that was already there. Elijah sighed as he lightly traced his finger through the wound, smiling as the muscles beneath his fingertips began to move, almost as if they were avoiding his touch. He let his hand drop to his side, still covered in blood. "Sleep tight," he said, spinning on his heels and leaving the basement.
NEXT CHAPTER
Chapter 2
Part two of Elijah torturing Devon.
Three hours later, Elijah was back in the basement, sighing at the pathetic male who hung from his ceiling. "Why do I even bother with this?" he muttered to himself as he lowered the male back down to the floor, slowly pulling the chains free from Devon's hands. "Oi, you piece of shit, wake up," he said, kicking the male in the ribs and smirking when he winced and curled in on himself. "Yeah, I get it. It hurts," he said, rolling his eyes. He picked the male up and quickly, quietly strapped him down to the table.
"I'm going to let you choose. Do you understand?" Elijah looked into the male's dark green eyes, watching as Devon nodded his head quickly. "Great," Elijah said, grinning and crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you want to no longer see or no longer talk?" he asked, his lips twitching. He could see the male thinking the question over, but he let him think for a few moments. "No longer see?" Devon sounded unsure of his answer, but Elijah shrugged and grabbed a blindfold, easily covering the male's eyes. "Great choice."
He hummed as he grabbed the old, rusty hammer from the table, along with two screws. "Now, Devon, hold still, will you?" he asked, lining the screw up to one of the male's eyes before whacking it hard with the hammer, sending it through the male's eye. Devon screamed, thrashing against the table that held him bound. "Sh, sh, you're okay," Elijah said, not sounding bothered. He was more interested in the blood that was seeping out of the blindfold. Once the male had stilled, Elijah was quick to do the same to the other eye. "There, you can no longer see, just like you picked."
He dug around in his jacket pocket, finally pulling out a pocket knife. He dragged a chair beside the table and sat down. "You know, I've always wanted to be an artist," he said, almost making idle conversation, as if the male before him wasn't being tortured. He sighed, running the knife down Devon's leg, applying pressure and letting it cut the skin. He began to draw patterns as the blood slowly rolled down the male's skin. It wasn't long before the faint sound of dripping blood could be heard: drip, drip, drip, as it fell from the table and onto the floor beneath them.
Elijah sighed as he stood up, stretching his arms out. "I shall see you in a few hours. Do try to scream," he hummed, walking out of the basement and letting the door slam behind him, leaving the male writhing in pain on the basement table. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: anime2
Chapter 1
DISCLAIMER: I do not own DBZ or any of the characters from it. A/N: A short V/B get together. It's about lust, not love. Physical attraction is a very big part of why most people end up becoming involved in relationships, and that, my friends, is what this fic is about. Think of Vegeta's crush like an obsession, and vice versa with Bulma. We all have our little secret desires, and all I want to do with this fanfic is show what I think might have happened between these two characters. (First written in 2001, revised in 2002, and 2004.)
I would die for you
I've been dying just to feel you by my side, to know that you're mine
Vegeta watched Bulma through narrowed eyes as she made him breakfast. His vantage point at the head of the breakfast table gave him an excellent view of the shapely human, and his heated gaze followed her around the kitchen, never once leaving her body. Occasionally, a muscle jumped in his arm as though he were imagining grabbing the woman; grabbing the petite little vixen and forcing her to acknowledge the attraction between them. It didn't take a huge stretch of imagination for Vegeta to summon up these fantasies – particularly when the woman was still dressed in her night attire. His ebony eyes trailed down her shapely figure, their gaze slipping over her smooth pale skin and down the short stretch of silk that barely covered her most intimate parts. Whoever had designed the flimsy piece of clothing had no doubt been envisioning the wearer embarking on a nightly orgy of sex. After all, a black silk nightgown framed with red lace wasn't the kind of slip a woman wore to keep warm.
Bulma paused in her cooking to smooth the black silk down over her thighs, and Vegeta felt his body tense in reaction to seeing her touch herself like that. It wasn't fair! He knew she did this to torture him. She hadn't dressed like this when she was with the human Yamcha; it had only been once they had broken up that she had begun to wear sexy lingerie down to breakfast, flaunting her body before him! He didn't doubt that she wanted him, but until she made some sort of movement to clarify her behavior, he wasn't going to make a move on her. He'd wait until she begged him. But would she beg him?
The blue-haired woman was almost as argumentative and stubborn as he! If she truly was interested in him, then it was going to be a battle of wills to see who would snap first and make a move on the other. Abruptly, Vegeta found his thoughts being directed in another direction as Bulma bent to pick something off the floor, and her nightgown rode high up her thighs again, exposing the delicious curve of her upper leg. She straightened and turned around, smiled smugly as she caught him looking at her, then gave him a flirtatious look from beneath her lashes as she turned back to cooking him breakfast. Oh yes, she wanted him.
I would cry for you
I would cry for you
Bulma turned back to the stovetop and began to dish out his food, unaware of the scrutiny the prince was giving her. Vegeta propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. He considered stalking up to the woman and taking her then and there on the counter. He'd ram her up against that bench and then fuck her until she was too sore to move. Kami, how long had it been since he'd had a woman? Too long, obviously. The Saiyan prince shook his head, grimacing to himself as he considered her possible reactions to him acting out his little daydream. He could imagine the woman both moaning in ecstasy and screeching at him to get off of her before she called Kakarot. Vegeta's eyes widened at the thought of Bulma telling Kakarot that he, Vegeta the prince of all Saiyans, had come onto her like a drunken teenager! The thought that he, a man who had laid waste to numerous worlds and conquered more planets than even Frieza himself, would be rejected by a silly little human girl was ridiculous. Yet, he still felt a cold chill run down his spine at the mere thought of the woman rejecting him. No one rejected Vegeta!
Bulma brought him out of his vision as she laid two plates of food down in front of him and inadvertently flashed her ample cleavage. Vegeta grinned slightly; he'd like to conquer her planets! It was impossible that the woman would reject him! No normal person showed this much skin to a man they had no attraction to! She was practically begging him to take her! The clothes, the flirtatious looks – she was silently pleading to be royally fucked. "Vegeta!" Bulma's sharp voice pierced his thoughts. She was standing in front of him with her hands on her hips and her legs splayed. "Stop staring at me and eat your breakfast! I didn't spend hours slaving away on a hot stove so you could perve on me!" Bulma continued to berate him testily. With a toss of her blue mane, she whirled around and stamped back to the kitchen, not missing the flames in the prince's eyes. He continued to stare at her for far longer than was considered polite, his obsidian orbs watching the woman with a predatory look in them.
I will pray for you
As Vegeta watched the spoiled heiress bustle about the kitchen, he wondered how the woman could look so young and pure in his eyes, despite him knowing that she had been with several men since Yamcha had dumped her. He knew she wasn't a blushing virgin, and yet she still looked as delectable to him as she ever had – it was madness to feel like this about a female! Especially such a shameless tramp with morals so low she practically tripped over them! It wasn't like he had a penchant for virgins, but he'd never quite been this attracted to a female who didn't have that innocent gleam in their eyes. Vegeta's gut tightened as the nightgown rode up again. How could he resist her when she flaunted herself in front of him like this? Closing his eyes, Vegeta took a deep breath and came to the decision that the lust he felt for the woman had to be satiated. The woman would enjoy his ministrations, and he'd enjoy showing her what a true Saiyan was capable of! There was nothing wrong in his attraction to the weak female – it was lust, pure and simple. He wanted to fuck her, so he would.
The prince stood up, his chair scraping across the tiled floor. Despite the noise, the woman ignored him and continued to bang pots and pans around noisily, clearly upset over something and far too caught up in her thoughts to notice Vegeta slowly creeping up behind her. The prince kept low, his instincts telling him to hunt the weak woman, and his body telling him to do entirely different things. Vegeta growled in the back of his throat and licked his lips in anticipation as he lunged forward in a lightning-fast movement and grabbed her waist. Bulma shrieked in surprise as he brought her body back against his and kept her locked in an iron-tight grip. "Vegeta? What are you doing?" Bulma's voice was high and sounded short of breath – from fear or lust, Vegeta wasn't sure, and didn't really care; both emotions were a turn-on. He dipped his head down and softly sunk his teeth into the back of her neck, showing his dominance to the tiny creature he held in his grasp. "Geta?" She sounded unsure. Her voice wavered, and she gasped as Vegeta bit harder, silencing her. "Hush, woman," Vegeta ordered, letting go of her neck and slowly turning her around in his arms to face him. He felt something in his lower body twist as he met her baby blue eyes and saw a strange mix of fear and attraction swirling through them. He could hear her heart thundering in her chest, and he smirked as he lowered his face again and kissed her neck. Bulma moaned softly, and Vegeta felt some of the tension leave her body. He'd been waiting for this moment for what seemed like an eternity.
Hear your voice every time that I'm talking
"Foolish little human," Vegeta growled, smirking as he stepped forward and cupped the offered breast in one hand. "I'm no weak human male who is easily controlled." He squeezed the soft mound and claimed her reddened mouth in a fierce kiss, picking Bulma off the ground and holding her against him. Everything faded away until Vegeta was unaware of anything except the woman's legs wrapped around his waist, her body arched against his muscled torso, and her mouth pressed against his. He lifted from the ground without skipping a beat, the movement so swift and smooth that Bulma didn't even notice. They floated through the house, a surreal and somewhat strange sight, until they reached his bedroom. Vegeta dropped Bulma onto the bed and pulled off his white muscle shirt with a distinct lack of finesse. Bulma almost coyly waited on the bed, panting slightly, her sexy black nightdress pulling tight against her breasts with every breath she took. "Mmm, you look good enough to eat," Bulma purred, pulling him onto the bed and straddling his waist. "I've been wanting to do this for a long, long time. You should have come onto me sooner." Bulma leant down and kissed him hungrily.
"I know, but I liked seeing you squirm while you waited for me to make my move, it was very entertaining," Vegeta laughed huskily and gripped Bulma's small waist, surprised to find that the feel of her body through the silk of her nightdress was incredibly sexy. "You like entertaining?" Bulma chuckled. "How 'bout this for entertaining?" Vegeta let go of Bulma's waist as she slowly pulled her nightdress over her head, letting it drift to the floor beside the bed. She shook out her unruly locks of aqua hair and swayed above him, moving in time to music he couldn't hear, but music to which he could definitely feel the beat. Vegeta sat up and pulled her in close against him, letting his hands slowly drift up her body, lingering on her full breasts before moving to her back to press her in hard against him. "Tell me you want me," he ordered against her mouth, gently kissing her as his hands kneaded into her back. "Tell me you need me."
"I want you, I need you," Bulma moaned and raked her nails down his back, revelling in the hiss of pleasure that came from Vegeta as she did so.
Tell me you want me
Tell me you want me, Vegeta
"Tell me you want me, Vegeta," Bulma countered, kissing his chest. She licked and gently bit every inch of his muscled skin as she ground herself against him erotically. "Tell me you need me too." She whispered hoarsely. "I want you, woman. From the first moment I saw you, I wanted you," Vegeta looked at her, unashamed of his attraction. "You're the sexiest creature I've ever laid eyes on. You were wasted on that weakling boyfriend of yours, you deserve a real man." He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, pleased when Bulma shivered with pleasure. "Are you a real man?" Bulma whispered against his lips, loving the feeling that came from lying with Vegeta. "As much a man as you're a woman," Vegeta laid back and looked up at his woman through heavy-lidded eyes. "You're a bad girl on the inside, aren't you?" He asked as she dug her nails into his chest like a cat. "As bad as they come, I just hide it well," Bulma's voice was low and husky. "Is this what you want?" She undid the drawstring on his pants and made a pleased sound with what she saw. "Do you want a bad girl to play with tonight?"
"I want more than that, woman," Vegeta watched her as she undressed him, his tone surprisingly serious. "I want you completely mine, forever." He caught her eyes with his and smirked. "I never want to let another male touch you."
"Forever's a long time," Bulma told him as she slowly pulled off her panties and threw them to some forsaken corner of the room, she pouted down at him. "Sure you won't get bored?"
"With you?" Vegeta laughed and rolled on top of Bulma, trapping his tiny mate beneath him. "Not damned likely," He growled and kissed her hungrily.
Beg and steal for you
Vegeta watched Bulma as she slept, tired from the day-long bedroom activities. Outside, the sun had long since set, and the stars were now up. He decided that Bulma looked more mysterious by night, more dangerous somehow. Bulma stirred and opened eyes that were a blazing cobalt blue in the shadows of the room.
She wrapped her arms around him and slipped him a lazy smile. "Do you know that Chichi once told me that you and I were so alike, we were either going to end up killing each other or fucking each other?" Bulma chuckled. "I guess we found out which."
Vegeta smirked in the darkness and kissed her with passion-swollen lips. "Well, I always knew which one I was going to do to you." He smirked as he caught the bemused expression that crossed her face. "Very sure of yourself, aren't you?" Bulma caught his face in her hands and looked into his endless ebony eyes. "Of course, I'm the Prince of all Saiyans." Vegeta smirked even harder as Bulma giggled and pulled him down beside her, crawling on top of him with intent. "Yeah, hail to the prince, alright." She praised as she kissed him sexily.
Throw away all the pain that I'm living
You will believe in me, and I can never be ignored
The next morning, Vegeta dressed and decided to let an exhausted Bulma sleep off the past day and night's rigorous activities. He paused by the bed and sat down on it, running his hand through her soft, fine hair appreciatively. She shifted in her sleep, and he saw the mark on her neck that branded her as his woman; his mate and only his. A bite mark on the neck was the Saiyan equivalent of a human wedding ring, and Vegeta felt a small surge of pride that he'd caught himself such a beautiful and talented mate. She was the only one he cared about, the only one he wanted. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her, nothing he wouldn't be. He'd always be there for her now, and whether or not the words were said, he cared for her. She was his number one crush.
THE END |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: yu_gi_oh
Chapter 1
Title: 'Cause to Love You
Author: KittyBlue
Chapters: multi-part [1 of??]
Status: incomplete
Type: au, angst, shounen ai (but it will be yaoi soon enough!), romance with a lot of sugary fluff, lemony or at least some lime
Rating: R to be safe in later chapters (but it will probably reach NC17)
Parings: Well.. Ryou/Someone-that-is-a-secret-for-now and Bakura + Mariku, Malik + Ryou
Summary: What do you do when you can't scream your love for him? What to do when the person you love is the one you are supposed to hate? What do you do especially when your own protective brother is there every day to remind you of that?
Warnings: Lemony ahead.. some later chapters I guess.. :S Don't have any good warning to this one.. *lol*
C&C: Just say something! [email protected]
Disclaimer: The Yu-Gi-Oh! characters aren't mine.. unfortunately.. I still don't have my own Ryou-chan.. and I'm sure I don't have any Ryuuji-chan too.. So no.. Not mine.. Back off Suzi! When I have a Ryou-chan, I'll make him seduce a Malik! :p Or you can get a Malik and make him seduce a Ryou-chan.. hum..^^ Still.. not mine.. *sniffles*
New story! Ahhh.. I'm so crazy.. The weird things come to my head when I can't get no sleep.. So.. another story.. this one in English, as nowadays I don't write enough.. I miss my English class so much.. :(
"So, I'll tell you again.. and I really hope that this is the last time.. If I ever see or hear that you have been near my brother, you won't even remember your name the next morning. I'll take care of that personally too, do you understand me? Or are you really too dense to lose some limbs?"
"Nope, I understood, Bakura-sama."
"I really don't like that annoying smirk, Ishtar."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Bakura-sama."
"Well, now you did it!"
The silver-haired boy threw himself at the blonde, his hands close to his face, if not for Seto Kaiba and Atemu Yami, those two ready to close in around him and stop him.
"Bakura, you know that this isn't going to do anything, right?"
"Who asked your opinion, Yami?"
"..I think you should just calm down, Bakura."
Bakura glared at Seto too, preparing to say something back at him for interfering too, but Mariku Ishtar, his long-time arch-enemy, just had to laugh and, giving them his back, started his way to his house, which was on the other side of the street.
"So, you're running away? You better! If you don't want your ugly face in a pulp!"
He was rewarded with Mariku's laugh again, which only made him even more frustrated and angry.
"Can you calm down, for heaven's sake?"
"You stuff it!"
He gave his two "friends" the cold shoulder and did his own way home. His house was really the one he was in front of. Even after entering the sanctuary of his home, he could still hear Yami and Kaiba outside talking about what had happened, some other voices, probably neighbors, saying something about how the world was coming to an end because of Bakura and Mariku, but he really didn't care.
Bakura made his way into the bathroom, really to take a shower, what he was doing a minute ago, if not for what had happened.
xxxxFlashback xxxx
Bakura had arrived home that afternoon tired and frustrated. He had spent the last two days stuck in his office on a project that had left him without much time for anything else. So, what was his surprise when he saw some punk friend of his brother sitting in the stairs of their home.
"What do you want?" He asked quickly as he passed the blond boy, preparing to enter his home sweet home. His plans for the day were a hot bath and then at least 15 hours of sleep.
"Oh.. I was waiting for Ryou.. He left school earlier and I wanted to ask him for help with some things.. I'm really close to failing most of my classes."
"Jou, right?" Bakura, feeling generous, did a once-over on that floor, screaming his brother's name a few times, and then returned to the door. "Well, sorry, but he's not home. Good day." He closed the door in the guy's face and was climbing the stairs when he heard the doorbell.
If it's that Jou kid.. I swear I'll kill him..
"What now?"
"Hum.. Do you know if he's with the Egyptian guy??"
Bakura was going to send him to hell.. when..
"What did you say? Ryou's with..?"
Jou didn't have time to answer as the silver-haired man saw a blond Mariku Ishtar leaving home right at that moment. As Mariku was approaching his bike, which was probably just next to his sports car, Bakura ran his way. He had already warned him several years ago when Ryou moved in that he didn't want him talking to him.. now was the time to make.. another type of warning.
xxxxFlashback End xxxx
Of course, that didn't go well. Not only had Mariku laughed in his face, he had insulted him, and then when he was finally losing his temper, Kaiba and Yami had to go and rescue the damned ugly and stupid blond.
Bakura started stripping his clothes. First, his socks, following his white t-shirt, as his jacket had stayed in the living room, and then his black pants. He looked over himself in the mirror, his shoulder-length silvery spiked hair making him seem dangerous, but the tired lines on his face giving him a much more calm touch, for now. Of course, his red-brown eyes didn't help much more, he had been sleeping so little..
He tried not to think about anything more, the important thing was that he had at least two days now to sleep, eat, bath, get laid.. yeah, all those necessary things to human life. He looked at the bathtub, approaching it, he turned the hot water tap, feeling kind of sleepy just leaning there waiting. A minute later found him in the bathtub, relaxing his tired and aching body.
I would kill to have someone here right now.. a sex slave, would be nice..
He laughed for a moment, then quieted as his mind revolved to the matter at hand. Mariku Ishtar and his little brother Ryou..
Fuck.. I will kill that son of a bitch.. if I know that he touched Ryou.. I will drown him in that big old swamp that he has in his backyard, if it's still there.. who knows.
"Kura-niii??"
"Ryou!"
He stood up, grabbing a towel, leaving his bath-time to much later, maybe after he had slept some. Right now, this was more important.
He tied his hair in a small ponytail, drying himself and then putting on his black cotton bathrobe. He heard movement in the living room, so he made his way there. The first thing he noticed as he entered the room was Ryou sitting on the couch, remote in hand.. and a silly smile on his face.
"What happened?"
His brother turned around and jumped standing on his knees on the couch. He kind of looked him over, trying to find some mark of Mariku's paws on him, but.. apart from that.. weird.. smile.. that wasn't anything weird with him.
"What's going on?"
"What do you mean, nii-san?"
"Jou stopped by some hours ago."
"Oh.." He watched with some attention Ryou's hand nervously touching the end of his braid. "Did he say anything?"
"I don't know. Something you want to tell me?"
I will kill Mariku.. even if I have to die the next day.
"N-nothing."
"Hum.. SO.. have you made friends with the neighbors? Some new friends?" He crossed his arms and looked pointedly at him. Ryou had moved in with him almost three months now. Almost everyone had warmed up to him, he would be far to say that probably the neighbors liked Ryou better than him.
"New friends.. no."
"Really.. Jou said you had made.. an Egyptian friend.."
"Oh.. he's weird like that.. he probably mistook some guy from school for.. an Egyptian guy.. whatever that means.."
"Ryou.. you know that if there's something that I hate more than that damned Ishtar.. is lies. I would prefer if you just told me the truth so I could scream and insult your intelligence."
"Kura-nii.. I swear.. no Egyptian friend.."
Bakura sighed. He probably had gone all wrong with this.
He should have first looked through his things and then maybe set him up in a trap to make him tell me.. Now there's no chance.
"Okay. I'm really tired, so.. I'm going to sleep.. Don't wake me up today, not even if you blow up something in the kitchen, not even if someone comes to see me, not even if the house falls on our head.. I want to sleep."
"Sure."
Bakura sent him a quick glare, trying to see if Ryou would say anything else. But his brother just gave him a sweet, sugary smile that made him almost, almost, say sorry for suspecting him of conspiring with the enemy.. almost being the key, of course. He had known Ryou for a lot of things, but not for lying to him.. It looked like Mariku was having a bad influence..
xxxxxxxx
Next Day
Ryou woke up the next morning feeling guilty. He had promised to never lie to his brother. That had been one of the rules that Bakura had made him agree to the first day. But..
This was different.. and it wasn't really a lie..
The long-haired boy looked at his window, his eyes following the path to the house in front. There were three persons at the door. One was a woman, probably Isis, one of the older sisters, and the other two were two guys that looked similar to each other.
The older being Mariku, who his brother hated with such a vengeance that he pledged every morning that one day he would kill him. The other boy was Malik, the youngest of the four brothers that lived in the house. Malik was close to Ryou's age, and from what he could tell, in Bakura's eyes, the only thing wrong with him was that he was Mariku's look-alike.
After all, Bakura was even nice with Isis sometimes. Oh, and there was another older brother, Rashid or something like that, that was never home because he had some work in a museum or the sorts. He was a few years older than Bakura, and was big.. that was probably the reason his own brother didn't start his vow to kill him too.. that and maybe because he wasn't anything like Mariku, as Malik was at least.
Maybe someday he could make his brother understand that the Ishtars were not that bad. After all, he.. Well.. Bakura would kill him if he knew that..
Ryou blushed as his thoughts stopped in a recent memory, his first kiss. Funny how he could only think now that Romeo and Juliet sentence, "My only love born from my only hate", or something like that.. Well.. it was his brother's hate, but you get the picture. It was almost ironic..
I hope we don't die at the very end.. at least I can hope for a happy ever ending, right?
His eyes, which were for some time now glued to the next house, suddenly noticed someone stopped at the door. Someone leaned in the door frame, looking right at him. He wanted to do something, like scream or fly to his arms.. something like a love-struck girl would do.. But that would be suicide. Not only could he fly, but his brother would be never too cut both their heads if he could approach close enough. Still, he couldn't help the smile that made his face, and the way his heart screamed his love in place of his voice.
xxxxxxxx
First chapter ends here.. Review and say what you thought of it..
Remember that English is not my first language.. and that it's 5 AM here right now.. so.. mistakes all over the place probably.. You can point those to me too!
Well.. As I think this made me FINALLY get sleepy.. I'm going to bed!
Baibai! <33333 |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: buffy_angel
Chapter 1
"Fuck you and your cat!" Pairing: Spike/Lorne (The Host) Disclaimer: Joss owns the characters. The title was stolen from a song by Goldfinger. Author's notes: No felines were kicked in the ass during the writing of this fic.
Okay, so I knew he didn't like cats. Sweet cheeks, I ask you, who the heck doesn't like cats? All right, there's dogs, Vartog demons, mice, rats (yuck), and Spike. I knew he didn't like cats. I didn't know he was allergic to them. It was such a cute little thing.
I was closing up the bar after a particularly long and torturous evening listening to Angel sing his little soul out on stage. He said he had a difficult case to solve and needed a reading, but I knew better. He's a closet Judy Garland, you know. Only difference is, Jude could sing. What that vamp can do to "La Vida Loca" doesn't bear thinking about. The phrases "bleeding eardrums" and "please somebody kill me now" spring to mind. Worse than that? He did all the actions, baby. The man has no rhythm! He jerked around up on that stage like a scalded cat. Sounded like just like one, too. And speaking of cats...
I'd just ushered the last of the (and I use the term loosely) "people" from the bar and had locked up, when I heard this strange noise coming from under one of the tables. Being the brave fella that I am, I sent Garcia to check it out. Hey, I'm the boss. It wouldn't do if I was eaten or mauled... although that very much depends on who is doing the eating, honey!
Anyhoo, he came back with the cutest little bundle of flea-bitten fur I've seen since I said farewell to mum and the siblings back in Pylea. Only the kitten didn't smell as foul, nor did it do the Dance of Shame. On the upside, it didn't curse me and run me out of town either, so that kinda endeared me to the little beast straight away. Gently, I lifted him from Garcia's arms, trying to dodge razor-sharp little teeth and claws. But hey, I'm used to that. Sometimes Spike gets a little frisky, and boy, when he does, it pays to keep your "essentials" right out of fangs way! I've been bitten on the dick often enough to know when to shimmy my caboose to the other end of the bed.
So, I'm standing in the bar at 2 a.m. with an overexcited pussy. What's a guy to do? I did the only thing you can do when you're stood there cupping an overexcited pussy in your hot little hands: I took it home with me, and after it devoured the contents of the refrigerator, I took it to bed. Well, would you have left a restless pussy to nose through your personals while you slept? I think not!
Actually, the little fella was pretty damn snuggly, all furry and warm. Reminded me of Cordy's Groo in a way; all hair and cuteness with the strangest blue eyes... I never realized cats could have blue eyes. Spike was out on one of his nocturnal rambles, which meant he would probably stagger in just before daybreak with a bellyful of beer and a hard-on. Isn't it funny how vampires are always horny? Man, that bloodsucker could shag for Britain... and don't even get me started on the sucking angle. I'm snoozing and drifting happily in the Land of Nod, canoodling with Agent Mulder in a big vat of Jell-O when the slamming of the apartment door ripped me from his strong and muscular arms and dropped me unceremoniously back in the small studio Spike and I share above the bar. Sigh. Damn, it was strawberry Jell-O too...
I could hear his bleached-ness rummaging around in the refrigerator for the chocolate ice cream he thought he had hidden behind the frozen blood bags. I say thought, 'cause I'd been there, slurped it all, and hidden the evidence already underneath the blood bags. We both love it, you see. It's like a running battle to see who can finish it first, and because some of us actually work for a living, it's usually Spike who gleefully leaves me naught but the empty box. I can always tell when he's done it - the little sucker watches me walking to the 'fridge with his smug little smirk, knowing he's scoffed the lot and I'm too tired to go to the store to buy more... which he would eat most of anyhow. But not tonight, sugar.
Sometimes he resorts to a dirty tricks campaign that would win him a nomination for the White House - his second favorite is to 'accidentally' drizzle blood on it. His first favorite? Let's just use the word 'drizzle' and leave it at that. Believe me, baby, even I shudder to think what he gets up to when he's alone and horny!
There's the sound of the refrigerator door being slammed and the drunken mutterings of a pissed-off and ice cream-deprived vampire, before I hear the twin thumps of Dr. Marten's hitting the floor. Who the heck is Dr. Marten, and why does he feel the need to make boots? (Clears throat and affects a deep, manly voice) "Trust me, I'm a doctor... of boots," yeah, like that's gonna get him on ER.
Anyhoo, a few rustles, thumps, and muffled curses later, and a cool, beer-smelling body slips into bed beside me. I gotta tell ya, people, there is nothing like having your own vampire slip into bed beside you when the humidity is taking the paint off the walls. I often tell him he's like a big ice Popsicle. Of course, you can guess what his response is to that. Let's just say that after three months of rampant bonking with Spike, I could suck the spots off a leopard. He's kinda orally fixated, and not only in a bloodsucking way. It's part of his charm. Hey, it's all of his charm.
He snuggles up close, hands caressing the entire length of my torso before settling just below the navel, where he gently tugs the little hairs that lead the way to Lorne Heaven. He growls softly in my ear, knowing how much it turns me on. "Grrrrrrrr... Wanna play, baby?"
Holy cow, is the Pope a Catholic? Does a bear crap in the woods? Could my dick be any harder? I flutter my eyelashes coquettishly, trying for the Britney Spears pouty look. I probably come across more as a coy Kermit the frog, although unfortunately, I haven't got the tongue to go along with it. "Now, Spikey-kins..." I purr. "Do you really need to ask? You know I can't get enough of that naughty vamp lovin'... Come on over and give me some sugar, baby."
He growls louder and rolls on top of me, pinning me to the bed, which is no mean feat, I can tell you. I'm a good three inches taller and about one and a half times his body weight. But no one can say my Spikey-poos isn't a game little fella. Hell, he'll shag anything, regardless of size, sex, or religious affiliation. And I don't know if it's just a vampire trait (although having sneaked a few glances at Angel's trouser department, I'm thinking it is), but they have larger-than-usual equipment. Spike isn't called Spike just because of his love of sharp, pointy objects, and he's not behind the door at sticking his 'equipment' in most any willing orifice.
And speaking of which... Gods, this man's tongue could win a major award. I can see it all in my mind's eye... "And this year's Demon Nobel Prize for Fellatio goes to... (dramatic pause) William the Bloody! Come on up to the podium, Will... Speech! Speech!" (Riotous applause)
Will climbs nonchalantly onto the podium, wearing nothing but leather chaps and a smile. "Thank you, thank you, all dear friends... This award is a real bloody honor, and it's partially due to the enthusiastic participation of Lorne here, without whose cock I wouldn't have put in all the practice I needed to win this prestigious award for sucking..."
"Lorne? Lorne?" Sigh. "C'mon, snap out of it, Lorne... I'm trying to have sex here, and you're off in Cloud Cuckoo Land!" What? Ahhhhh... A slightly miffed, pale vampire face stares down at me. Oh gods, I'd zoned out again, hadn't I? Damn these fantasies. *Snerk* "Sorry, sugar..." I pout. "I was just thinking about..."
Spike smiled indulgently at me. "It was the Fellatio Award and the leather chaps again, wasn't it?" Ahhhh, my little vamp knows me so well! He slid back down my body, his tongue dragging a cool, wet trail of pleasure around a hard, sensitive nipple and further down to slither into my belly button. He glances back up at me, those incredible blue eyes sparkling with all kinds of naughtiness. "Well..." he muses, "if I'm gonna win this award, then I guess I'd better get some practice in."
When his cool, wet mouth descends on my cock, and he nearly swallows me whole, all rational thought ends.
Part Two
I was in Spike Heaven. We'd just got to the part where he'd slid inside me with the aid of some of my favorite strawberry-flavored lube (commonly known in merry old England as strawberry jam). Wow, such a versatile foodstuff! You can spread it on your toast and shag with it... Delightful! Just so long as you remember to buy the seedless variety. (Shudder) Yeah, we've had our fair share of scary "hunt the seed" moments with that, I can tell you.
Anyhoo... His bleached-ness was working those sweet buns of his like only he can. It's no wonder Spike's ass is so tight and cute; God knows it gets enough exercise. His eyes were closed, and I could see his game face shimmering on the surface, ready to break through when he came, which judging by his snarls, wasn't gonna be long. Making love with Spike was an adventure. Actually, it was more like "a box of chocolates", to quote Forrest's dear mama, 'cause with Spike, you "never knew what you were gonna get".
He could be quite fierce, my fangy little bloodsucker, all growls and biting. It's a huge piece of luck we don't have neighbors. Sometimes it's like the Discovery Channel in our bedroom, filled with the grunts and squeals of one demon or another being eaten and damn near humped to death. And of course, there's the Dawn Chorus of agonized squeals as the warm water of the shower beats down on my latest collection of bite marks and scratches.
Other times, he can be so gentle. There's a little spot way deep down inside my blonde beauty that's as soft as a marshmallow. He tries to hide it, but I know it's there. I've managed to prod its squishy surface now and again, and when I do, and we make love, sweet Jesus, it's achingly tender and sweet. It's not unlike a religious experience, minus the Holy Water and the boring litanies.
That vamp can take me to the pinnacle of ecstasy and beyond, and it's not the first time he's damn near moved me to tears. Spike needs to be needed, needs so desperately to be loved. And I do love him. Hopelessly. It frightens me just how much. I think he loves me, but to be honest? I'd settle for whatever I can get from him.
His game face is fully to the fore now. Gods, it's so feral, so animalistic, so... toothy. I gotta say, he's got a great set of fangs. And here I am, legs spread like the shameless bitch that I am, and an orgasm like a tidal wave ready to engulf me - holy shit, ecstasy "at the hands of big pointed teeth!" You gotta love Monty Python, right?
And in true Monty Python form, that's when it happened. I'd forgotten all about the cat. The little fella must've been pinned in between us or something and managed to struggle his way out. You can imagine just how pissed off he is by now, trapped between two sweaty, humping demons.
There was a brief flurry of ginger fur, an ear-splitting yowl of rage, and before I knew it, I was face to face with another face full of fangs as the demon kitty from Hell yowled and spat at me from Spike's shoulder. Everything went to hell in a handbasket after that.
At first, my blondie bear didn't know what had happened. Maybe he thought I'd gone all Pussy Galore on him, who knows. But his eyes snapped open, golden and extremely pissed off, and he swung his head around to see what was making a meal of his shoulder. Tiny rivulets of blood dripped onto me from where kitty's claws were deeply embedded, and the little fur ball himself was yowling in Spikey-poos' ear loud enough to waken (and scare the shit out of) the dead.
The look on Spike's face was priceless. If I hadn't been absolutely terrified of what he was gonna do to me for bringing the cat into our bed, I could have easily soiled myself laughing. But I think it was when he squealed like a girl and leapt off the bed, dick still hard and swinging wildly from side to side, that I lost all self-control.
If you've never seen a vampire in full game face with a hard-on the size of Texas slapping off his leg as he tries desperately to dislodge an outraged pussy from his shoulder, then, pumpkin, you've never lived. I just know I missed some of the funnier moments on account of being curled in a ball on top of the bed, crying with laughter and gasping for breath as Spike cavorted wildly around the room, squealing like a stuck pig for me to come and get this "little fucker" off his shoulder.
Part of me, a teensy-weensy part of me, felt so sorry for him, but honey, I was helpless. I could barely breathe, never mind get off the bed. Isn't it funny how, at times like this, when you've been frightened and/or embarrassed, that the fates step in and rather than helping, they make a bad situation a hundred times worse?
Now, you would think that Spike's situation couldn't have gotten any worse. Naked and scared to death with a demented cat embedded on his shoulder and yowling like a banshee. It just couldn't get any worse. Wrong.
I was vaguely aware of a banging sound that got louder and louder. At first, I thought it was my heart, because I'd already decided that if I couldn't stop laughing soon, I was gonna die. Unfortunately for Spike, it was much worse than that. The door of the apartment was suddenly kicked right off its hinges, and Angel stormed in, brandishing a huge axe and looking like someone had just told him that his hair really did grow straight up. If that wasn't bad enough, he was closely followed by Wesley, Gunn, and ohhhh horror of horrors... Cordelia.
There was one of those "stunned silence" moments. Well, all except for Spike, who was still raging around the apartment, à la kitty shoulder accessory, and unbelievably still with a hard-on, bellowing at me. "Lorne! Lorne, you complete BASTARD! Get off your ass and get this FUCKING CAT OFFA ME!"
Then he saw Angel... and the gang. What a fucking Kodak moment that was. Now, I've seen the big fella look perplexed before, but this expression was beyond perplexed, beyond embarrassed, beyond comprehension even. His mouth opened and closed like a Guppy fish as he and Spike eyeballed each other.
For his part, my blondie bear gathered his last remaining shreds of dignity, squared shoulders, which had suddenly become pussy-free as the irate little guy leapt off and vanished into the night, and sniffed in what I know he hoped was a nonchalant manner. One of his hands crept over his bulging erection, and the other groped on the bedside table for his cigarettes.
He glared at Angel. "Bloody hell, doesn't anyone round here know how to knock?" Angel's lip quivered. "Vision..." At this point, the rest of us were playing musical statues, no one had moved a muscle or spoken. Let's face it, if you were confronted with a naked, sexually aroused vampire with an angry cat trying to eat him, you'd be pretty damned shocked yourself.
The blonde one's dark eyebrow rose sharply. "Vision?" Angel nodded slowly. "Yeah... Urmmmm... Cordelia had a vision that you were being... eaten by a huge, furry demon." Now, if you looked really closely, you could see the realization of what had actually been going on suddenly dawn in Angel's eyes. He stifled another giggle and cleared his throat. "Seems we got here just in time to save you, boy."
And with that, the dark-haired vampire leant over, his face contorted by laughter, and grabbed Spike's beloved duster. "For God's sake, cover yourself up, Will. You'll frighten the cat." Wesley snorted. "Bugger the cat, he's frightening me." Needless to say, hysterics ensued. Spike glowered. He threw a steely glance around the room at the others before his baleful gaze fell on me. I could see his lower lip trembling. Yikes. Always a bad sign.
He pulled on his duster, and he and his hard-on headed for the door. He turned, cigarette firmly jammed between those luscious lips, and shot me one last, murderous look. "Fuck you, and your cat!" he bellowed, before heading off into the night, naked except for his duster.
Part Three
Suddenly, none of it seemed so funny anymore. I could feel the grin slide off my face, and when I looked around, I could see that the others had stopped laughing and were nervously wiping their noses and eyes. Angel cleared his throat. "It's okay, Lorne. He'll be back when he's calmed down a bit. You know what he's like." I nodded gloomily, my heart suddenly heavy with pain at the thought of him not coming back.
Angel smiled gently and handed me a bathrobe that had been hanging over the back of a chair. "Anyway," he continued, "he's going to be feeling pretty sorry for himself soon. You see, he's allergic to cats." Oh damn. Another strike for the brain-dead green demon. Yeah, let's bring home a cat. He can eat your boyfriend and give him some horrible disease.
"Oh, it's nothing serious," Angel smiled. "He just gets some itchy spots... some itchy blue spots. You'll need yoghurt. Lots and lots of yoghurt. Put it on the spots, and it'll help the itch. In a few days, he'll be back to normal. Although he'll probably be mega-pissed with you for the next millennium or so." Oh wonderful. I found myself wondering, and not for the last time, why of all the gin joints and all the bars in the world, that damn cat just had to come into mine.
Angel instructed the others to go home, and he patched up the door as best as he could, promising to send someone to fix it the next morning. After he'd gone, I sat on the bed and stared at our apartment. It was so quiet. Just like it had been before Spike had moved in. On a scale of 1 to 10 in suckiness, this was a definite 12. I didn't want quiet - I didn't need quiet. I just needed Spike. Tears welled, I'm not ashamed to say, and when they stopped flowing, I fell asleep.
I had a dream. I was swimming frantically around a huge tub of yoghurt, being chased by Spike, who was the most god-awful color of blue and who had inexplicably grown ears and whiskers like a cat. He caught up with me and was shaking me violently, calling my name over and over: "Lorne... Lorne, wake up, damn you... LORNE!"
Jerked from sleep, I sat bolt upright in the bed, squealing, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't be a cat, please don't be a cat!" When I got my bearings, I realized it was him. My Spike had come home. But ohhhhh gods... "ARGGGGH!" I'm afraid I couldn't stop the girly scream that his appearance ripped from me. Gods, I've seen many, many strange things in my time, but nothing as strange as this peroxided vampire with the large blue spots.
He glowered again. "Oh bloody hell," he humphed, and started to get up from the bed. I grabbed his arm, and it felt lumpy underneath his duster. Apparently, the blue bumpiness was all over him. He looked like mutated oatmeal. Or a blue toad. A bleached blonde and furious blue toad. But his face... oh, his poor, blue, lumpy face with its little boy lost, petulant look. And, oh gods, he was pouting. I'm helpless in the face of Spike pouts. Jell-O on his plate, putty in his hands... I would say weak in the presence of beauty, but not on this occasion, bless his little cotton soul.
"Oh, pumpkin..." I whispered, "my poor, poor pumpkin. Come to daddy, sweet cheeks. Lorne will take care of you, baby." He looked at me from beneath those sooty black eyelashes, and I'll swear the little minx fluttered them before deepening his pout. "I'm all bumpy," he grumbled, "and itchy. I need someone to look after me... a big, green, daft-headed someone." He smiled weakly, still managing to hold his pout.
I pulled him close to me, wanting to hold him, kiss him, make it all better. Something hard and cold poked me in the ribs from underneath his duster. Oh gods, surely not. *Surely* he hadn't still got a stiffy? With one of those "I can read your mind" looks that he can do so well, he reached beneath his duster and produced a family-sized tube of yoghurt. Then he smirked his evil little smirk. "You horny old git, Lorne."
I chuckled and stroked his poor, lumpy face gently. "Oh, Spikey-poos..." I whispered, "my sweet little Spikey-poos." When we kissed, it was bliss. Lumpy, but bliss. And don't think I didn't notice the yoghurt was strawberry-flavored. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: television
Chapter 1
Dedicated to Vidalhbea. A pointless one-shot, just for fun. Oh, and I apologize for the mondegreen title; I just couldn’t resist.
In peace, OpenPage x
Nothing could have prepared Tom for the deafening silence that greeted him when he walked into the main hub of the Jump Street Chapel. Dozens of pairs of eyes followed him as he walked the excruciatingly long walk to his desk. Before he could sit down and bury his flaming face behind some paperwork, Doug grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to one side.
"So, you're really gay?" Doug asked.
Considering Penhall had caught him wearing a cock ring while Booker was intimate with him, Tom figured they had already established that fact, and he was a little surprised by the question. However, he successfully hid his discomfort behind a guise of nonchalance. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he rocked back on his heels and stared rigidly at his friend. "Yup."
"But when did this happen?" Penhall demanded, his voice rising to an annoying whine. "I mean, you weren't gay six months ago."
Unable to hide his annoyance any longer, Tom shot his friend a withering look. "Well, gee, Penhall, I never knew you could see inside my mind. How the hell do you know whether I was or not?"
"But... but... you slept with women!" Doug spluttered. Although he had had twelve hours to adjust to the knowledge that his best friend was intimate with men, he was still struggling with the concept. Not because he was homophobic – he wasn't; in fact, he didn't have a bigoted bone in his body. What was screwing with his mind was that Tom had kept such a huge secret from him. They were best friends, and best friends shared everything, or so he had thought.
"Okay, so I guess I'm bi," Tom clarified sharply. "But I don't understand why it's such a big deal. Last night you said you were happy for me. What's changed?"
Doug shuffled his feet like a small child, his middle and forefinger unconsciously rubbing at his upper lip. He was happy for Tom; finding true love was never easy. What the young officer wasn't sure about was Hanson's choice of partner, after all, Booker's infidelity was common knowledge around the Chapel. He was a girl – and, as it turned out, also a boy – in every town kind of guy, and Doug was worried his friend was about to get his heart broken. However, he knew better than to interfere too much. Tom was stubborn to a fault, and if he wanted to date a roguish son of a bitch like Booker, then not even God himself could stop him.
With Tom's dark, penetrative gaze boring into him, Doug sought to reassure his friend. "Nothing's changed, buddy. I am happy for you. It's just... is it only Booker you're attracted to, or do you feel something for other men too?"
Tom knew Doug well enough to know it was not his intention to behave like a prick. The young officer was genuinely curious, and therefore, he decided not to take offense at the inappropriateness of the question. "I dunno, I never really thought about it," he muttered, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck.
But as his eyes flitted nervously around the room, his gaze settled on Harry, and a devilish grin tilted his lips. The opportunity presented to him was too perfect to ignore, and deciding to stir the pot, his eyes roved hungrily over Ioki's taut body. "You know, now you mention it, Harry's kinda cute."
Penhall's eyebrows shot up into his hairline, and a nervous smile twitched at the corners of his lips. "Um, really? So, does that mean you fancy me too?"
It was a typical response by those who were not part of the LGBTIQ community. For some reason, they nearly always seemed to think that those in same-sex relationships lusted after everyone on the planet of the same gender. However, rather than be affronted, it took all of Tom's willpower not to burst out laughing. But fortunately, he was a consummate actor, and his expression remained serious, even though he was giggling on the inside. "No, Doug. I'm not about to tackle you to the ground and rob you of your virginity."
Hurt softened Penhall's eyes. "You don't think I'm cute?" he questioned with a sulky pout.
The expression on Doug's face was beyond adorable, but Tom was not about to let his friend off the hook that easily. "No," he reiterated. "Not really."
"Why not?" Doug pressed, a look of disbelief widening his eyes. "Plenty of other people think I am."
"Sorry," Tom replied with a shrug. "I guess you're just not my type."
Caught up in a wave of narcissism, Penhall missed the teasing twinkle shining from Tom's eyes. "But why?" he whined. "What is it about me you don't like?"
Without breaking character, Tom placed a finger against his lips and carefully studied Doug's face. "I think it might be your hair... no, wait, it's your eyes; they're kinda shifty."
The moment finally dawned, and Doug suddenly realized his friend was taking the piss. A broad smile spread across his handsome face, and he swatted his friend with his hand. "Asshole," he chided with a chuckle. "You really had me going for a minute."
After several seconds, Tom's amused expression transformed into a look of concern. "We're okay, aren't we?" he asked quietly. "I mean, I know it's a lot to take in, but it's not going to change things between us, is it?"
Penhall's expression softened, and he placed a companionable hand on his friend's shoulder. "Of course not," he reassured gently. "We're the McQuaids, remember? Nothing can break that bond."
From a few feet away, Booker observed the conversation, his blackened eyes narrowing into resentful slits. Even though Penhall had thought he was protecting Tom, the dark-haired officer was still angry about the beating he had received, and the last thing he wanted to witness was a tête-à-tête between his antagonist and his lover, no matter how innocent it might be. While he knew he needed to accept the close friendship that existed between the two men, he often found it increasingly difficult to curb his jealousy. But now their secret was out in the open, he saw no need to hold back his feelings. Resentment raged through his veins, tensing his muscles, and when Penhall pulled Tom into a tight embrace, he was unable to remain inactive any longer. He pushed back his chair and, striding purposely across the room, grabbed Doug by the shoulders and rudely shoved him sideways. "'Scuse me," he snapped.
Penhall opened his mouth in protest, but Booker ignored him and, grabbing Tom's upper arms, shoved him forcefully against a nearby filing cabinet. Before Hanson could object, he crushed his body against him, and without holding back, he pressed his mouth against the warmth of his lover's lips and kissed him possessively.
As their passion deepened, a cacophony of wolf whistles, catcalls, and approving claps resonated around the room, and embarrassed by the overt display of affection, Penhall made a hasty retreat to his desk. But when the kiss finally ended and the two men broke apart, he saw a look of utter devotion shining from Booker's dark eyes, and any misgivings about the two men's relationship instantly vanished. It was obvious Dennis loved Tom, and in a world filled with violence and hate, that was all that mattered.
Therefore, when Booker turned and waggled his eyebrows in a provocative gesture, he pushed down the feeling of resentment he felt toward the smug officer and, taking a deep, calming breath, approached with an outstretched hand. "No hard feelings?"
Dennis cast a wary eye at Doug, but when Tom jabbed him sharply in his bruised ribs, he inhaled a gasp of pain, and swallowing his pride, he briefly shook the proffered hand. "Sure."
Dozens of officers watched on with growing curiosity, their work temporarily forgotten as they waited to see what would happen next. Eventually, it was Tom who broke the awkward silence, and placing a hand on each man's shoulder, he grinned impishly. "So, drinks tonight? That way, Penhall, you can ask all the inappropriate questions you're dying to ask, and, Dennis, you can show your disapproval by scowling angrily from across the table."
An amused grin twitched at Booker's lips, but his bravado remained intact. "Whatever," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders.
More than anything, Tom wanted the two most important people in his life to get along, and turning his attention to his best friend, he raised a questioning eyebrow. "Doug?"
It was a defining moment in Doug and Tom's relationship, and the audience of officers watched on with bated breath. "Okay, Hanson," Penhall replied, a slow smile brightening his face. "But you're buying."
A collective sigh of relief echoed throughout the room. It had been touch and go for a moment, but it was the two men's unwavering love for Tom that had ultimately brought them together. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: cartoons
'Til Human Voices Wake Us
A Wee Foray Into Dariarotica
by
Mr. Bigglesworth
Chapter 1
Charles was dreaming about the mermaids again. He knew it was a dream partly because he'd had it—or variations on it—before, partly because there were no beaches like this obviously tropical one anywhere near Lawndale, but mainly because there was simply no way these were costumes he was looking at.
Beginning just below the belly button of each of the lovelies he was surrounded by, the human skin made an impossibly smooth transition to iridescent scales. Were they green? Were they blue? They seemed to belong somewhere in that part of the spectrum, predominantly, but they threw off every color of the rainbow in the sunlight. And as for what the scales covered, well, it was a tail, with no sign of anything like legs underlying it, sporting a small pair of ventral fins (though, in true mythical-mermaid fashion, no sign of a ventral opening) and widening out at its end into a set of flukes or flippers.
Strangely, though, instead of feeling cold and scaly, these mermaids' tails felt as soft and warm as any human skin, contrasting with the cool feeling of the breaking surf, which kept running almost up to the level of his head as he lay naked on the beach.
Funny how the dream seems to get more detailed and vivid each time I have it, thought Charles.
He could tell that the mermaids felt soft and warm because one of them was reclining across his legs, just above the knees, and two others were lying atop each of his outstretched arms, effectively pinning him in place. Restraint wasn't always a theme in this dream, though it wasn't the first time it had occurred.
The identity of the mermaids had also varied, though they were always—at least from the waist up—girls he knew or at least recognized. And he certainly recognized these. Across Charles' legs, resting her head on one hand, propped up with an elbow, was the lovely Tiffany Blum-Deckler, gazing vacantly (or perhaps she was just bored, he never had been able to tell with that one) at nothing in particular. The tawny-brown skin, the firm budding breasts with their small brown nipples, everything about her was just as he'd imagined it so many times during his years at Lawndale High.
On his left arm, her tail section making sure it didn't leave the sand, was one of Miss Blum-Deckler's companions in fashion, the sleek, elegant, haughty, and, dare he say it, cruel Sandi Griffin. Similarly anchoring Charles' right arm was what he had come to regard as the second-loveliest of the Fashion Club members, Miss Morgendorffer the Younger... or a mermaid version of her.
So it was to be the Fashion Club this time, was it? But where was his favorite, the beautiful, yet shy Stacy Rowe?
As if summoned (ah, dreams!), she was suddenly there, lying on her stomach next to him, chin resting on her hands, just gazing at him, seeming to consider for a moment, then rolling atop him. The Stacy-mermaid lay with her body along the length of his, the end of her tail draped over the Tiffany-mermaid (who seemed not to notice), her hands resting on Charles' shoulders, looking down at him with those huge beautiful doe eyes of hers. Charles thought for a moment—hoped fervently, in fact—that she'd favor him with a kiss from those full, luscious, soft (he had, alas, never felt them, but he knew they had to be!) lips of hers, but even in dreams one doesn't always get everything one wants.
'Stacy' did, however, begin to do something else: slowly at first, then gradually faster, with a sinuosity no real girl could possibly imitate, she began to wriggle the... well, the part of her that made her a mermaid... against him. This frottage was something new, but Charles found it a far from unwelcome variation as his body began to respond. There was no penetration or envelopment—with an exception made for what she was doing now, traditionally there was only one... favor... a mermaid was equipped to grant.
As if reading Charles' mind (or as if he were dreaming), the Stacy-mermaid pushed the upper part of herself up away from him and, suddenly, there was a can of fudge sauce in her hand. She smiled knowingly down at him, tilted the can back and forth a few times, then poured it onto Charles' chest. When the sauce hit his skin, thick gooey rivulets of chocolaty goodness ran every which way, some down his sides, some over his shoulders, a bit even pooling in the hollow at the base of his throat.
'Stacy' continued pouring, laying a trail of fudge sauce down the centerline of Charles' torso, rolling herself from atop him as she did, and finished off the can by pouring the last of its contents over certain of Charles Ruttheimer III's most prized possessions.
After pausing for a moment, seeming to appraise her handiwork, the Stacy-mermaid began, as had happened in many dreams before, with various mermaids, ever since the first time he'd had this dream years ago, to remove the fudge sauce from Charles' body with her lips and tongue.
Sometimes before, the other mermaids had joined in, but as had usually been the case since that magic show he and the real Stacy had put on during Senior Year at Lawndale High, the others were little more than bystanders—and, a little unusually, restraints. This had definitely become Stacy's show.
She made her way slowly down his belly, detouring, strangely, around his navel where some of the sauce had pooled, maintaining eye-contact the whole time. When she'd worked her way down as low as his hips, she started at the edge of the fudge sauce and worked her way inwards, with excruciating slowness, licking up every last trickle of sauce as she made her way to where, ah, certain parts of Charles were demonstrating that she had his undivided attention.
Then, at last, at last! Using just the lightest sips and flicks of her tongue tip, 'Stacy' removed the fudge sauce from Charles' most sensitive regions, till he was completely cleaned-off and groaning and straining, looking up at the amused faces of the Quinn and Sandi-mermaids as they giggled at his predicament.
Finally, a voice: the first actual words anyone had spoken in the dream. "Gee, I hope I'm doing this right," said the Stacy-mermaid, in the same nervous-yet-excited tone Stacy had used when chaining him up for his escape from the trunk at their magic show.
On hearing this, Charles looked down, and saw the Stacy-mermaid's nervous tone belied by the playfully mocking look in her eyes as she took him into her mouth. Charles' breath hissed through clenched teeth at the almost unbearable sensation of soft, hot wetness. Again he strained against the other mermaids' restraint, again triggering a gigglefit from them, as that soft hot wetness engulfed more and more of him, taking him further into her mouth, her throat until she had all of him. The briefest of pauses, then with the same excruciatingly sweet slowness 'Stacy' disgorged him, paused, took him back in, over... and over... and over...
Again Charles let his head drop back, looking up at the sky and at 'Quinn' and 'Sandi' as the sensation built and built. Then he felt something different, something that made him look up suddenly into 'Stacy's face again: a sudden hardness amid the softness as she ever-so-lightly raked teeth along the entire length of him on one of her upward strokes.
Something else that's never happened before in this dream, thought Charles, and how did she know I liked that?
As their eyes met, the Stacy-mermaid smiled up at him, her hair falling over one of her eyes.
Had it been down the whole time? He wondered. I never did tell her how much prettier she looks with it down than in those pigtails she always used to wear.
He wanted to brush the hair back out of her face, to stroke it, to touch her in some way. He tried to raise one arm to do so, but of course, it wouldn't budge. He looked up for a moment, to see the Quinn-mermaid smile down at him and wag a finger back-and-forth in a tut-tutting gesture.
The Stacy-mermaid took a brief detour, kissed her way a short distance up his abdomen, and, placing her lips over his navel, sucked most of the remaining fudge sauce out of it, then quickly scooped up what remained with her tongue. She then spent a little while kissing around in the general vicinity before taking him back into her mouth. Not as deeply this time, but she was moving more rapidly. Her hand wrapped around below where her oral attentions were reaching and began moving up-and-down in time with the bobbing of her head.
It wouldn't be long now, Charles thought, not long at all. Soon he was squirming and writhing and whimpering beneath the Sandi-Quinn-Tiffany mermaids as he got closer and closer and closer... his head tilted back again, looking up... yes, this was it, this was it—
A moment that obliterated all thought, then a brief confused wondering where the sky had gone, then the second spasm hit and Charles crunched forward, his beginning-to-focus gaze falling on a pair of eyes—not Stacy's, though they were lovely, even without their usual makeup—and a wild tangled mass of black hair. A third and final spasm, a shiver as it ended, and then Charles fell back on the bed as he tried to catch his breath.
"And a good morning to you too," said a familiar voice.
After a moment, Charles managed to prop himself up on his elbows and looked down to where Andrea was wiping at the corner of her mouth with the edge of her hand.
"To you too?" asked Charles a little dazedly. Then a horrible possibility occurred to him. "Did I... uhm... say something as I... woke up?"
Oh God, please let me not have said Stacy's name, he thought.
"Yeah," replied Andrea, "and I suppose I should be offended..."
Oh no, oh no, no
"I mean, 'muhgugg'n-OOG!' is kind of inarticulate even by your usual early-morning standards," Andrea replied.
"Still," she continued, sliding up in bed so she was lying next to Charles, "I guess I can forgive you."
Partly in relief, but mostly from plain affection, Charles hugged Andrea tightly, buried his face in her shoulder, enjoying the warmth, and how soft she was—she'd been self-conscious about her weight early on in their relationship, but (and he was beginning to think he might actually have her convinced of this by now) he liked the way she felt. In fact, the thought of how one of those bone-skinny Fashion Clubbers would feel in a close embrace... well, he thought, some things were best left in dreams. Charles inhaled. His lover smelled a little bit of sweat... a tiny bit of whatever she'd washed her hair with yesterday... but mostly like, well, Andrea. It was kind of hard to describe.
After a moment, she pushed away from him, rolled over so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She stretched, yawned, then said, "Well, you're welcome and all, Chuck, but I think it's time we both started thinking about showers and getting ready for work."
Charles grinned and started towards Andrea, but she put a hand on the center of his chest and pressed, which had the two effects of giving her the leverage to push herself upright, and of pushing him back onto the bed.
"Separate showers, Goatboy!" she admonished playfully.
Charles contented himself with admiring the Rubenesque curves of Andrea's body as she walked off towards the bathroom. Of course, it was probably just as well, he thought. The few things the two of them had tried in the shower had proved a lot more... awkward... than he'd always expected they'd be.
After a few moments of luxuriating in bed, when he heard the water running in the bathroom, Charles got up, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and walked into the kitchen of the apartment he and Andrea shared. As he busied himself with making coffee and as much of breakfast as he could get together before Andrea was finished cleaning-up, he reflected on how... was 'energized' really the word for it?... he felt. However he was feeling, he'd just learned of a truly delightful way of being awakened. As he puttered about in the kitchen, he actually began humming to himself as he began musing—brushing aside a brief pang of ridiculous jealousy (such things being unworthy of a Ruttheimer!)—on just what sort of dreams his sweet Andrea might awaken from when, some morning very soon, he returned the favor.
Daria (even though she doesn't appear in this story, I mention her anyway) and all ancillary characters are the property of MTV/Viacom, not me. I'm not making a dime off this story and suing me would probably be bad PR (to say nothing of Karma) anyway.
The term 'Dariarotica' was coined by the mysterious Gystex, on/at the Paperpusher's Messageboard, a day or two ago. I like it, I'm pretty sure he didn't copyright it, and even kind of got the impression he didn't mind if others used it, so I'm using it here. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: celebrity
Chapter 1
Pairing: Ilse/Moritz
Notes: I've wanted to write this since I first read the original play. It's based mostly on that, with little bits of the musical sprinkled in. I've taken liberties that a director might, particularly since such a large part of the fic is what Ilse is wearing (which is not an oversized white shirt).
Ilse crept down the path, marveling at how silent her footsteps were, now that she wore the ballet slippers Adolar had bought her for their celebration. 'Kätzchen,' he called her, stroking her hair and hand-feeding her the chocolates he always bought with the money left over after paints and canvas, even before food and rent. She was about to start singing, some vulgar ditty she had picked up from the artists, but a motion through the brush made her pause. She heard a voice—a young man's voice, distressed.
She padded closer, carefully pushing the branches out of her way. She gasped softly as she realized who it was—dear Moritz Stiefel, the boy who had always been by her side as Captain Ilse the Insouciant's First Mate when they played at being pirates. She had called him Moritz the Fearless, out of some vague hope that her fantasies would begin to blur into reality and make him so. Moritz sat on the ground with a stack of schoolbooks beside him, and in his trembling hands, he held a gun.
She couldn't hear what he was saying as he turned it over and over in his hands, but the hopeless look on his face filled her with dread. She saw him glancing around, seeming to search for something. "What are you looking for?" she asked suddenly, pushing through the brush to join him in the clearing. He jumped to his feet, hiding the gun behind his back and tucking it into the waistband of his pants. "Ilse!" she asked again, "What are you looking for here?"
He took a deep breath, twisting his hands in the fabric of his pants to hide the fact that he was shaking. "Why did you give me such a fright?" she persisted. "What are you looking for—what have you lost?" He considered, for an instant, telling her everything, but the words stuck in his throat. "Why frighten me so dreadfully?" he demanded. She sighed slightly. "I've come from the town. I'm going home," she explained.
He tried a half-truth. Ilse was the fairy that appeared in his dreams—the ones he used to have, before those awful blue tights, the ones that had always calmed him when he worried. She could not be lied to. He had a suspicion that she would know if he even tried. "I don't know what I've lost." She gave him a queer little half-smile. "Then looking for it won't help." He returned the half-smile and cast his eyes downward. "Hell, hell, hell!" he hissed.
She wore blue tights. Ilse started at his exclamation, glancing at herself to see what had upset him so. "Moritz?" He simply stared at her legs, trying not to blink. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the tights climbing over the lectern again… and knew that from now on, Ilse would follow them. He gasped and looked down at himself as he felt his body's traitorous reaction—the stirrings of manhood, as Melchior had called them.
"Moritz, are you ill?" Ilse cried, reaching out to grab his shoulder concernedly. He stiffened as her pale hand wrapped around him. "Ilse… you shouldn't touch me. I… oh, god…" he stammered, trying to force his body to obey his mind. She followed his mortified gaze, her mouth forming a silent 'O' as she realized what was distracting him so. "Dear Moritz, is that all your trouble?" she asked, her eyes kind as she raised them to meet his.
A crimson flush crossed his face as he nodded dumbly. She smiled and leaned in to murmur conspiratorially in his ear. "They talk about that all the time." Moritz felt as though he were about to faint. "Around you?" he finally managed to whisper, blushing even more deeply. Ilse nodded. "I've always said I live where Priapus reigns, Moritz. They do more than talk." The color that had been accumulating in his cheeks drained immediately.
Had his fairy-pirate-queen been so fully taken in by the artists, with their silver tongues and skillful hands? "Do they… have they… with you?" She shook her head. "That's far too dangerous, Moritz. Imagine if there were a child! Heinrich's tried, the beast, but all the rest keep him in check. No, there are… other ways," she explained. "Other ways?" he echoed, his voice breaking slightly. "Other ways," she confirmed.
She bit her lip in contemplation, and then glanced up at his face with an elfin smile. "Like this." She slid her hand from his shoulder down to his hip; then gently let it creep to the growing bulge in the front of his pants. He gasped sharply, one hand gripping Ilse's wrist. "Shh, dearest Moritz," she crooned, delicately stroking him. "If you make a sound, someone might find us."
He bit his lip and inhaled as obviously practiced fingers traced lines he had so often forbidden himself from tracing. "I don't think I can stand," he whispered breathlessly, stumbling backwards to lean against a tree, pulling Ilse with him. She smiled again, still reminding him of nothing so much as a pagan goddess—Venus, some still-sensible part of his mind supplied. If she was Venus, that would make him Adonis, he realized.
A small laugh escaped his lips, turning into a groan as she squeezed him gently. "What amuses you so?" she asked playfully. Usually, with the artists, she was smoldering and sensual, but with Moritz… she could be her true self, as she had always been. "Latin forever haunts me… but the torture has let me see you as the goddess you are, existing for mortals like me to worship and by which we are amazed," he replied, beginning to pant softly.
"You sound like you've the makings of a poet!" she exclaimed, her breath sweet against his cheek. She hesitated a moment, and then kissed him. He understood, finally, why books went on so about kisses. He wondered why Melchior had neglected to mention it, save in passing, in the many pages of his essay—when Ilse's tongue slipped between his parted lips, he stopped thinking, and found himself drawing her sharply to him, kissing back with a surprising passion.
He pulled back only when the need for air made his head swim. Now they were both panting, and Ilse felt her knees go weak. She sank to the ground, glancing up at Moritz through her long eyelashes as she began to undo the fly of his pants. As they slid to pool around his ankles, the gun he had tucked into them clattered to the ground. He didn't seem to notice, and she pointedly ignored the weapon, instead wrapping her hands fully around his hardened shaft, smoothly stroking him.
He groaned softly and his eyes fluttered closed, utterly overcome by the sensations—with every passing moment, the fears that had nearly caused him to take his life moments ago were being pulled away from his very soul. Suddenly, warm wetness enveloping his member made him cry out in shock. He looked down wildly to see a curtain of dark curls moving between his legs, and realized that she had taken him into her mouth—and was licking and sucking delicately at him until he could no longer stand it.
"Ilse, I… oh God!" he hissed, grasping at the tree as he came hard. Utterly spent, he slid down the smooth tree until he sat on the grass beneath, legs splayed in front of him. He felt a grin, the first in he didn't know how long, spread across his lips as he gazed adoringly at Ilse through half-lidded eyes. She smiled—almost shyly—at him. "I'll be right back," she murmured, darting down to the riverbank where he heard her splashing for a moment before she returned, drying her hands on her skirt.
Her eyes met his for a moment, and then shifted to the forgotten gun on the ground next to him. "You were going to use it, weren't you," she said softly. It wasn't a question. "I… I've been expelled from school. I've no money, I've disgraced my parents, and I can scarcely stand to see anyone I know… save Melchi. And you," he explained, his voice gaining strength as he recovered and fixed his pants, forcing himself to analyze the last minutes' events later.
Ilse knelt next to him, taking the gun and turning it over in her hands. "I know what it feels like to have a loaded pistol pressed against your skin, Moritz. I do. Will you… will you throw this in the river? Throw it away and… and… and come with me!" His eyes seemed to bore into hers, his soul laid bare. "Ilse, I'm scared. I don't… I'm not a man of actions, I'm a man of thoughts; of ideas…." He trailed off.
"Priapia doesn't yet have a poet or philosopher," she commented, "and I'll be with you," she added softly, twining her fingers with his. He looked uncertain for a moment, before a faint smile spread over his face. "If you're there," he said, "I can do anything." She let out a whoop and pulled him to his feet, handing him the pistol. Dashing to the riverbank, he took a deep breath and hurled the offending item into the middle, where it landed with a loud splash and sank.
He felt lighter and freer than he could ever remember being when he turned back to Ilse, his face lit up with a grin. "In what direction lies Priapia, Captain Ilse?" She giggled and grabbed his wrist, and they crashed through the brush, running full tilt down the path. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: inuyasha
Chapter 1
In the end, they had both stood at the ancient roots of Goshinboku and stared into the twilight of their days together.
It wasn't as painful as Kagome believed it would be. In fact, she could describe herself as feeling quietly relieved, if not numb, to the fact of her last departure from the Feudal Era. The Shikon Shards had all been reunited with one another, making whole a jewel that had been Kagome's error from the beginning.
The wish had been made as well upon the Shikon no Tama. The schoolgirl from the future had hugged Sango one last time, both of them crying softly. Shippo had wept as well when she knelt to scoop him up in a tight embrace. The houshi came next, and she uttered her name before giving her a quiet look. She even forgave him when they embraced, and he goosed her.
Kikyo received a hug as well, and after fighting back tears that threatened to fall down her face in fast rivulets, she turned to Inuyasha. No, Inuyasha and Kikyo. Kagome had always wished for his happiness. She had always meant to preserve the happiness of others before her own. It seemed to complement her function as a miko, but now she felt that it compounded it.
When the time for the wish came, Kagome had wished for Kikyo's return to mortality. True enough, it occurred, and Inuyasha made his choice. Whether he made it for his own personal desires or to merely make whole the sacrifice she had brought upon herself, she couldn't be sure. In a way, she mused briefly over the idea that her selfless wish had been the last thing he had wanted - but to honor her for the great willpower and purity it had cost her, he accepted it.
He accepted Kikyo, and Kagome needed to return home to her own stilted life. Internally, she had laughed at her folly. This was her life, here. Her modern era had raised her to be the naive teen that had fallen into the Bone Eater's well, and from there she had grown as a person. She learned love, jealousy, friendship, anger, and even hate. The latter was her last lesson before she walked to the well and turned one last time to see the blurred images of her friends beyond the tears she could not hold back. Listlessly, she raised one hand and gave a half-hearted wave that was meant to show bravery. Instead, it gave proof to her inner cowardice in saying what she really felt all along towards him - towards Inuyasha.
She slung one leg over the lip of the cistern, biting her lower lip. It hurt to look upon him before she allowed herself to fall, but she couldn't save herself the trouble. Pain. His countenance was that of raw anguish, even as he held Kikyo so very close.
Yes, from that time onward she learned to hate herself. She let go and began her descent into the depths of the well.
Falling far into fast-forward.
The girl from the past raised her gaze to Inuyasha's brother, who betrayed nothing. In all the havoc of the last month, she had been surprised to find him here, alive, at the foot of Goshinboku.
In times like these, she had chosen to be with her aging mother and teenage brother. That last, fateful week was when all the students had been released from university - in fact, all students everywhere - to be with their families.
It was a shame, really. This was the opinion of her evening professor when she was informed of the crisis. Not much longer, their history professor broke down into sobs she worked hard to stifle before dismissing them all. It shook Kagome to the core, but not in the same way it had her peers.
Free. She would be free.
Her animated step was not spurred by inner turmoil and panic, but a new sense of purpose that she hadn't grasped for nigh on ten years. She fled the school, fled to her old shrine-home where she had been avoiding her ghosts. The young woman laughed like she hadn't in years and told them it wouldn't be long now.
Not long at all.
After going through the motions of goodbyes and I-love-yous with her mother and brother (her grandfather was now one of the ghosts; he already knew her true intent) she excused herself from the house to stand beneath Inuyasha's tree.
That's where she found him, seated at its base.
She studied him a precious moment, a moment they did not have to spare. Finally, she forced herself to speak. Her voice carried like the wind - faint, strong, fading - which was like so many other things, too.
"Do you regret much?" she asked.
The simple question was greeted with silence, initially. After a solid, squandered minute, he spoke in a low octave that angered the woman of the present.
"I do not regret... much."
She drew in a halting, fleeting breath of frustration. It could be her last.
Time might have stood still were it possible, if one could will it to be so. He was the Lord of the Western Lands - or had been. Titles meant nothing when facing the brink. If she could stand on the precipice of all things known to man and see nothing below but a vast, ending void, then what was the point? Moreover, he could see it too. They both stood upon the edge of the chasm and gazed upon it with all its horror and dark promises meant to entice. They were there, and it was such a terrible reality that she prayed to blink out of existence now.
Of course, nothing happened just yet. Fate had also conspired against her when she left Inuyasha by the well with Kikyo in their world of sunlight and happy endings. That Kagome had jumped into the Bone Eater's Well that final time, and promptly died when she came out the other side into her own era. The new Kagome that had been birthed from the darkness of the well was hollow, a nothing girl who wandered her world without a will to go on. There was balance in all things, and where Kikyo had regained her humanity, Kagome had lost her soul. She was nothing more than a second-coming of Kikyo, which fit since she was the reincarnation of the resurrected miko.
Where one had got up, another had fallen. Irony was like that, and it treated her poorly.
It was with this knowledge that Kagome also realized that Sesshoumaru spoke the truth. A being like himself would not regret lightly, and never more than once. What he did regret would be an ever-bitter burn that would travel to all extremes of his mind, filling it with ash and dreams of what-if.
She thought of a small girl with dark eyes and imagined that her companion in the end times must be seeing them now in all their wonder.
"Rin..." she whispered, understanding. She sat beside him in the shadows as the ghosts chattered excitedly about them and the years lent their weight to both sets of shoulders.
More silence. On the horizon, a dark shadow was approaching. The comet had struck just as the astronomers had predicted a month prior, and all their efforts to deter it were in vain.
The tsunami engulfed the land and sky, blotting out the world and feeding from it. It was only a matter of time before they were consumed. For once, time was not something the ageless taiyoukai and the suicide with a heartbeat could waste. The reason for why he was there was not important, nor how he had survived to the present era and found her of all people on this last day in the world.
He was here, her last link to the past. Kagome felt reborn and alive.
"Can I hold your hand?" she suddenly asked, her tenor breathless and engrossed by the ambulatory penumbra that swallowed the heavens whole.
He did not answer, and she did not expect him to. Ignoring this trifle, she deftly extended her closest arm and threaded her fingers through his clawed digits.
Her hands trembled with eagerness. She squeezed his hand, just to feel blood and bone one last time.
Nearly beyond her belief, she felt an answering pressure. It wouldn't be long now. The din from their savior drowned out all things, including sound.
Reason escaping the dead girl, she lifted her head once more to rest her cloudy blue eyes on Sesshoumaru. Her vision was clear. Was he tired and alone, too? Above the cacophony, she raised her voice one last time - but she could no longer hear herself as seawater struck her face like small slaps and her hair whipped around her neck like a loose noose.
Her lips and tongue rotated around her utterances, and whether or not the demon beside her could hear her despite his heightened auditory abilities she could not know.
"We'll be with them soon!" she exclaimed.
He gave her a sharp look. His slit pupils reflected the last of the fading red light, and shone briefly in the roaring dusk. He looked like a predator staring out from the blackness of things, eyes flashing before that lethal jump.
As was his way, he turned his head to face his opponent with a determined glare. The difference, Kagome noted with awe, was the set of his grim yet expectant smirk.
The pressure was building somewhere in her head as she was assaulted with debris. The world around her shook, and water was everywhere. She tipped her chin up, and tried to imagine seeing the crest of the tsunami as it hovered impossibly high over their heads. There was a peak time in all things, and that time for the miko and demon had long since passed. They had lived boneless in the wake for so long - he for centuries and she for a decade. By their own methods of counting, it had been eternity without reprieve.
The last thing Kagome felt was the sensation of his hand in hers. The feeling did not linger, it merely flickered in less than an instance through her nerves before there was a blessed lack of sentience and sound.
In life, in the golden years of a once-upon-a-time, they had been adversaries. Now, in death, they were united.
In the end, they had both stood at the ancient roots of Goshinboku and stared into the twilight of their days together.
Disclaimer: Inuyasha does not belong to me. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: games
Chapter 1: Warsong
Narya looked around the hustle and bustle of the war room. Her eyes came across the forsaken, Crillo, with whom she frequently fought alongside in battle. She smirked, watching him indirectly, intrigued by the fact that he seemed to have taken a liking to her, despite the fluctuation of her moods. Before she could begin to analyze it further, they were ushered by portal into the Gulch.
Quickly melding into the shadows, she applied poison to her blades and slunk off out of the hold and onto the fields. She looked back over her shoulder to find him following her. She eyed him, knowing full well the routine they had grown accustomed to: singling out the one Alliance troop that had fallen from the pack, cornering the sickly gazelle, and making sure he never rejoined his group. Sure enough, her keen Sindorei eyes picked out a solitary soldier. With a deft hand, she sapped the night elf, stopping him in his tracks. Soon enough, Crillo was on the target, his blades slicing into him at a deadly pace. She grinned, joining him, and within seconds, the poor elf's body fell to the floor, lifeless. She casually wiped the blood from the blades onto her leathered thighs as he watched her.
"I think you enjoy this way too much," he joked. She turned to look at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Surely it's good to enjoy one's work?" She smirked again and fell into the shadows once more. They made their way up the field to Silverwing Hold. Much to her dismay, there was no sign of any enemies about. They moved silently through the rooms, looking for their next victim.
As they waited in the shadows, she could feel his eyes on her for the most part. Combined with the adrenaline she felt pumping through her system, she couldn't help but feel a slight tinge of excitement. Something not quite borne from the effects of battle, but a feeling that perhaps stemmed from something deeper within her. Teasingly, she slunk past him, brushing against him for a brief moment, and smirked. He grinned at her, and in a low voice, one only she could pick up, he commented, "I'm really starting to think you enjoy this way too much." His eyes roamed over her stealthed form, slowly taking in her subtle curves.
She looked back at him, her eyes seemingly dark. "With the amount they pay us to do the work, if I didn't enjoy it, it wouldn't be worth it." As her statement ended, she perked her ears to a random sound outside. She moved back instinctively and then noticed he didn't move as she crouched back into him. The familiar smirk played on her lips once more as she pressed against him. "Now who's enjoying this?" He grinned, but didn't move from his spot. In fact, he sat down on the stone floor, taking his hands off the hilts of his daggers for a moment and placing them on her leathered hips, almost holding her there in place.
She could feel the color rush to her cheeks as his hands gripped her. "Surely a celebrity like you is used to the attention," he said casually. She laughed lightly, their voices and sounds barely audible to anyone around but themselves. She felt his hands tighten on her hips, and became aware that their usual repartee was now turning into something more intense. "I can't say I've come across this attention much," she said coyly, wiggling her hips and pushing back against his crotch, hearing him gasp under his breath.
"I know your lock-picking skills leave much to be desired, but surely you have mastered the art of disarming traps and pickpocketing? I wonder..." He quirked a brow at her words, knowing full well it was a challenge. He smirked, looking her over in stealth. One hand moved from her hip to the back of her belt. His fingers felt along the leather, and soon he came across a not-so-permanent seam that seemed to travel from her belt down across her rear, between her legs, and up the other side. "Clever girl," he remarked with a grin, "It seems like you're ready for anything."
She let out a light chuckle. "Well, you know me. I'm not a fan of baring all in public. Sometimes a little discretion goes a long way." She pressed her rear to him once more, wiggling it and feeling him harden in his own leathers, still well aware they were both in enemy territory. Yet, even with the apprehension, her words became bolder still. "So, is today the day when you stop watching and start doing?" She smirked, her voice almost a purr.
He grinned, taking his cue, and let his lanky fingers begin to undo the miniscule latches that kept the seam together. Though her eyes and ears remained focused on their surroundings, ensuring she would be aware of any sudden interruptions, the rest of her body remained fixed on his. She felt herself gasp lightly as all the latches became undone, and she could feel the crisp air hit her delicate skin. He grinned, letting his fingers lightly run across where the seam used to be, not quite sinking in between her cheeks, but grazing her nether lips every so slightly.
"Well, now. I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of getting to know you this well before," he said, as the words left his lips, he turned his hand to cup between her legs. She closed her eyes, her breathing becoming slightly jagged as she felt his fingers nestle into her already glistening folds. He noticed her current state and smirked, "I guess this is proof of how much you really do enjoy this work." He let his index finger lazily press against her clit, and she gasped once more. "Though, I might just need more convincing, personally."
She looked back, raising an eyebrow at his words. She saw as he removed his hands from her, and she furrowed her brow somewhat, at the absence of his touch. She watched as he lay back onto the floor, eyes still on her. His hands came back onto her hips, pulling her back towards him. She moved back, her eyes widening as he positioned her over his face. He pushed her forward slightly, only to make her fall to her knees instead of squat. Grinning, he pulled her hips towards him once more. Her lips parted to let out a muted cry as she felt his mouth connect with her nether.
Her eyes shut, and she felt them roll back as his mouth began to work on her, his tongue delving in between her folds and encircling her clit, then lightly sucking on it. She could feel her arousal build within her. His mouth pulled away slightly, and that grin reappeared on his lips. "I must admit, I'm enjoying it just as much as you," he said, his voice deeper than normal. As the words left his lips, his mouth was once again on her. She arched her back as she felt his tongue delve deeper into her this time. Her body shuddered as little jolts of pleasure hit her.
She leaned forward, hands roaming over his leathers, focusing on his crotch, and feeling his bulge. Her fingers deftly unbuckled his leggings and slipped in. Not knowing what to expect, she did notice the decay on him was not far developed. As her agile fingers wrapped around his hard shaft, she could feel no difference in texture or touch. Though she felt him gasp against her pussy as she gripped him firmly. Her ears were still acutely aware of their surroundings as she pulled his length out. Her tongue darted out, teasing his head, encircling it before her lips latched onto the underside, and gave it a soft suckle.
She could feel him moan into her as his tongue became bolder, pushing deeper inside her, and his hands spread her cheeks. She arched her back against him, like a cat in heat, as her mouth took him in fully this time. She felt his cock throb inside her mouth as she slowly suckled him. Her tongue ran up the length of his shaft as her mouth came off slightly. She gently raked her teeth back down as she felt his whole body shudder beneath her. She grinned against his shaft, "It seems like you are enjoying it quite a bit, Crillo." Her lips formed another smirk, but before she could continue, he pulled himself from her quickly.
She blinked, somewhat confused, but then she felt him behind her, his cock prodding against her sodden slit, as his hands pulled her hips to him once more. "Indeed, I am. I've always wondered how this would feel," he grinned, as he pulled her hips back, letting his length sink into her deeply. She let out a gasp as she felt him enter her. Her walls kept snug around his shaft as she felt herself tremble with pleasure. His strokes were slow to begin with, her juices more than enough lubrication to help him through. With each thrust into her, she could feel her pussy tighten around him, milking him, urging him to stay nestled in deep.
He leaned over her, one hand trailing from her hips, moving in front, and onto her clit. She bit her bottom lip as he rubbed her. His thrusts increased in pace as she rolled her head forward, breathing even more jagged. But she pulled away from him, even though her want and need were strong. He looked at her, somewhat puzzled, but her expression was enough to placate him. She turned to him, putting her hands on his shoulders, and pushing him into a sitting position. She looked down at his glistening cock, and then back up at him. Her tongue darted out, running over her lips as she grinned.
Slowly, she moved her legs over him, straddling him, and lowering herself down. She saw his eyes shut as he sunk deep into her once more. Arms entwined around his neck, she began to grind against him, forcing her weight onto him, ensuring he was nestled deep inside her. Her pace soon quickened as she rode him, her body undulated above his, walls tightening with each stroke. His hands roamed over her covered breasts, squeezing at them in vain, as he felt what little control he had left, leave him.
She nuzzled her mouth near his ear, and he could hear her subtle moans as she moved above him. Her pace increased as she could feel her juices slowly start to seep from her. Her ears perked as they picked up a noise outside. The fear of being caught, and the urgency of their combined pleasure, forced her on. His hands moved down to her hips, gripping them as she continued to ride him. His eyes opened to meet hers, and she knew the look all too well. She grinned, and then tightened her pussy around him one final time, before he erupted inside her.
The feel of his cock tensing, and her walls tight, was enough to bring her own climax. She moved her lips to his ears once more, so he could hear her orgasm. They shuddered against each other, letting the pleasure course through them. She kept her arms around him, basking in the afterglow of their combined bliss. She grinned against him, her voice still low, "I think we may have company." Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled herself off of him, and quickly refastened the latches on the seam of her leggings. She grinned as she watched him compose himself, and move his hands to his daggers once more. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: games
Chapter 1
Narya kept her gasp in check as she managed to dodge the night elf's swing and vanish into the shadows. She sprinted across the cobblestone roads of Stormwind and headed towards the dim buildings of the Dwarven District. She kept her breathing to a minimum, taking short breaths, in order to avoid inhaling too much of the airborne soot that lingered around her. As she slowed her pace to a jog, she found her way to the tram.
Once through the gates, she let out a little sigh of relief. Her venture into enemy territory that morning had not been one of her brightest ideas, considering her mood. Distracted, she had almost fallen victim to the Kaldorei's blade. She pushed her mask down, remaining stealthed within the confines of the Alliance transport system. She smirked, realizing how lucky she was to have escaped, given her unfocused thoughts.
She made her way through the narrow passage that bordered the tracks and finally came across a dark and secluded corner. Certain she hadn't been followed, she reappeared from the shadows and took one final look around her. The air was crisp and cool, not like the stifling smog in the Dwarven District. She rolled her shoulders back, stretching out some before she leaned back against the stone wall. Her thoughts traveled back to the inn in Goldshire and her recent cavort there. Normally not prone to taking time out during the day to alleviate such persistent feelings, she felt she had to. They had become too much of a distraction. One small release should remedy that.
One hand traveled down her side, fingers grasping at her covered breasts as she felt her nipples harden. The other made a trail from her belt, down the temporary seam, as agile fingers worked quickly to unlatch it. Soon her fingers had disappeared from sight, nestling into her already damp folds. Her eyes shut, and she let out a small moan as her head rolled back. She began to move her hips slowly, in her own silent rhythm, as her fingers continued to work her now moist pussy.
Suddenly, her ears perked up at a faint noise. Her fingers stopped their motion, and she opened her eyes. With all the clatter in the tram, it was hard to distinguish what was normal noise and what was something she should be concerned about. Before she could analyze it further, she felt something moist between her legs. She gasped as she looked down and saw him. He looked up at her, grinning, his tongue slowly lapping at her folds. He pulled away briefly, eyes still locked on hers, as his form appeared from the shadows.
"I couldn't very well let you go off on your own, now could I?" He chuckled. "I saw how that elf almost had you." A sly smirk formed on her lips as she looked down at him, unabashed in her current state. She bit her bottom lip. "You know I could have used some help with him. After all, it was your fault I did so poorly." She grinned at him and let her fingers continue with their work.
He looked down at her fingers, then back up at her. "My fault?" His hands came up to the waist of her leggings as he began to slowly pull them down over her hips. "How is it my fault?" She watched him slowly remove her leggings and raised a brow. He noticed her expression and smirked, "Temporary seams are all well and good, but it's nice to get a full view of things." She let out a light laugh, watching him intently as he brought her leggings down her hips and off her.
She stood in front of him, her pale skin almost translucent in the dim light. His lanky fingers traveled up her legs, and she felt herself shiver as his tongue delved in between her legs once more. Her knees buckled, feeling his tongue press deeper past her lips and into her warm slit. She stood there awhile, reveling in the sensation, feeling the small shocks of pleasure hit her. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked down at him. Her hands cupped his face, and she pulled him up to her level. She leaned in with a grin and kissed him deeply. Her tongue slipped past his lips to find his, entwining around it.
She turned him quickly, his back against the wall, as she pulled away from him. Her eyes were dark and mischievous as she watched his face. "It's your fault for dominating my thoughts and making me unfocused." Her words were almost a hiss, but not a malevolent one. She leaned in to nip at his lower lip before kneeling in front of him. He looked down at her with a smirk, watching as she unbuckled his belt and unlatched his leggings.
"Is this my punishment, then?" He chuckled lightly, but the laugh was cut short by a small gasp as her fingers wrapped around his already hardening shaft and pulled his cock out. She smirked, letting her fingers travel down to the base, keeping a firm grasp as she leaned in. Her breath was warm against it. "Punishment? Hardly. Incentive, perhaps, to keep things going the way they are." She grinned, then let her tongue dart out at his head. She could hear him moan as she trailed her tongue gingerly around the tip of his shaft, taking only a bit into her mouth to suck softly.
His hands came down to grasp at her hair. He smirked, though his face was overcome with desire and pleasure. Her mouth came off his cock, and she grinned up at him. She looked up at him with a wicked and determined look, and then let her lips latch onto the underside of his shaft, near his head, as she suckled on it gingerly. She felt his body shudder, and her mouth became bolder. She let her tongue trail down his shaft as her grip on the base became more firm.
Teasingly, her tongue darted at his sac, and she could hear him moan. Her lips fixed themselves onto his base as she slowly sucked her way up his length. His fingers grasped her hair securely as he clenched his jaw at the pleasure. She took his cock fully into her mouth, raking her teeth along it gently, feeling her own arousal build from his pleasure. Her pace quickened as her head seemed to bob up and down on his sex, lips tightening at all the right places, her whole body feeding off his moans and growls.
Finally, he grabbed her hair, pulling her off his cock with a severe look in his eyes. She grinned, licking her lips, as she watched him pull her up to stand before him again. He turned her to face the wall, hands moving from her head down to her hips, and gripping them, pulling her ass out towards him. He looked down at it, then up at her. "You know, I think I might try something different this time." She looked back at him, her eyebrow quirked. "Oh?"
Before she could continue, she felt his shaft nestle between her lips as he rubbed it against her folds, lathering himself in her juices. She let out a small moan, arching her back. He grinned, watching her, and pulling her hips out more, one hand moving to her back to arch it further. She felt his cock slide back, head slipping discreetly between her folds, teasing her, but before she could get used to the sensation and press herself closer, allowing him entry into her, he moved his cock further back, between her cheeks, head poking at her tight star.
She arched her back, eyes looking back at him with a mischievous glint in them. He smirked, leaning in to her, kissing her neck, and leaving a trail of small bites down it. She let out a small cry as she felt him push his cock slowly into her rear. Her tight walls gripped him, and he almost hissed at the pleasure. He brought her arms up, gripping both wrists with one hand, as his other trailed down over her breasts.
His strokes were slow to start with, moans escaping both their lips as they quickened. She felt the pleasure course through her, and as his hand trailed down between her legs, he grinned. "I think I've found something else you enjoy a fair bit." His fingers played within her drenched folds. Her juices began to seep past his fingers, trailing down her inner thigh, as she gasped. Each thrust into her seemed to keep the flow steady.
Her eyes rolled back as she felt him push his fingers through her slit and into her. Slowly, he thrust them in and out, in sync with his cock, still keeping her pinned to the wall. Her moans were more frequent as she kept her back arched, ass out to him. Her whole body shivered beneath him. His pace quickened as he seemed to pummel in and out of her at a more determined pace. She moaned and growled, bucking her hips and ass back to him, letting the feeling rape her senses. "So tight," his words were barely audible, but she heard them, and they just added fuel to the already blazing fire within her.
She could hear his fingers slosh in and out of her, and the thrusts from both his cock and fingers turn into a sort of primal and frenzied pace. Cheek pressed against the stone wall, she finally let out a shrill cry as the pleasure broke into climax and seemed to rip through her body. Her whole body shook in pleasure as her pussy and ass contracted against his fingers and cock, furiously milking them, urging his own release. Her juices gushed over his hand, and she felt him tense within her, throbbing.
With a low growl, he bit into her shoulder and blasted his seed against her walls. She moaned, grinning, pleased he had experienced such pleasure as hers. He panted against her, smiling, releasing her wrists, and holding onto her. She closed her eyes, nestling in his embrace, as she tried to catch her breath. He slowly pulled out of her, and she turned to face him, glancing down at the small puddle that had formed on the floor. She looked back up at him with a smile. "I'm not sure how much work we'll ever get done if we keep at it like this." She grinned, leaning in, and kissing him softly. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: anime
Chapter 1
Tsuki woke up next to a campfire in the middle of the woods. Her mind was in a bit of a fog as she looked around, confused as to where Homura and the others had run off to, leaving her alone. She looked around to see the dragons still sleeping nearby, so they clearly hadn’t left her... but why hadn’t anyone stayed with her?
Tsuki sat up, wearing a Chinese-inspired dress. It was a beautiful deep red color with gold accents along the low V neckline that hugged the curves of her breasts. The neckline continued and wrapped around her shoulders and across her back. The sleeves were snug on her arms before flaring out just above the elbow and over her gauntlets. The skirt of the dress was long with high slits going above her hips. She wore a thick golden belt that sat loosely over her hips, the weight of it helping to keep the material of the skirt in place so the slits wouldn't move over too far. The outfit was a little more showy than her usual attire, like something out of Naneko's wardrobe. Tsuki found that there were days when the shorter length dresses or ones that were more loose were easier for her to fight in. Also, the way she felt during her aerial attacks made her feel empowered! Something about the beauty and grace of some of the more flowy materials made her feel almost invincible during her fights.
Tsuki wrapped her cloak a little more tightly around her before sitting back in front of the fire. The four of them were traveling to a town that was rumored to house a demon in possession of one of the scriptures they needed. Because she couldn’t teleport, they were all traveling on dragons. Sleeping wasn’t necessary, but for the dragons, it was. “He could’ve at least left a note or something,” Tsuki pouted as she held her knees to her chest. Given the height of the flames in the campfire, either they hadn’t been gone long or there was some sort of spell cast on it to keep the fire from burning out in Homura’s absence.
A branch snapped behind her, jolting Tsuki to her feet as she immediately took a fighting stance. Her eyes darted around trying to find her satchel full of weapons. Her heart raced as she heard the footsteps getting closer, crunching fallen twigs and dried gravel. She tensed up as a shadow emerged from the bushes, preparing herself to strike. The shadows on the figure’s face fell as he stepped into the light of the campfire. “Dokugakuji,” Tsuki gasped as she dropped her fighting stance.
The dark-haired demon wore a long, white, Chinese-style jacket with maroon accents, black pants, and boots. He had a fresh kill hanging on one shoulder and readjusted a large bag over the other before giving the half-breed a smirk and a short wave. “Hey, Tsuki,” he called out. The features on Tsuki’s face softened as she walked up to him. “What are you doing out here,” she asked, feeling a fluttering in her chest at the sight of him.
Just some menial recon mission. Kou asked me to handle it myself since it’s a fairly delicate situation,” he explained. Tsuki smiled as she nodded her head in agreement. “Yeah, sometimes you just can’t trust lower-level demons to get the job done,” she joked as she shyly tucked her ivory hair behind her ear. Dokugakuji let out a chuckle at her comment.
In the meantime, I stopped and got myself something to eat for tonight. What’re you doing out here all alone? You must be cold,” Dokugakuji commented as the two wandered back over to the campfire. “We’re on a mission ourselves, although I don’t know where everyone is,” Tsuki replied.
“Well, lucky me,” Dokugakuji replied, “that means I’ll be able to get to spend some time alone with you. You hungry?” Tsuki turned to him and smiled. It had been some time since she last ate. Tsuki raised both her hands and quickly manipulated the base of a tree from the ground, giving it a large, flat surface as Dokugakuji set his kill across it.
Tsuki watched as the demon dug through his pack and unfurled a leather hide full of blades of varying lengths. “I didn’t know you were such a chef,” Tsuki commented. “Well, when you’re going to be gone for a few days, you gotta make sure to pack the necessities for those long nights when food rations get low,” replied Dokugakuji.
Tsuki watched as the demon expertly cut away the flesh of the animal, sectioning it as he divided each part of the animal to prepare differently. “I’ll be right back,” Tsuki stated as she ran off into the woods. The light of the moon illuminated the forest, the rays highlighting different herbs and other wild vegetables she knew were safe for consumption. She hurried back to the campsite with an armful of treasures from Mother Earth and set them down next to Dokugakuji.
“What’s all this for,” he asked. “I assume you’re making a stew. You’re going to need a variety of herbs and some wild vegetables.” “Great idea,” praised Dokugakuji. Tsuki worked on manipulating the earth again, pulling clay from the earth and molding it into a bowl. She pulled the moisture from it, hardening the bowl before pulling more water from the earth as she began to clean the vegetables and herbs.
“You’ve got a pot,” asked Tsuki, “I’ll start boiling water.” Dokugakuji smiled at her enthusiasm. “And here I thought I was going to be cooking you a nice meal.” “You are,” she replied, “I’m just helping with the prep work.” With that, Tsuki manipulated another tree stump, carefully selecting a knife from Dokugakuji’s inventory and began chopping. After some time had passed and the meat was cut into edible chunks, all of the ingredients were added to the stew as needed.
The aroma was intoxicating! Dokugakuji stirred a ladle around in the pot as the stew boiled to perfection. He carefully brought the ladle to his lips to test the broth before offering some to Tsuki. Tsuki leaned in, making a small noise from the hot liquid burning her as she brought a hand to her lips. “Ah! Are you alright,” Dokugakuji asked, jerking back the ladle and setting it back in the pot. He leaned over to her, gently cupping her face.
Tsuki dropped her hand, her heart fluttered in her chest as the two made eye contact. A blush appeared across her cheeks at his concern as he softly ran his thumb along her bottom lip, asking his question again. The caress of the calloused digit gently brushing along her soft skin deepened the blush on her face. The sensation sent pleasurable jolts throughout her body, a feeling she struggled to push to the back of her mind before she gulped hard. “It’s... good,” she meekly replied.
Dokugakuji gave a soft chuckle, his hand lingering against her cheek before he slowly pulled it away. “That’s good to hear,” he replied, “in that case, I’ll serve you up a bowl!” Dokugakuji handed her a spoon before turning his attention to the pot and poured a couple ladles of the stew into a couple of bowls. Tsuki thanked him and took a bowl of the stew from Dokugakuji. She brought the first spoonful of the meal to her mouth, mewling in delight. It was delicious, but hot! She exhaled heavily to cool the hot spoonful in her mouth, the tenderness of the meat was overwhelming and juicy.
The broth and the herbs mixed perfectly together, bringing out the tender flavors of the meat. The heat of the broth traveling down her throat sent a warmth throughout her body. The change of her body temperature against the cool evening air caused her to shiver just a bit, causing her to reflexively let out a soft moan as she chewed at the tender meat. "Cold?" Dokugakuji asked.
Tsuki turned to Dokugakuji as he set down his bowl, reaching down into his bag and pulled out a thin blanket made of warm material. He moved closer to her as he wrapped the length of the blanket around both of them. The warmth of his body against hers, the weight of his arm as he hugged it around her... Tsuki's heart pounded, yet she felt comfortable like this. More comfortable than with Homura... Why was that? She couldn't take her eyes off his as Dokugakuji stared down tenderly at her. The silence felt awkward, but her heart was pounding in anticipation.
He smiled warmly at her, softly speaking her name as he slowly took the bowl from Tsuki's hand, setting it aside as he leaned down to her. Tsuki reached a hand to his chest and he hesitated for a moment before inching himself closer. Tsuki felt a rush of excitement through her body as she shyly leaned up to Dokugakuji, brushing her lips against his. Dokugakuji sighed softly, bringing a hand up and gently cradling the back of Tsuki's head as he brought her in for a kiss. Tsuki melted against him, readjusting herself as she melted into the kiss.
Dokugakuji's arm dropped from around her shoulder to her waist, dropping the blanket as he scooped her into his lap. Tsuki gasped, breaking the kiss as she braced her hands on his shoulders as she sat with one leg on either side of the demon. She looked down at him, eyes heavy with lust as she reached up to her brooch and unclasped it, her cloak falling from her shoulders. Dokugakuji's heated breath puffed over her tanned skin as he brought his lips to her exposed collarbone.
Tsuki ran her fingers through his hair as his lips trailed over her collarbone and up her neck before meeting her lips once more. Dokugakuji rested one hand on her lower back, pulling her in close while the other traveled up her back. Tsuki gasped, cupping the sides of Dokugakuji's face and whispered his name before leaning into another heated kiss. Dokugakuji's chest rumbled against her as he moaned against her lips. Tsuki felt Dokugakuji's arousal under her and she rolled her hips against him before wrapping her arms around him.
The thin material of their clothing left no room to the imagination as she continued her minimal actions, her breath speeding up and her own arousal becoming apparent. Dokugakuji growled against her, the kiss getting a bit more aggressive as he held onto her tightly, feet planted as he lightly lifted his hips up against her. Tsuki's heart raced faster as she pulled at the collar of his jacket, moaning his name softly. She undid the top clasps of his jacket just enough for her to snake a hand in, her nails tickling at taunt muscle as he shuddered under her.
Dokugakuji moved both hands to Tsuki's hips, moving her over him as they both moaned in pleasure. Tsuki broke the kiss once more, one hand gently tracing the firm features of his face with her other hand still tucked deep inside his jacket, over naked flesh. Tsuki breathed out his name, moving with him as she continued to rotate her hips over him. She was overwhelmed with her desire and need for him, the pleasure becoming too much as her breathing sped up. She called out for him again, his name dripping with lust from her lips as he leaned in to her neck and she held him close, calling out to him again.
"Doku-" Tsuki mumbled his name, her eyes snapping open as her body immediately sat her upright. Her mouth was dry and her body lightly trembled with residual desire from her dream. The faint sensation of Dokugakuji's body against hers lingered even though he was gone. The cool night air lapped at the thin layer of sweat that beaded her forehead as Tsuki assessed her surroundings. Her heart pounded loudly in her head, feeling lightheaded as she saw the backs of two silhouettes sitting on thick tree logs, Homura sat on the far side of the campfire staring right at her.
Tsuki gulped hard as she came back to her senses, the pleasurable sensations now being replaced with a void and cold emptiness like she had cheated on her lover. "Goku," a gravelly voice chuckled before the figure looked at her over his shoulder, "you dreaming about that monkey?" Tsuki shot a glare up at Xenon, she could feel the deep blush on her face, hoping the flames from the campfire didn't bring too much attention to her lust and embarrassment.
Shien turned to her with a look of concern. "Are you all right, my dear? You were restless for quite some time." "Restless," Xenon scoffed, "sounded like she was having a good time. Not thinking of making Goku your lover, are you?" "Xenon," Homura firmly called out, "that's enough." "Hey man, it's just a joke."
"Made in poor taste," Shien chimed before sipping at what she could only assume was a cup of his favorite tea. Tsuki rose to her feet, her legs a bit shaky as she tightly hugged her cloak around her body. "Of course, if I did make him my lover, if I asked him to, I'm sure the Great Sage would have no problem stripping the skin from your bones and leaving you a delightfully bloody mess."
Before giving him a chance to respond, Tsuki took her leave into the woods to calm herself. Xenon stared at her in stunned silence, sighing to himself as he scratched the back of his head. Once alone in the woods, Tsuki peeked at her outfit under her cloak. It was more conservative than the one in her dream, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She wrapped herself up again and began to analyze what the dream could've possibly meant.
Did she actually have feelings for that demon? No, he just keeps showing up and interfering with their mission. Not to mention their first encounter was just embarrassing and humiliating. The whole ordeal bothered her, so this was her brain's way of trying to cope with the unfortunate acquaintanceship they had. Yes, that had to be it. She delicately brought a hand up to her lips, the sensation of Dokugakuji kissing her with such passion remained. She stared down at her hand, still feeling a lingering warmth of his body under her palm.
Tsuki shook her head. "No," she reaffirmed to herself, balling her hand into a fist, "it was just a dream. None of that was real, it doesn't mean anything. I have to remain focused on the mission." "Tsuki," a calm voice carefully called out. Tsuki looked over her shoulder to see Homura. Her heart sank a bit further, but she also felt comfort in the fact that he followed her.
"Are you all right?" Tsuki inhaled deeply before giving a short nod. "I'm fine. It was just a dream." Homura raised a brow at her before he approached her. He wrapped his arms around Tsuki and held her close, his oversized jacket draping over her. Tsuki's heart began pounding hard again. "You know you can come to me about anything, my dear Tsuki," he comforted in a low voice. Her eyes began to well up a bit, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
She wrapped her arms around Homura and nodded against his chest, her eyes closing as she stood there in his arms. Homura tightened his embrace around Tsuki, and she sighed against him. "Yes," she thought, "this is where my heart truly lies, right here with the man I love." |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: games
Chapter 1
Trucy was at school, and Apollo had no clue what had suddenly overcome Phoenix. They were merely sitting on the couch, watching television, and generally hanging out on a slow day. Maybe Phoenix had been alone for too long, maybe he was really attracted to Apollo, or maybe he was just curious.
Whatever the cause was, Apollo found himself draped over Phoenix's lap, the older man kissing him with incredible fervor and undressing him at the same time. Apollo was confused due to the circumstances – this was Phoenix Wright, after all – but it wasn't like he was a virgin or anything. He'd had two girlfriends before, and there was that one time when he worked at Gavin Law Offices.
"Ack!" Apollo fell not-so-gently to the floor, landing on his hands and knees. Phoenix had managed to get him naked, it seemed, even though Apollo hadn't helped at all – or maybe he had, admittedly, he was sort of caught up in the moment, what with Phoenix kissing him the way he was. He wore not a stitch of clothing, save his bracelet.
He glanced behind him when he heard the rustling. Phoenix's hat had been discarded, and he was currently removing his hoodie. Apollo gulped; the older man was seriously going to go through with this, then. Not that Apollo minded – sure, Phoenix was pretty scruffy and hobo-like, but he was still attractive. And though Apollo was only with one man before, it hadn't been a bad experience. The sex was a little one-sided with Kristoph, but Apollo still felt good in the long run.
Apollo jerked as Phoenix kissed a path down his spine, tongue lolling from side to side. Okay, so no one did that before, especially not someone with such a whiskery face. Apollo heard himself moan when Phoenix reached the base of his spine, nipping at the flesh of his lower back. Phoenix's hands were on him, stroking his stiff cock and rolling his balls in his palm.
"Mr. Wright..." He was at a loss for words. Phoenix didn't look like much of a sex talker, anyway, which Apollo was grateful for. Just moan, breathe, encourage once in a while.
"What are you...? Mr. Wri...ohh!" The hot tongue lapping at his entrance definitely was not expected. Apollo sure as hell never considered a move like that would come into play during any of his sexual agendas.
Apollo arched his back, ass up high. Phoenix's whiskers lightly scratched him, but the tongue circling his anus felt so damn good. Apollo's arms were quivering; he was breathing hard, squeezing his eyes shut as Phoenix drove his tongue inside him. He wondered if he could come just from this.
Then fingers replaced the tongue. Phoenix chuckled. "Maybe I should've warned you." Apollo managed an "mmn." "I don't really have proper lube," Phoenix said. "It's... been awhile." "'s okay..." Slipping his pants down just enough to free his erection, Phoenix knelt in front of Apollo. "Suck it for a bit, okay?" Apollo swallowed before apprehensively taking Phoenix's cock into his mouth. He couldn't take in much, as he was a total amateur when it came to this, but Phoenix cradled the back of his head in his hand, looking down at him, hips flexing in encouragement.
"You can use your tongue, you know." Well, duh. But Phoenix's tone wasn't condescending, merely guiding. After a while, Phoenix pulled away. "I think that's enough." Apollo licked his lips as the older man positioned himself behind him, his inner voice telling him to relax. And then Phoenix was inching inside him, gripping his hips to keep him in place. Apollo breathed through his mouth, moaning; the intrusion burned, but it would get better, he knew Phoenix would make it better. Still, it hurt.
"You feel nice, Apollo." He picked up the arousal in Phoenix's voice right away, almost thanking him for the compliment. It was funny, though – Phoenix never asked if he was the first man Apollo had slept with. Apollo wondered if Kristoph had told him – they had been friends and all. Or if Phoenix figured he wasn't since Apollo was being so compliant. Maybe he just didn't care.
Phoenix thrust slowly, experimentally, and asked, "Ready?" Apollo nodded. Phoenix started at a slow pace, which Apollo appreciated. He was still adjusting, but the pain was quickly subsiding with every thrust. It wasn't long until Phoenix began pounding into him, leaving Apollo crying out with his fingers clawed into the carpet beneath them. Phoenix's cock lunged into his prostate, sending jolts of pleasure through Apollo's entire body. He was hard-pressed to keep his Chords of Steel under control.
"Talk dirty for me, Apollo," Phoenix panted. "Don't hold back." "M-Mr. Wright, I..." "Call me Phoenix. Or Daddy," the older man joked, gripping Apollo's hips and fucking him hard. "Ph-Phoe...ah!" Apollo's arms were shaking, trying to hold himself up as Phoenix thrust into him so deep it nearly threw him off balance. Phoenix told him to talk dirty – something he had no experience with. At all. Even thinking about it made him feel silly.
"Do it, Apollo." He didn't feel like it; it was so awkward, but Phoenix's husky voice and soft command were hard to disobey. "A-ah! Mr. Daddy! Oh!... Th-that's right, Daddy! Use the ass! Love the ass!" Apollo hoped his dirty-talking was what Phoenix was looking for – he didn't know what else to say. "Fuck me" seemed so cliché and lame.
Suddenly, he felt Phoenix's pace slow, then stop altogether. Apollo froze up. Was he laughing?! Apollo's face turned a deep scarlet. Yeah, apparently, he said the wrong thing. It didn't sound sexy to him, either, but he was never asked to do that before!
"I... Mr. Wr...Phoenix, I'm not really... um, w-with the dirty talk..." "Yeah, I noticed." Phoenix was still laughing. Yeah, so Apollo had said something really dumb. In all fairness, it was Phoenix's fault.
Apollo shivered as Phoenix pressed into his back, talking close to his ear. "But that's what makes you so cute." "I'm not cute...mnh!" He felt somewhat lucky that his poor attempt at "dirty talk" hadn't turned Phoenix off completely. The older man was still rock hard, and so was he.
Face pressed against Apollo's shoulder blades, Phoenix said, "It's alright. I can live without lines like that." Apollo lowered his face to the floor as Phoenix began to fuck him again, both of their slick bodies arching to meet each other. The scratching at his back felt strangely erotic. Phoenix was panting above him, one arm clamped around Apollo's waist to hold him in place.
"I'm gonna come," Apollo moaned, "Mr. Wright..." "Phoenix." "Phoenix!" Quickly, Apollo fisted his cock, muscles tightening. He shook and released, semen spurting from his cock and onto the yellow carpet. Phoenix palmed his forehead and pulled him back to kiss Apollo over his shoulder. Apollo sucked on Phoenix's tongue, one hand tangling into Phoenix's spiked hair.
Phoenix's rhythm broke. He pulled away and bit Apollo's shoulder as he came inside the younger man. The feeling was new to Apollo, so slick and wet with Phoenix's cum; it was almost too slippery, and he wasn't too sure how much he liked feeling the semen slowly leaking down his thigh when Phoenix pulled out, but damn if he wasn't utterly sated.
Apollo was still on all fours, recovering. His mind was spinning – he'd just had sex with Phoenix Wright. How, exactly, had he managed to sleep with yet another one of his mentors?
Phoenix rubbed his back affectionately. "You're pretty good, Apollo. We ought to do that again, I think." Apollo nodded mutely. "Next time, though, I think the dirty talk should stay out of it." Before Apollo could object, Phoenix stood and offered him a hand. "Come on, we gotta clean up before Trucy comes home. It's almost 2:15, and I don't think I want her to catch on to what Daddy did with her brother today."
Yeah... Apollo so could've done without Phoenix saying that little bit of weirdness. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: non_english
Chapter 1
Takashi otworzył oczy. Było mu niewygodnie, leżał na twardych, zimnych deskach podłogi w tej opuszczonej świątyni, którą znaleźli wczoraj, kiedy oddzielili się od reszty. Wiedział, że Rei i reszta są bezpieczni. Kimkolwiek byli tamci dziwni ludzie, uratowali ich. On i Saeko zostali oddzieleni i musieli radzić sobie sami. Dotarli do tej świątyni, a w okolicy nie było widać żadnego śladu Ich. Postanowili więc tu przenocować. Saeko została na dole, on poszedł się przespać na górze, ale niestety, nie znalazł żadnego futonu ani niczego miękkiego. Na podłodze spało się cholernie niewygodnie. Spojrzał na zegarek. Była pierwsza w nocy. Chciało mu się pić, ale nie miał niczego pod ręką. Może na dole coś będzie? Nie zakładając butów, zszedł po cichu na dół po schodach. Nie chciał obudzić śpiącej tutaj Busujimy.
Niestety, na dole było ciemno, znalezienie czegoś w tych egipskich ciemnościach wydawało się niemożliwe. Takashi, aby się nie potknąć, zszedł na czworaki, wypatrując gałęzi jak tylko mógł najuważniej. Pamiętał, że gdzieś tu powinny być ich torby, a w nich butelki z wodą mineralną. Gdzieś na ziemi, chyba pod ścianą.
Gdy ręka zacisnęła mu się na czymś miękkim, przez chwilę myślał, że znalazł to, czego szukał. Ale to było ciepłe… - Aaaaaaauuuaaa! – krzyknął, gdy potężne kopnięcie posłało go na ścianę. Pozbierał się z podłogi, ale zaraz potem oślepiło go wycelowane w jego twarz światło. Zamknął oczy.
- Komurrrro-kuuuun? – usłyszał znajomy głos, a zaraz potem odgłos chowania katany do pochwy – To tyyyy? Jak chce się zabawić, to trzeba było mieć najpierw dobudzić, idioto…
Otworzył oczy. Przed nim stała Saeko Busujima. W jednej ręce trzymała katanę, w drugiej latarkę. Miała na sobie swój mundurek, krótką, ciemnogranatową spódniczkę, białą bluzkę z zielonym kołnierzykiem. Wyglądała na zaspaną, ale wiedział, że wystarczy jeden ruch, aby go zabić. Tylko mówiła jakoś tak niewyraźnie i chyba nie do końca pewnie trzymała się na nogach.
- Ja szukałem… czegoś do picia, sempai – powiedział szybko Takashi, podnosząc się z podłogi i masując bolące plecy. Przeleciał chyba przez pół sali. Dobrze, że niczego sobie nie złamał. Przyjrzał się bliżej Saeko. Obok miejsca, w którym spała, leżała otwarta butelka sake. Alkohol? W takich okolicznościach? Teraz dopiero spostrzegł, że policzki sempai są jakby bardziej rumiane. Czyżby była wstawiona?
- Krrretyyn… - Saeko odłożyła katanę i latarkę – Pij? No to chodź tu, ja dam ci coś do picia – oparła się o ścianę, lekko się zataczając.
- Ja... już pójdę na górę – Takashi skierował się ku schodom, ale Saeko, zaskakująco jak na jej stan, szybko znalazła mu się na drodze.
- Poczekaj – powiedziała – Chcesz pić? To masz – powiedziała, podnosząc spódniczkę. Takashi spostrzegł, że nie miała pod nią majtek.
- No, kocham, wyłóż mnie… Tak mi się jakoś gorąco zrobiło… - Saeko, oparta o poręcz schodów, stała przed nim. Wiedział, że nawet jeśli jest pijana, nie ma z nią żadnych szans. Była zabójczo silna. No i piękna. Jego penis dawał temu znak, sprawiając, że Takashi czuł wyraźną niewygodę w spodniach, patrząc na nagą, gładką cipkę Saeko. Prześknął się. Taka szansa nie zdarza się co dzień. Skrupuły skrupułami, ale był przecież mężczyzną, a ona piękną kobietą.
- Niepodejrzane mam ci się…? – Saeko wyraźnie plątała się trochę językiem – Aaa moszeeee ty jesteś… ten, nooo…. gej? – ten docinek boleśnie ukłuł męską dumę Takashiego.
- Nie, ale… sempai, ja nie wiem…
- Noooo juuu… - Saeko położyła rękę na jego głowie, naciskając w dół. Stała przed nim na schodach z uniesioną spódniczką, a katana leżała niedaleko. A co mi, pomyślał Takashi, opadając na kolana i delikatnie, językiem dotknął ciepłego łona Saeko. Ta westchnęła, opierając się mocniej o poręcz. Spódniczka opadła, okrywając głowę Takashiego. Zaraz potem znalazła się na niej jedna z rąk Busujimy, która przyciskała ją.
Lizał ją najpierw po wierzchu, potem zaś delikatnie rozchylił palcami pączki jej kobiecości, wsuwając język do środka. Saeko odchyliła głowę do tyłu, jej długie, błękitne włosy opadały na plecy. Lizał coraz szybciej jej szparkę, od góry do dołu, pijąc jej soki, które coraz intensywniej płynęły. Gdy dotknął językiem jej łechtaczki, Saeko wydała z siebie przeciągły jęk. Takashi wystraszył się nawet, że może to ściągnąć tutaj Ich. Busujima przyciskała go do siebie mocniej. Czuł, jak jej ciało drży.
- Ohhh… - westchnęła głośno – Nooo… dodobrzzee…
Takashi słyszał kiedyś, że to najlepszy i najszybszy sposób, aby dać kobiecie orgazm, dlatego lizał jeszcze intensywniej. W końcu poczuł, jak jej ręka zaciska się na jej głowie jeszcze mocniej. Ciałem Saeko poruszył dreszcz, gdy doszła, pokrywając twarz Takashiego swoimi sokami.
- Mghgmmm… semmpaiii – Takashi starał się wysunąć głowę spod jej spódniczki, ale nie mógł, bo jej dłonie trzymały go. Zlizywał resztę jej soków, dając jej dodatkową rozkosz.
- Nooo… napijesz się do…? – spytała, pozwalając mu wreszcie się podnieść. Takashi oddychał cięko, ocierając mokrą twarz.
- Ta… tak, dziękuję, sempai, a teraz…
- No tooo terazz… - Busujima opadła na kolana – Ja ci zrobię dobrze, chłopie – to mówiąc, rozpięła Takashiemu rozporek. Czuł, że trzyma w rękach jego sztywnego już członka, chłopak wolał się nie ruszać, wiedząc, że pijana Saeko mogłaby nawet przez przypadek zrobić z niego kastrata. Poza tym, Rei to Rei, ale o tym, że Busujima sempai zrobi im loda, marzyła chyba większość uczniów liceum. Saeko otworzyła szeroko usta i objęła wargami sterczący męski członek Takashiego. Przesuwała rytmicznie głowę w przód i w tył, pokrywając go swoją śliną. Takashi poczuł lekki dreszcz, kiedy wzięła w dłoni jego jądra, masując je. Na szczęście nie urwała ani nie zmiażdżyła ich przez przypadek. Położył ręce na jej głowie, wsuwając je pod jej długie włosy.
- Ohhh… sempai – westchnął, kiedy Saeko robiła mu loda. Patrzył na jej piersi, wystające spod cienkiej, białej bluzki. Były takie duże, a kiedy się poruszała, podskakiwały rytmicznie. Takashi nie mógł oderwać od nich wzroku. Było mu tak dobrze. Chociaż pijana jak bela, Saeko obciągała mu tak, że zapomniał już o wszystkich okolicznościach całej sprawy. Jej pełne, ciemne wargi zaciskały się na jego członku. Czuł, że długo tego nie wytrzyma. Wyprostował się, dochodząc w jej ustach.
- Glurrrrppp… - policzki Busujimy wydęły się, ale dziewczyna połknęła jednak wszystko. Gdy otworzyła usta, niewielka struga nasienia zmieszanego z jej śliną spłynęła po jej wargach i brodzie. Wytarła ją szybko i opierając się o poręcz schodów, podniosła się.
- Nooo tooo… kwiita… - zrobiła krok do przodu, ale nogi najwyraźniej poplątały jej się. Runęła przed siebie. Takashi w ostatniej chwili złapał ją w ramiona. Nie była ciężka. Jak na jej wzrost i siłę, była nawet całkiem lekka. Złapał ją pewniej i zaczął nieść. Saeko oparła głowę na jego piersi, mrucząc coś, czego nie rozumiał. Ale z kolei jej piersi miały tuż przed nosem. Trudno mu było oderwać od nich wzrok. Tak, były jak marzenie. Chciałby ich dotknąć.
- Ojjooojojojojoj! – krzyknął, gdy jego noga, zamiast na deskach podłogi, oparła się o leżącą na ziemi butelkę. Oczywiście, wywinął kozła, a spoczywająca w jego ramionach Saeko poleciała do góry. W ostatniej chwili udało mu się wyhamować upadek i nie uderzyć głową o podłogę, kiedy nagle opadła na niego Busujima – sempai, przygniatając do ziemi. Jej niebieskie oczy patrzyły prosto w jego oczy z wyraźnym zaskoczeniem.
- Co… jakkk… - spytała, po czym nagle, bez zapowiedzi czy ostrzeżenia, rozpięła płaczącymi się palcami bluzkę. Jej duże, pełne piersi, okryte barwnym, granatowo-różowym stanikiem, zawisły nad twarzą Takashiego.
- Duuszznooo tu, Komurrrro-kkkun, nieee? – spytała, ale on nie odpowiedział, wpatrzony w te dwa cuda balansujące ledwie kilka centymetrów od jego twarzy. Zaraz potem jego oczy przykrył stanik, który rozpięty spadł z jej piersi. Zsunął go szybko, podnosząc się i przyciskając twarz do jej piersi. Były takie ciepłe i miękkie. Saeko objęła go i przytuliła.
- Noo… juuu… dopsszee… Komurrro-kun… dopsze… - powtarzała, podczas gdy on całował jej piersi. Odkąd ją spotkał, marzył po kryjomu, aby to zrobić, ale oczywiście musiało to pozostać w sferze jego marzeń. Teraz, kiedy wreszcie pojawiła się szansa, nie miał zamiaru rezygnować. Jej dłonie głaskały jego głowę, kiedy on ssał jej twarde sutki.
- Busujima-sempai, ja… - powiedział, kiedy podniósł głowę. Ale Saeko, nie mówiąc ani słowa, wstała, po czym zsunęła z nóg spódniczkę i zaraz potem zdjąła majtki i rzuciła je obok. Pochyliła się i rozpięła spodnie Takashiego. Jego penis był twardy i gotowy.
- Komuro-kkkun – powiedziała, uśmiechając się. Mówiła już płynniej, jakby alkohol nie plątał jej już języka. Dosiadła go. Poczuł, jak w nią wchodzi. Była mokra i rozgrzana, więc bez problemu wsunął się do jej środka. Był prawiczkiem, przynajmniej jeszcze kilka sekund temu. Saeko nadawała rytm, siedząc na nim i poruszając się rytmicznie. Sięgnął ku niej, masując nadal jej pełne piersi, podskakujące wraz z każdym ruchem bioder. Wzdychała namiętnie, gdy penetrował ją. Czuł, jak zaciska się na nim, wciągając go jak najgłębiej siebie. Czuł się jak w niebie. Wokół mogło się roić od zombie, ale teraz było mu wszystko, bo robił to, o czym cała reszta facetów z ich liceum mogła tylko marzyć. Pewnie zresztą większość już nie żyła. Czuł jej ciepło, jej bliskość. Chociaż wokół było ciemno, krople wilgoci błyszczały na ich ciałach w świetle leżącej na ziemi, ciągle włączonej latarki. Saeko poruszała się coraz szybciej, oparta dłońmi o jego ramiona.
- Busujima-sempai… dochodzę… - jęknął Takashi, po czym wystrzelił w nią. Saeko nie wydawała się mieć nic przeciwko. Przeciwnie, jej zaciśnięta cipka wyciskała z niego wszystko, sama zaś obficie skrapiała go jej sokami miłosnymi. Saeko wyprostowała się, głośno jęcząc, kiedy ją taką ogarnął rozkosz.
- Komurrrro… kun… - Saeko opadła na jego piersi, po czym zamknęła oczy i zapadła w głęboki sen. Takashi patrzył na nią zaskoczony. Wciąż był jeszcze w niej, a jej duże, jędrne piersi spoczywały na jego klatce piersiowej. Próbował ją obudzić, ale spała mocnym, pijackim snem. Powoli podniósł ją, zdjął z siebie, ubrał, a następnie położył na jej posłaniu. Spojrzał na nią raz jeszcze, leżała taka bezbronna i niewinnie wyglądająca, jakby nic nie zaszło. Westchnął. Był wyczerpany. Po czymś takim od razu zasnęł, nie przejmując się już niewygodą twardych desek świątynnej podłogi. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: non_english
Chapter 1
Saeko Busujima szła przez miasto. Był już wieczór, ale trening w dojo tego wieczora jej się przedłużył i to sprawiło, że dopiero teraz mogła wrócić do domu. Samochody mijają ją, a światła neonów świecą jasno. Słońce powoli zachodzi, ale dzięki neonom na ulicach miasta ciągle jest jasno. Saeko wie, że ta dzielnica nie ma najlepszej reputacji, ale nie boi się. Drewniany miecz, który trzyma w ręku, nie jest przecież dla ozdoby. Kilka razy już w życiu musiała go używać przeciwko bandytom. Zresztą, zdarzało jej się nawet, że sama ich prowokowała, żeby potem przywalić im. To było zabawne. Czasami trochę się tego boi. Za leicht dawała się opanować przemocy.
- Ej, cizia, chcesz się zabawić? – Usłyszała głos. Znowu jacyś napaleni durnie. Już chciała się oddalić, ale jej ręka zacisnęła się mocniej na mieczu. Odwróciła się. Naprzeciwko niej stało dwóch chłopaków. Jeden miał skórzany płaszcz i niebieskie włosy postawione na irokeza, drugi miał jasny dres i był prawie łysy. Typowe menele, pomyślała. To może być wesoło. Przynajmniej się trochę zabawi, spuszczając im wpierdol. Sami się przecież o niego proszą.
- Proszę… nie róbcie mi krzywdy – powiedziała, udając strach. Zrobiła krok do tyłu. Zbliżali się do niej, śmiejąc się obleśnie. - Nie bój się, nic ci nie zrobimy… to może być nawet dla ciebie przyjemne – powiedział ten z irokezem, oblizując się. - Kei, zobacz, jakie ona ma cycki – powiedział jego kumpel, podchodząc do niej bliżej. - Nie… nie… - Saeko dalej udawała przestraszoną dziewczynę, trzymając drewniany miecz za plecami. - Zaraz będziesz krzyczeć „tak, tak” – powiedział Kei, próbując złapać ją za rękę.
Nie zdążył. W tym samym momencie jej ręka wystrzeliła do przodu, a drewniana rękojeść miecza uderzyła punka w podbródek. Chłopak wystrzelił do góry i zaraz potem spadł na dół, trzymając się za szczękę i pluł krwią. Dziewczyna nie czekała i jej obcas wbił się w brzuch drugiego. - Arughhh!!!! – jęczał, zginając się w pół. Wtedy jej ręka znalazła się na jego głowie, a twarz zaraz potem spotkała się z jej kolanem. Poczuła, jak chrupnął złamany nos. Odrzuciła go i podeszła do punka, który właśnie się podnosił. Złapała go za rękę i wykręciła ją boleśnie do tyłu. - Aaaaaaaa!!! – zawył z bólu chłopak, kiedy Saeko prawie złamała mu rękę. - Co mówiłeś o nic nie robieniu? – szepnęła mu do ucha, a kiedy nic nie powiedział, szarpnęła jego rękę mocniej. Ugryzła go w ucho. - Aaaaaa!!! – krzyknął. - No, dalej… - Aaaahhhhaaaahhhaaa!!!
Saeko dobrze się bawiła. Czuła, jak chłopak wił się z bólu. Miała prawdziwą ochotę skręcić mu kark, ale to mogło być kłopotliwe. Nie chciała mieć problemów z policją. SLAP! Nagle coś uderzyło ją w głowę. Saeko puściła chłopaka i padła nieprzytomna na ziemię. Nad nią stał chłopak w dresie, trzymający w ręce kawałek drewnianej ławki. Z jego złamanego nosa ciągle leciała krew. Jego kumpel podniósł się. - So sa dzifka… - powiedział, wypluwając złamany ząb – Sapnący nam sa to… Bierzmy ją, Ryo. Do meliny.
Gdy Saeko odzyskała świadomość, poczuła potworny ból głowy. Leżała na łóżku w jakimś brudnym pokoju. Ściany były obdrapane, firanki ciemne od dymu papierosowego. Była związana, jej ręce sznurkiem związane razem, a potem przywiązane do jej stóp. Jej nogi równie étaient związane. Kawałek szmaty wepchnięto w jej usta, a potem obtoczono, aby tam zostać. - Mhmppmmm!!! – Saeko nie była w stanie powiedzieć ani słowa. Szarpała się i próbowała rozwiązać, ale nie mogła. Sznur wdzierał się w jej ręce i nogi, ale nie chciał puścić. Po kilku minutach drzwi do pokoju otworzyły się. Wszedł punk o imieniu Kei. - Czas na zabawę, ścira – powiedział, uśmiechając się. Ciągle seplenił po tym, jak Saeko wybiła mu zęby.
- Mhmmmm!!!!! – jęczała, kiedy poszedł i odwiązał jej ręce od jej nóg, rozciągając ją na łóżku. Szarpała się za jej bluzkę i zerwał ją. Guziki rozsypały się na wszystkie strony. Zerwana bluzka poleciała na ziemię, a zaraz potem znalazła się tam jej stanik. Punk zacisnął ręce na jej piersiach. Zaczął jej mocno gnieść i masować. - Naaaaa!!! – jęczała Saeko, protestując. Miała dominujący charakter i nie lubiła, kiedy ktoś jej rozkazywał. A już w łóżku. Nie, nie cierpiała tego. Kei nie przejmował się tym oczywiście. Masował jej duże piersi, przyciskając je do siebie. Czuła, jak jej sutki twardnieją. - S takimi cyckami będziesz ciwką jak nis – powiedział Kei, pochylając się nad nią i biorąc jej sutek do ust, liżąc, ssąc i gryząc go. Jego zęby zacisnęły się na jej twardniejącym sutku.
- Ghmmm!!!!! – Busujima bezradnie szarpała się, nie mogąc się uwolnić. Czuła, jak jej ciało powoli ogarnia podniecenie, choć nie chciała go, nie w takiej sytuacji. Jej piersi były molestowane. Kei podniósł się i dalej masując jej piersi rękami, zbliżył usta do jej twarzy. Otworzył usta i patrzył, jak jego ślina kapie na jej twarz. - Hej, zaczął się beze mnie? – do pokoju wszedł drugi, o imieniu Ryo, ten sam, który ją ogłuszył. - Sorki, stary – Kei wstał z drżącej Saeko. - Rozwij jej nogi, weźmiemy ją obaj na raz – powiedział Ryo, zdejmując spodnie, kiedy Kei wyszedł i przeciągał sznur trzymający jej nogi razem. Saeko próbowała się podnieść, ale nie zdążyła, bo zaraz znalazła się między dwójką młodych, silnych mężczyzn. Jej spódniczka i majtki poleciały na ziemię, obie w kawałkach.
- Mghmmm!!!!! – krzyczała. Cztery ręce i dwa języki wędrowały po jej ciele, dotykając ją wszędzie. Lizali jej kark i piersi, ich ręce wchodziły między jej nogi, masturbując ją. Czuła uszczypnięcia i ugryzienia. Ich nagie ciała ocierały się o nią. Kei położył się na łóżku, a Ryo pchnął Saeko na niego, umieszczając ją na nim. Jego ręce chwyciły za jej piersi, gniotąc i masując je dalej.
- Aiiieeeeeeeee!!!! – krzyknęła głośno, kiedy obaj weszli w nią na raz od obu stron. W jej dużych oczach pojawiły się łzy. Kei wtargnął do jej cipki, cały czas zajmując się jej piersiami. Ryo wziął ją od tyłu, penetrując jej ciasną dupę z całą siłą. Ich ręce nie przestawały bawić się jej ciałem. Rozpaczliwie szarpała rękami, próbując zerwać z nich sznurek, ale nie mogła.
Ryo trzymał ją mocno za pieprzyca ją w dupę. Jego język dotykał jej pleców i karku. Od czasu do czasu gryzł ją lekko. Jej duże piersi wisiały na twarzy Keiego, który ssał jej twarde sutki.
- Ghmmmm!!!!! – Busujima jęczała z bezsilnego bólu, kiedy jej duże piersi wypełniały ból od ciągłego ściskania, gniecenia i gryzienia. Ale też czuła, jak rośnie jej podniecenie. Język, który liżąc się po jej plecach, tylko to podniecenie zwiększał. Szarpała się i jęczała. Dwaj mężczyźni ujeżdżali ją coraz mocniej i szybciej. Wiedziała, że nie będzie w stanie z tym dłużej walczyć.
- Auuughhhmmmmm!!!!! – knebel pochłonął jej jęk, kiedy doszła, równo z oboma mężczyznami. Ich nasienie wypełniło ją do granic, sprawiając, że jej orgazm był najmocniejszym, jaki przeżyła. Przyjemność wypełniła jej ciało całkowicie. Mężczyźni wyszli z niej, ale nadzieja Saeko na to, że to już koniec, szybko minęła. Obaj zmienili miejsca i wszystko zaczęło się od nowa. Trwało to długo.
Nad ranem Kei i Ryo siedli na łóżku, pijąc piwo. Saeko klęczała między nogami Ryo, który trzymał ją za głowę i zmuszał do robienia mu laski. Jej ciało pokryte było potem i śladami nasienia, oraz czerwonymi śladami po ugryzieniach. Wszystko ją bolało. Czuła się słaba i biedna. Nie wierzyła, że to możliwe, żeby ona, która zawsze pomiatała innymi, znalazła się w takiej sytuacji. Wielki penis między jej wargami oraz jądra obijające się o jej twarz przypominały jej co się stało. - Co z nią zrobimy? – spytał Kei. - Wypuścimy? - To nas wsypie. Musimy coś wymyślić. - Chyba nie chcesz jej zabijać? - Pojebało cię? Za to można iść do końca życia do mamra. - No to co w takim razie? - Zaraz… Pójdziesz wszystko! - Gulp… gulp… - Saeko posłusznie połknęła jego nasienie. Miała go już w sobie dużo tej nocy. - Przyplinuj ją, a ja zadzwonię w jedno miejsce.
- Dobra, chodź tu, szmato – Kei złapał ją za długie, oblepione w kilku miejscach nasieniem włosy i przyciągnął do siebie, podtykając jej penisa do ust – Rób mi loda, suko! Ryo wyszedł z pokoju. Wrócił po kilkunastu minutach, trzymając kubek. Saeko siedziała na kolanach Keiego, który bawił się jej piersiami. Ryo podszedł do niej i zmusił ją do wypicia zawartości. To chyba była cola. Busujima, dławiąc się i krztusząc, wypiła wszystko. Kilka chwil potem leżała nieprzytomna na ziemi. - To trucizna? – spytał Kei. - Nie, mocny środek nasenny. Żeby nie robiła problemów podczas transportu. - Transportu? - Tak, załatwiłem wszystko. Zabiorę ją stąd i jeszcze nam zapłacę. - Gdzie zabiorę? - A to już nie nasza sprawa. Płacę i tyle.
Saeko obudziła się na zimnej, betonowej podłodze. Wokół niej były metalowe pręty tworzące jakby klatkę. Na szyi miała metalową obrożę, do której przyczepiony był łańcuch łączący ją z klatką. Jej ręce były związane za jej plecami. Wszystko ją bolało. Jej nagie ciało ciągle miało ślady seksu, do którego była zmuszona. Ale gdzie była? Nie wiedziała. Czy to była piwnica tych dwóch bandziorów? A może jakieś inne miejsce? Nie mogła sobie przypomnieć niczego, żadnej podróży ani nic. Nie wiedziała, jak długo tu była ani jak się tu znalazła. Czuła, jak boli ją ramię. Widziała na ręce ślady nakłuć, chyba jakichś igieł.
Niedługo usłyszała kroki. Do jej klatki podeszły trzy wysokie, silnie wyglądające kobiety. Jedna z nich otworzyła klatkę i złapała za łańcuch, odczepiając go od klatki. Szarpnęła nim, zmuszając Saeko do wstania. - Idziemy – powiedziała kobieta, a Saeko automatycznie wstała. Czuła, że musi być posłuszna. To było coś dziwnego, nigdy się tak nie czuła. Zawsze to ona innym rozkazywała. Czemu? Co się stało? Czy to od tego, co jej wstrzyknęli?
- Gdzie ja jestem? – spytała Busujima, wstając powoli. Czuła się słaba. Żadna z kobiet nie odpowiedziała jej, tylko zmusiły ją, żeby poszła za nimi. Została zaprowadzona pod prysznic. Strumień ciepłej wody i gąbka z mydłem zmyły z niej ślady seksu. Jedna z kobiet umyła jej włosy szamponem. Suszarkami i ręcznikami wysuszono ją. Posłusznie dała się zaprowadzić do innego pokoju. Tam posadzono ją na krześle. Jedna z kobiet nałożyła jej mocny, ostry, wyzywający makijaż, podkreślony czerwoną szminką. Gdy skończyły, wzięły się za jej ubranie. Dostała do założenia czerwoną, prowokującą bieliznę, krótką, czarną spódniczkę, ledwie zakrywającą pośladki i krótką bluzkę, kończącą się trochę poniżej jej piersi. Wysokie obcasy, na których ledwie mogła stać, były ostatnim elementem.
Gdy już skończono, zaprowadzono ją do innego pomieszczenia. Tam zmuszono ją do ustawienia się po środku pokoju. Przy pomocy łańcuchów została zmuszona do stania w miejscu, z rękami uniesionymi do góry. Dopiero teraz dostrzegała kilka wycelowanych w nią kamer. Na ekranach nad nimi pojawiały się sumy pieniędzy. Zrozumiała. Była licytowana. Zaczęła się rozpaczliwie szarpać, ale łańcuchów nie mogła zerwać. Widziała, jak liczby na ekranach rosną. W końcu jeden z ekranów zaświecił się. Zaraz potem do pokoju weszły te same kobiety. Rozwiązały ją, ale zaraz związały jej ręce za plecami. Saeko szarpała się, ale bez efektu. Wyprowadzono ją do dużej sali, w której znajdowały się pudła. - Niieeeeee!! Nieeee!!! Nghmmmm!!! – jej krzyki zostały przerwane, kiedy do ust wcisnięto jej plastikową kulkę jako knebel. Zanim zdążyła się zorientować, zapakowano ją do jednego z pudeł. Ich ściany były wyścielane materiałem i gąbką. Patrzyła tylko, jak wieko jest zamykane i słyszała przybijanie gwoździ.
Gdy Saeko otworzyła oczy, stwierdziła, że nie jest już w skrzyni. Leżała na łóżku. Chciała przetrzeć oczy, ale odkryła, że ręce ma dalej związane za plecami. Powoli wstała. Leżała na różowej pościeli. Pokój, w którym się znajdowała, cały urządzony był na różowo. Meble, ciuchy, wszystko. Saeko patrzyła na to z niesmakiem i obrzydzeniem. Ale gdzie się znajdowała? Co to za miejsce? Wtedy drzwi się otworzyły do środka wszedł… Kohta!
- Co? Kohta? Uwolnij mnie, szybko! – krzyknęła Saeko. W odpowiedzi uderzenie otwartą dłonią posłało ją na łóżko. - Zamknij gębę, niewolnico – powiedział Kohta, patrząc na nią. Saeko obróciła się do niego, jej policzek był cały czerwony. - Kohta, ja… - Na kolana, niewolnico!
Saeko była za słaba, żeby się opierać, a dodatkowo nie potrafiła. Spełniała każdy rozkaz, jaki usłyszała. Padła na kolana przed swoim znajomym ze szkoły. - Słuchaj, zapłaciłem za ciebie dużo pieniędzy, musiałem sprzedać część mojej kolekcji i jeszcze wziąć kredyt. Ale musiałem cię mieć. Od tej pory będziesz moją niewolnicą. Zrozumiałaś? - Tak… - patrzyła na niego z niechęcią, ale nic nie mogła zrobić. Była bezsilna. Ona, która zamiatała pod nogi silniejszych od niego, klęczała posłusznie przed tym grubym nerdem.
- A teraz do pracy – powiedział i rozpiął zamek w spodniach, wysuwając na wierzch swojego członka. - Tak – odpowiedziała Saeko i posłusznie zaczęła całować jego duży wacka. Jej język przesuwał się po całej jego długości. Uniosła go i wzięła do ust jego jaja, liżąc je długo i namiętnie. Gdy skończyła, otworzyła usta i wzięła między swoje czerwone wargi jego fiuta. Centymetr po centymetrze wsuwała go coraz głębiej. Jej język pieścił go, podczas gdy ona ssała go. Czuła, że wiele mu nie potrzeba. Nie znosiła smaku nasienia, ale skoro nie kazał jej wyjmować penisa z ust, to dokończyła go w nich. Kohta patrzył zadowolony, jak połyka jego nasienie. Wiedziała, że choć go nienawidzi, nie zrobi niczego, żeby mu się przeciwstawić. Już się zastanawia, jakie stroje jej kupi. Miała w niej wierną i posłuszną niewolnicę. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: harry_potter
Chapter 1: (Not) A Romance Story
The party was in full swing when Harry decided it was safe to leave the small coffee shop. Tonight, the Three Broomsticks was holding a Commemoration Party for the defeat of the Dark Lord, and most of the wizarding population around Hogsmeade were gathering there. Between the euphoria of meeting and catching up with old friends again, most had forgotten about him, and Harry was glad they had. It was suffocating in there, with all the people talking and being happy in general. He could not bring himself to be like them.
It was chilling outside. The clear winter night sky was decorated with thousands of bright stars, and even the moon looked brighter than usual. It was a lovely night to be outside. The street was almost empty, except for a few stragglers who were too drunk to remember their way home.
Cold breezes rushed past him, and Harry fumbled with his robe for his wand; lovely night or not, it was still too cold. After casting the warming charm on his robe, Harry moved further away from the entrance and walked down the familiar street that led him to Hogwarts, not exactly sure why he wanted to see that place – those ruins – again. That was when he saw the shadow of a man, leaning against the brick wall across the street. Harry was not in the mood to chat, but he waved at the man nonetheless after he saw clearly who the man was.
"Hey, Seamus," Harry said, stopping just a few paces from his friend.
Seamus was biting his cigarette and stared absently into the darkness. The cool air made his deep breathing visible, steamy like. There was a bitter line at the corner of his lips, and his eyes were dull. It might be the smoke that made his eyes lose their normally cheerful nature, or the fact that Seamus had grown up somewhat.
"Hey," said Seamus, his voice thick from alcohol and deeper from age. It sounded wrong to Harry's ears.
Harry smiled a bit awkwardly and gestured to the cigarette in Seamus' hand. "I never knew you smoked."
"I've never smoked before," Seamus shrugged, grinning slightly. "Dean smokes. He offered me a sniff, so I thought, why not?"
Harry was not sure how he felt about that. The war seemed to have a permanent effect on people. For him, he was even more quiet and reserved, and was not as trusting as he used to be. For Seamus, the Irishman had become even more of a risk-taker and seemed not to have any care for the world.
Seamus was wrinkling his nose at the wispy cloud of smoke rising slowly from the cigarette. "The smell is disgusting. I don't like it one bit, but well, you should try this sometime. It's not that bad, after you get used to the smell, that is."
Harry had to chuckle. Only Seamus could be like that; did not like something, but did it anyway because he could. "No, thanks. I like my lungs the way they are."
Seamus shrugged again. "Whatever. It's your loss, not mine."
Harry smiled. "How have you been, Seamus? I heard you applied for a position in the Ministry."
"Grapevine news, eh?" the Irishman snorted, but he sobered quickly. "Yes, but not at this Ministry. I'm moving out of the country. I know there are some places that are more accepting of my... condition."
Harry did not ask what he meant by "condition"; he had heard enough in his sixth year at Hogwarts to know exactly what the word meant. Everyone knew it, in fact. Seamus' breaking up with Blaise Zabini was a hush-hush affair, which meant that everyone from first-year Hufflepuffs and their pets to the professors knew about it on the first day. It was not a pretty situation for either Seamus or Zabini. The wizarding world tolerated homosexuals as long as it was not exposed. Harry thought he knew what they were coming from. The wizarding population was so low as it was, added to that, people were being killed every day by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. The low birth rate because of the fear for their children's lives was not helping either. Well, homosexuality was a straw too much for the camel's back.
"You're being awfully quiet," Seamus remarked, breaking Harry from his musings. "You know that I'm not bitter or anything, right? I'm being myself, and that's enough. I'm happy. Well, sorta. I don't need your pity, or anyone's, for that matter."
"I do not pity you," Harry started, but shut up when he heard the other man mumble "Right, of course" under his breath. Harry knew Seamus didn't believe him, but was willing to let the subject drop.
There was a tense silence after that, and Harry did not know how to break it. He suddenly realized that he did not know this Seamus. This man was not the cheerful and chatty boy Harry remembered, and Harry did not know what to say to him.
"Enough talk about me," Seamus abruptly said, grinning slightly. "I heard you're doing great as the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes investor. They're going to beat Zonko soon, you know. There'll only be Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes products here at Hogwarts. Last time I heard, Zonko was making new products to compete with the Twins."
"Yeah," Harry grinned. "The Twins are too good at making prank stuff. Zonko will never beat them. I'm just glad they're doing fine. The Weasleys deserve to be happy after all that happened to them."
Seamus stopped smiling and kicked absently at a pebble near his foot. "Yeah, well, about that... I'm sorry about Ginny. I'm not that close to her, but I'm sure she was a nice girl."
Harry frowned and looked away. That wound was still too fresh, and it pained him to be reminded of her. "She was. I don't have much of a 'family,' and the Weasleys took me in. She was like my little sister."
Harry missed her. She was fiercely loyal and knew too much pain in her young life. At the same time, she was hopelessly innocent in some aspects. Like when she was captured by the Death Eaters with a few of her Muggle friends, she tried to talk to 'Tom' in Voldemort to let them go, only to make him become more furious and torture them all to death.
Harry let go of a shaky breath. He did not want to meet the other's eyes for fear that he would find pity in them, but if only he looked, he would have found that they were bright with compassion and understanding. Green eyes fluttered shut when Harry felt warm arms wrapped around his shoulder. He let himself be held for only a second and then tried to get free. Seamus shrugged and let go of his friend, his face spoke clearly that he was willing to listen if Harry wanted to talk.
But Harry didn't want to talk, so he fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve and tried to think of something to say and change the topic. After a while, Seamus sighed in an amused but exasperated way and started a new topic himself.
"You know, I've always fantasized about fucking you," Seamus said, his eyes twinkled merrily. "Or you fucking me."
Well, trusted Seamus to think up a topic that Harry was even more uncomfortable talking about. Harry gaped at his friend unbelievingly; his face was so comical that Seamus had to laugh.
"Relax, Harry, I was only teasing you! I am yet to give up on Blaise, you know that. Besides, you're so amusing when you're startled."
Harry spluttered in dignity for a full minute before he managed to bring himself to respond to that comment. "Well, you shouldn't do that, or I might think that you're really interested in me!"
Seamus shrugged again. "Well, I am. But you're not supposed to know that."
Harry was uncomfortable, to say the least, especially when Seamus threw his cigarette away and looked at him from under those sandy eyelashes.
"You are a fine-looking bloke, Harry, and you have a good heart. What's not to like about you? Well, maybe not your infamous temper, but beside that, you're a good guy to fantasize about," Seamus smirked. His smile reminded Harry of their old days at Hogwarts; playing Quidditch, snarking about Slytherins, and generally having a good time around each other.
"Stop it, Seamus," Harry spoke softly.
"No, you stop it, Harry," Seamus snapped, his face crumpled, and then he looked away. "It's not like I'm going to jump you or anything."
His smile crooked with bitterness, and that was making Harry feel guilty. They just stood like that, no one knew what to talk about, or was willing to make up a new topic, and it was extremely uncomfortable. Harry fidgeted with his hair and looked away, but subtly gauged Seamus' emotion from the corner of his eyes.
"Well, since the cat was already out of the bag," Seamus began, making Harry almost jump at the abruptness of it. "Would you like to try?"
"WHAT?" Harry's eyes were as huge as saucers.
"This," Seamus gestured vaguely. "Want to try?"
The refusal stuck in his mouth, and Harry swallowed thickly, looking into those eyes as if looking for something, but did not know what he was looking for either. So he kept on looking, and when the hand touched his cheek and the face moved closer, Harry did not flinch.
Red lips claimed his, and breathed the moist hot air into his mouth. The air was stained with the smell of cigarette and brandy, but it was strangely intoxicating, so Harry opened his mouth even more and let the clever tongue roam his mouth freely. When the tip of the tongue teased a particular place behind his teeth, Harry shivered and moaned deliriously, his knees weakened just a little more. When the teeth nibbled gently at his lower lip, and a hand moved under the band of his boxer, Harry was lost.
It was more than he could take. The heat spread all over his groin and anywhere else that was touched by those heated body parts. It was ice and fire; the cool night air, the hot tongue, the cold zipper, the terribly warm hands. Seamus was awfully adept with his hands too.
"Sea–" Harry gasped, arching for more of those naughty fingers, and the other was more than glad to oblige. It was when Harry was toppled over the edge of blissfulness that he remembered the other's stiff length, still hiding behind the thick pants, rubbing rhythmically against his thigh. Or the hot, wetness that started seeping through their pants.
"Gods, Seamus," Harry whispered, running a hand through his hair awkwardly and looking everywhere except at Seamus.
The Irishman only smiled in response, pulled out a handkerchief, and carelessly wiped off Harry's come from his hand. Harry blankly watched him do that, all the while blushing hotly. When Seamus raised his eyebrow and gestured to his crotch with the question if he wanted to be "cleaned" too, Harry shook his head violently and backed away a step.
"Gods..." Harry whispered again. His face felt like it was on fire. It was so embarrassing, this situation. He was not used to being so... abandoned with his partners, not that he had many, but still, being so openly pleased was not something he would normally show. But this was Seamus, his friend for seven years and more, not some stranger witch or wizard trying to molest him. But friends were not supposed to do that to each other!
Seamus was still acting all cool and reached for his discarded cigarette, picked it up, and looked at the ashes at its end intently, as if waiting for something to happen. Harry was certain the other was actually waiting for him to make the first move. After all, it was not every day that you performed a fantastic hand job to your mate that was up until now firmly believed to be straight, although that mate was not so sure of his heterosexuality now after the hand job in question.
Gods, this was so confusing as hell, Harry thought. But Seamus was still waiting...
So Harry gathered all his Gryffindor bravery, bit his lower lip, and asked, his messed-up trousers.
"Will you come with me tonight?"
"I just came. You could at least wait for a guy to recover first," Seamus playfully complained, airily waving at his sticking pants.
"Seamus!" Harry reprimanded, blushing hotly.
Seamus smiled. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: non_english
Chapter 1
Alleyne przeskoczyła z drzewa na drzewo, tak szybko, że człowiek nie dałby rady tego zauważyć. Jej podwójna włócznia błyszczała w promieniach słońca, które przedzierały się przez gałęzie drzew. Strażniczka lasu poruszała się bardzo szybko i bardzo cicho. Do okolicy słychać było szum drzew i śpiew ptaków. Niedaleko szumiały potoki. Alleyne zatrzymała się, jej zielony strój sprawiał, że była prawie niewidoczna wśród liści. Słuchała i patrzyła uważnie. Gdzieś tutaj spodziewała się znaleźć potwora, który od jakiegoś czasu terroryzował tę część lasu. Nasłuchiwała i czuwała, patrząc na niedużą polankę nad rzeką, która płynęła przez las. To było idealne miejsce na pułapkę. Duże ślady na ziemi wskazywały, że tutaj przychodzi.
Nie wiedziała, ile minęło czasu, kiedy usłyszała kroki i pochrząkiwanie. Wielka, pokryta futrem, bestia weszła na polankę. Miała grube, krótkie łapy zakończone długimi pazurami. Nogi były podobne, krótkie i umięśnione. Wysokie oczy uważnie patrzyły przed siebie. Nie mogły jednak zauważyć ukrytej na drzewach strażniczki. Potwór szedł powoli, ale Alleyne wiedziała, że jeśli chce, potrafi być szybki i zwinny. Nie chciała niepotrzebnie ryzykować i poczekała, aż podejdzie do wody. Kiedy wąchany kark pochylił się nad powierzchnią rzeki i elfka usłyszała, jak chłepta wodę, postanowiła, że to najlepszy moment na atak. Potem mogło już być za późno. Jasnowłosa strażniczka zacisnęła ręce na swojej długiej włóczni.
Skoczyła tak jak się poruszała, szybko i cicho. Ludzie w takich sytuacjach krzyczeli, bo chcieli przestraszyć wroga i dodać sobie odwagi. Potwór poczuł, że ktoś go atakuje dopiero wtedy, kiedy Alleyne wylądowała mu na karku. Uniosła szybko włócznię i wbiła jej końcówkę w plecy bestii, przebijając ją na wylot. Głosny ryk, pełen bólu i wściekłości, rozległ się w okolicy. Potwór, chlapiąc wściekle wodą, w której był zanurzony do kolan, obrócił się, starając się zapaść Alleyne rękami. Elfka szarpała włócznię i wyciągała ją, kierując ją teraz w głowę potwora. Połowa jej rąk była ubrudzona jego krwią. Wąchana łapa uderzyła w bok, potrząsając ciałem. Elfka utrzymała jednak równowagę i uderzyła. Bestia poruszyła się, unikając ciosu. Cios Alleyne pociągnął ją za sobą, wrzucając strażniczkę do wody. Potwór zapaść ją za ramię i zacisnął na nim łapę. Widziała w jego oczach chęć mordowania. Chociaż ramię bolało ją, pchnęła włócznię jeszcze raz, wbijając ją w pierś wroga, tam gdzie powinno być serce.
Zaraz potem uniosła się do góry. To potwór, który trzymał ją za ramię, podniósł Alleyne i rzucił przed siebie. Wpadła w nurt rzeki, a siła uderzenia pchnęła ją pod wodę. Czuła, jak uderza głową w coś twardego. Widziała jeszcze w oddali, jak jej przeciwnik leżał w wodzie, z jej włócznią wbitą w pierś. Zaraz potem straciła przytomność. Szybki nurt rzeki porwał nieprzytomną elfkę za sobą. Jej lekka, skórzana zbroja sprawiła, że nie utonęła.
Gdy Alleyne odzyskała przytomność, pierwszym co poczuła było straszny ból głowy. Chciała sięgnąć w jej stronę, ale wtedy poczuła, że nie może ruszać rękami. Otworzyła oczy. Jej ręce były związane za jej plecami. Nad nią stało dwóch mężczyzn ubranych w długie, szerokie stroje. Na głowach mieli obszerne, materiałowe nakrycia. U pasa każdy miał szeroką szablę. Teraz dopiero zauważyła, że jest zupełnie naga. Mężczyźni nie zwracali na nią uwagę, oglądali jej strój.
- Ta sprzeczka, to srebro, mówi ci, zobacz. A ten pas… świetna robota. Dostaniemy za niego na targu w stolicy sporo forszy – mówił jeden.
- Za tę skórzana zbroję, jak wyschnie, też. Ma sprzeczki wykonane z jakiegoś rzadkiego metalu, nigdy tego wcześniej nie widziałem.
- Dobra, zapakuj to, a potem zajmiemy się nią.
- Wy… wypuścicie mnie… – jęknęła Alleyne.
- Ty, elfia suka się obudziła – powiedział jeden, patrząc na nią.
- To dobrze, zawsze lepiej jest wypróbować towar przed sprzedażą.
- Co wy…
- Zamknij się – pochylił się nad nią i zapaść ją za twarz. Alleyne szarpała się, ale związano ją mocno.
- Od tej pory jesteś naszą własnością. Ludzie nieźle płacą za elfie niewolnice.
Alleyne splunęła mu w twarz. Słyszała, że ludzie rzeczywiście mają taki barbarzyński zwyczaj sprzedawania innych w niewolę. Starała się rozluźnić trochę wiązania na rękach, bo wtedy mogłaby chociaż walczyć. Nawet bez broni mogła być groźna.
- Masz bardzo seksowne ciało – elfka patrzyła z nienawiścią, kiedy jego ręce masowały jej piersi, brzuch, przesuwały się między jej udami. Ten brudny łotr dotykał ją tam, gdzie nikomu nie wolno było.
- Ty, zaczynasz bez mnie? – powiedział drugi, który właśnie wrócił. Rozwiązali Alleyne nogi i szybko pierwszy z nich znalazł się między nimi. Jego ręka dotknęła jej łona, a palce wsunęły się głębiej.
- No, no… już jest mokra.
- Elfie dziwki zawsze są takie. Wiesz, że one tam oddają się wszystkim w swoich wioskach?
Alleyne powstrzymała się przed odpowiedzią, zaciskając zęby i mocując się szybciej z wiązaniami. Ale nie mogła nic na to poradzić, że mężczyzna masował jej łono coraz intensywniej, sprawiając, że rosło w niej podniecenie.
- Ohhhh – mimowolnie jęknęła głęboko.
- Słyszysz, jaka jest nagrzana? No to sprawdź – powiedział, rozsuwając swoją szeroką szatę. Chwilę potem wszedł w strażniczkę szybkim i zdecydowanym ruchem. Głosny, pełen bólu i upokorzenia jęk Alleyne wypełnił okolicę. Mężczyzna brał ją silnie i władczym ruchem, jakby była jego własnością.
- Normalnie, zaciska się na mnie, jakby mnie wciągała – powiedział, posuwając jasnowłosą elfkę.
- Ja już nie mogę – powiedział drugi, rozpiął pas i zaraz potem Alleyne poczuła w ustach obrzydliwy smak, kiedy jego członek został wepchnięty do środka.
- Nawet nie myśl o gryzieniu, elfia kurwo, bo ci oberwie język – powiedział, łącząc ją za jej długie uszy i zmuszając do rytmicznego poruszania głową. Alleyne była ciągle w szoku, nigdy nie sądziła, że coś takiego może ją spotkać. Jej oczy były szeroko otwarte, kiedy jądra mężczyzny obijały się o jej twarz, a jego członek ślizgał się między jej mokrymi ustami. Oddychała jak tylko mogła, kiedy już cały, długi penis był w środku, dotykając jej gardła. Krztusiła się i dusiła, będąc gwałconą z obu stron na raz. Najgorsza była bezsilność. Alleyne była wojowniczką, całe życie uczyła się walczyć.
Dwa duże członki penetrowały ją teraz coraz szybciej. Obaj mężczyźni śmiali się i wyzywali schwytaną strażniczkę. Alleyne nie mogła im nawet odpowiedzieć. Czuła się brudna i upokorzona. W końcu obaj mężczyźni doszli. Ich ciepłe, lepkie nasienie wypełniło jej łono i usta. Zaraz potem wyszli z niej, a druga fala spryskała jej twarz i brzuch. To było ostatecznie szaleństwo, bo według elfów robienie tego w ten sposób było czymś bardzo obrzydliwym. Kaszlała, wypluwając z ust resztki nasienia. Obaj mężczyźni odsunęli się na chwilę od niej, patrząc na swoją ofiarę.
- Ciasna jak dziewica, mówi ci.
- Ale ssa potrafi.
- Mówi ci, stary, to będzie interes życia. Dostaniemy za nią tysiące złotych…
- Dostanę – powiedział drugi, wbijając tamtemu w brzuch szablę. Z szeroko otwartymi z zaskoczenia oczami jeden z handlarzy padł na ziemię, a wokół niego powiększała się kałuża krwi. Drugi wyjął z kieszeni skórzaną obrożę i zapiął ją Alleyne na szyi. Przyczepił do niej rzemień. Zmusił ją, aby poszła z nim do stojącego przy drodze wozu.
- Nie będę się dzielić z nikim taką fortuną – powiedział, szukając czegoś w wozie. Wyjął z niego metalowe kajdany. Pchnął elfkę na ziemię i zapiął metalowe obręcze na jej nadgarstkach. I wtedy krzyknął. Alleyne odwróciła się, aby zobaczyć ostrze szabli wychodzące z jego piersi. Za nim stał jego partner, który resztkami sił zdążył przyjść tutaj i zemścić się. Zaraz potem padł martwy na ziemię, a obok niego skonał jego zabójca.
Alleyne podniosła się. Szybko przeszukała wóz, znajdując w nim klucze od kajdan. Zrzuciła je, zabrała i ubrała swój strój, a potem tak szybko jak mogła ruszyła w kierunku znajdującego się w oddali lasu. Przysięgała sobie, że nigdy go nie opuści i nie odwiedzi krain zamieszkałych przez ludzi. Postanowiła, że gdy wróci, przestanie być strażniczką i zostanie instruktorką walki. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: non_english
Chapter 1
Minęło już trzy długie dni, odkąd Leina wkroczyła w góry, które dzieliły ją od siedziby Aldry. Widziała dymiące szczyty wulkanów, nawet skały, po których szła, były ciepłe. Co jakiś czas musiała ocierać pot z czoła, bo zalewał jej oczy. Im dalej szła, tym cieplej było. Jej ciało pociło się pod żelazną zbroją. Z każdym krokiem jej oddech stawał się coraz cięższy, a długie, blond włosy kleiły się do jej ciała. Zastanawiała się, czy dobrze zrobiła, wybierając najkrótszą z dróg.
Ale wtedy ujrzała wieżę, której metalowe ściany błyszczały, odbijając promienie słońca. Skąd takie miejsce na takim pustkowiu? Leina nie wiedziała, na mapie nie miała zaznaczonego czegoś takiego. Ale zaraz pomyślała, że może tu będzie mogła odpocząć, może nawet uzupełnić zapas wody. Podeszła do stalowej bramy i uderzyła w nią mocno. Patrzyła zdziwiona, jak brama sama się otwiera. Jasnowłosa wojowniczka weszła do środka. Na wszelki wypadek wyjęła z pochwy miecz. Wolała być gotowa, gdyby to miejsce okazało się pułapką. Brama zamknęła się za nią szybko. W środku było ciemno, ale zaraz potem zapaliły się świeczki, oświetlając schody, które prowadziły wyżej. Była zdziwiona, że w środku nie ma takiego gorąca jak na zewnętrz.
Leina nie miała wyboru i zaczęła wspinać się po schodach. Była już zmęczona, kiedy stanęła przed kolejnymi drzwiami. Pchnęła je. Kiedy zrobiła krok do przodu, poczuła silny, słodki zapach, wypełniający jej nos. Pomieszczenie, w którym się znajdowała, miało ściany pokryte aksamitnymi zwojami materiału. Miękki dywan pokrywał podłogę. Na środku znajdowało się duże łoże z czterema kolumnami. Do każdej z nóg łoża przykuta była młoda kobieta ubrana tylko w korale. Na łożu leżała wysoka, rudowłosa kobieta, ubrana w czarny, obcisły strój. Ciasny gorset opinał jej talie, a krwistoczerwone rękawice znajdowały się na jej rękach. Podniosła wzrok na Leinę.
- Kim... co...? - spytała zaskoczona widokiem wojowniczka. - Na kolana! – usłyszała nagle ostry, dominujący głos. Podniosła szybko miecz, ale w tej samej chwili w ręku nieznajomej kobiety pojawił się bicz. Leina czuła, jak coś zaciska się na jej nadgarstku i jęknęła z bólu, kiedy miecz wypadł z jej ręki na ziemię. Intensywny, słodki zapach, który wdychała, osłabiał ją i oszałamiał. Poczuła kopnięcie i zaraz potem przewróciła się na ziemię. Podniosła wzrok, aby zobaczyć przed sobą, wysoki, skórzany but. Ktoś złapał ją za jej jasne włosy. Szarpiąc się, Leina próbowała się uwolnić, kiedy nagle wokół niej pojawiły się te cztery kobiety. Czuła, jak odpinają jej zbroję. Która z nich przycisnęła wargi do jej ust, całując ją mocno. Na czworakach, Leina usiłowała się wycofać, uciec na schody.
Ktoś złapał ją za nogi. Czuła, jak język dotyka jej łydki, jak zdejmowane są jej buty. Była coraz słabsza, wszystko kręciło się przed jej oczami. Czyjeś ręce masowały jej piersi, inne głaskały jej pośladki. - Nie... nie... muszę... - ale cztery ciała, oplecione wokół niej, uniemożliwiały jej ucieczkę. Czyjeś palce wsunęły się między jej nogi i zaczęły szybko poruszać się. Leina jęknęła głośno, ale zaraz potem została pocałowana. Czuła miękkie, ciepłe usta, które zamykały się na jej sutkach, pieściąc je. Nie miała siły dłużej walczyć, a słodki, mocny zapach, który unosił się wokół, oszałamiał ją. Jej ciało przechyliło się pod wpływem ich dotyku. Czuła, że już niedługo... - Ja... nie... ahhhhhhhh!!!!! – gdy poczuła orgazm, jęknęła głośno, opadając bez siły w ręce czwórki kobiet, które nie przestawały pieścić jej ciała. Ich palce były wszędzie, cały czas dając jej przyjemność. Zaraz potem oczy Leiny zamknęły się. W oddali widziała już tylko złowieszczy uśmiech rudej kobiety.
Gdy Leina odzyskała przytomność, wisiała przykuta do kamiennej ściany. Metalowe obręcze trzymały jej ręce i nogi. Czuła się słaba. Nie miała na sobie zbroi, ale lekką, lnianą tunikę. W głowie dalej jej się kręciło, czuła ciągle ten duszny, słodki zapach. Próbowała się uwolnić, ale szybko zrozumiała, że nie ma szans, aby zerwać ten metalowy obręcz. Mogła tylko czekać. Po kilkunastu minutach usłyszała czyjeś kroki. Podniosła głowę. Zobaczyła rudowłosą kobietę, która w towarzystwie dwóch niewolnic zbliżała się do niej. Jej obcasy stukały na kamiennej podłodze. Gdy zbliżała się do Leiny, uśmiechnęła się, patrząc na przykutą do ściany dziewczynę godnym wzrokiem.
Leina chciała krzyczeć i domagać się uwolnienia, ale czuła, że na tej kobiecie takie słowa nie zrobią wrażenia. Była więc cicho. Kobieta dała znak jednej z niewolnic, a ta podała jej niewielki pojemnik. Kobieta wypiła jego zawartość i przybliżała się do Leiny. Blondynka nie mogła się cofnąć, czuła jak jej ciało przyciska się do ściany, kiedy rudowłosa była coraz bliżej. Chwilę potem poczuła, jak wargi tamtej przyciskają się do jej. Mocny pocałunek otworzył jej usta. Czuła długi język tamtej, jakiś dziwny smak wypełnił ją. To było dziwne. Leina czuła ciepło, które wypełniało najpierw jej usta, a potem całe ciało. Długi pocałunek trwał, Leina czuła się coraz bardziej słaba i uległa. Było jej dobrze, przyjemne ciepło wypełniało ją.
Kobieta przerwała pocałunek, a dwie niewolnice otworzyły obręcze wokół rąk i nóg Leiny. Blondynka zrobiła ostrożnie krok do przodu, szybko przyjmując pozycję obronną. Chociaż była słaba, a jej ciało płonęło, była gotowa się bronić. Patrzyła na rudowłosą. Zrobiła w jej kierunku krok, potem kolejny… i padła przed nią na kolana, składając pocałunki na czubkach jej lśniących, skórzanych butów. Ta kobieta była zbyt piękna, zbyt silna, aby z nią walczyć. Leina czuła, że jedynie co może zrobić, to jej służyć. Jaka była głupia, chcąc jej wyrządzić krzywdę. Słyszała cichy śmiech swojej nowej pani.
Rozpuszczone jasne włosy Leiny opadły na jej nagie plecy. Delikatna, prześwitująca tunika okrywała jej nagie ciało. Na stopach miała złote sandały. Metalowy łańcuch łączył obrożę na jej szyi z jedną z nóg łoża. Jej pani leżała na łożu, a Elina masowała jej bose stopy. Nie wiedziała, jak długo już tu była. Jej dawna zbroja wisiała na ścianie, ale nie założyła jej już nigdy. Zapomniała o turnieju i o wszystkim, co było poza wieżą. Pragnęła już tylko tego, aby móc być tutaj i służyć jak najlepiej swojej nowej władczyni. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: games
Chapter 1
The following is a canonical segment of the Fanfic 'A Soul of Steel' and is intended to occur early in Chapter 2.
*Plap plap plap plap plap*
A Lucario sat on the couch, slightly drooling, his head bobbing, and his eyes briefly going cross-eyed as a busty female Gardevoir rode him passionately. One arm rested on the couch cushion that he was sitting on. These two had been passionately going out together behind their trainer's backs, and the day they finally found time together, neither could hold back any longer. Both had responded to an animalistic desire for each other, which was why the Lucario was currently making a funny face every time she bounced on his bare cock.
She had initially teased the idea when she sat directly on his lap facing away and lifted the skirt-like part of her body so he'd feel her shapely rump. Before bending forward, using his placement on the couch and the floor in a wheelbarrow-like form to show what she desired. When she did that, neither could hold back. He took her right there, shoving his meat rod in from behind, with her ass aimed up to the ceiling, against the living room wall, and now on the couch. With each thrust, she felt him giving it his all, like he would in a Pokémon battle.
It almost felt like yesterday that they were simply just toying around with the idea of going 'all the way' with each other.
Earlier That Morning
The morning didn't involve a lot that wasn't already routine for him: Mirukon laid out on the floor, still sore from some hardcore hyper training that his master had done with him, having somewhat of an issue with moving without aching on every single inch of his body. Having to stand up very slowly, failing to do sit-ups, he sighs.
Surely, at this point, I must have gained some improved stats from doing all that. I can do a battle no problem, but Haru always puts me out on the front lines lately. I wonder if he's having plans on eventually tackling that Battle Tower the other humans teased him for, he thinks to himself out loud, musing to almost nobody.
A cheerful voice came around the corner from within the home that the somewhat newly crowned 'Hall of Fame' Pokémon lived in, in the form of a busty female Gardevoir that he recognized. "Talking to yourself again?" she asks.
"Just musing on everything that's been going on as of late... and trying to relax, even though there's no reason for me to be tense as of late. Our master did everything he wanted to do. Now we can be as lazy as we want," his paws gestured a shrug, looking at her before sitting down on the nearby couch and exhaling with his muzzle getting an itch. She floats over next to him and sits down.
"I guess I don't blame you for feeling that way, but it seems like you're still unable to relax. I mean, even now we have time to ourselves," the Gardevoir says back, with one of her hands combing through part of her short hair.
In response, she'd see the boisterous fighter she was in love with give a furry, clenched fist pump. "Can you blame me? What if Master Haru has a use for me in one of those public exhibition matches with Leon or another Gym Leader? He eventually will be at the call of i-"
She interrupted his train of thought by slowly putting a paw on his own and looking at him. "I meant... we have time to ourselves."
There was some awkward silence, and his face goes red. "Wait..."
Her nearly ruby eyes looked at the Lucario sitting next to her with some pink spreading across her face, with herself leaning a bit forward towards him on the couch. "Master Haru left this morning, and put Goji in charge with me to keep him in line. But Goji just went back to sleep. The others are playing with each other outside. We're alone. For the first time in almost a year."
"Uhhh... uhm... a... wa... wait... are we... are you sure w-" Mirukon stammers a bit over himself, and is hardly able to think while Masako turned away before sitting on his lap. Slowly. Almost painfully slow. She began to gyrate her hips and bare bottom against his body while making sure he felt every single inch of her skin; the Lucario starting to tense up in several different ways. He inhales once the sensation of her rump hits his crotch/hip region.
"Love, we've been teasing with each other on the side for so long, and we've even talked about going all the way. We're so sexually repressed and pressed for time because we owe it to our master, but I don't think I can take it anymore! Neither of us expected such a perfect moment to come. I personally think there's no better moment... than now," as if to make her point well known, she had started intentionally pushing her ass against his crotch region and leaned away from him reverse-cowgirl style.
Mirukon's ability to think rationally was fading away. They had kissed a few times and cuddled when their trainer wasn't looking, but with her rump now being aimed right at him, as Masako had almost become a living wheelbarrow in how her position had her nearly face down into the carpet, he couldn't look away.
"Come on. Don't make me ask for it. Do you or don't you love me?" she cutely asks him, with her head looking behind herself towards him.
"You know I love you.... j... just... you're making it really hard for me to think. W... we could get caught!" His nose twitches, and both of his paws are seen almost making a 'grabby' motion towards her hip area. Seeing her in this sort of manner was driving him insane. The poor Lucario knew his way around a tournament match-up but not to a Gardevoir who didn't even use 'Charm' on him but something hundreds of times more effective on him.
Masako pushes her rump against him one more time. "Then make love to me. Please."
His sanity broke, with a large bare dick appearing from within his fur, he grabbed her with both of his large paws and aimed the shapely member into her entrance.
The two ended up being nearly able to hold back their volume, switching positions constantly before she pinned him down to the couch and rode him rotten.
"You feel so good. This feels so good to be connected like this... who knew this is why humans have us breed so often just for a chance of a 'shiny' one of us. But still... we... we shouldn't be doing this here..." Mirukon spoke to her, barely able to keep his eyes straight. The big-chested Gardevoir rubbed herself against him, almost begging to be caught, felt his tongue go across her chest, and let out a yelp.
"Yes... but... I can't hold back any longer. We should be honest with ourselves and quite frankly, I need you," she said, before taking his face in her paws. "I want you to give it to me like the champion Pokémon you are, unless you're -afraid- to meet the challenge," challenging him by lifting her vaginal opening on his shapely dick, before slamming all the way down suddenly with the help of her psychic abilities. She was able to slam down so hard that the second her pussy circled around his knob, the Lucario couldn't help but howl just a little. Each passionate bounce caused Mirukon to let out a loud moan, to which Masako cut off with her mouth meeting his in a sloppy makeout session. His paws rest on her hips as each time she took him down to the knot, with her legs spread wide just for him.
All those months, all those hours spent just being professional. Their fire could no longer hold them back from each other. Having contained fierce feelings for each other for a long while now was torture, being unable to act upon them. Almost every waking hour their trainer was in eye or earshot distance of them.
But not today. Not now.
"Mmma... a... sako... sweet Arceus... you feel so warm and wet..." he moaned in between kisses. "I can't stand it..."
The Gardevoir shut him up again, dangling her tongue in between their lips as he fucked her harder. The couch and room itself was going to smell later if neither one remembered to do anything about it, so one could only hope neither one passes out. "Yes, and it's only for you..." she would respond back in kind.
Thankfully, nobody had caught either one of them doing the deed, but the fact both had to be alert but also worry they would be caught drove the kink even further.
"I'm... getting close..." He said, to which the Gardevoir clung closer to him and wrapped both arms around him, forcing his face into her bulbous chest.
"H... hey... wait if you do that, I can't..." He began to protest.
"It's okay. Cum inside me. I want it..." with her shapely ass bouncing up and down, jiggling, and each time it was just the sounds of their bodies mating like the animals they were. Masako, being a Psychic and Fairy Pokémon, knew just when the orgasm would come, so she loosened her grip and then forced him to look at her, making eye contact.
"Cum in me, Mirukon, give me an Aura Blast of your spunk right in my pussy..." she said with both paws on his face, before she felt herself reach peak pleasure, having let out a sexy moan to his ears and orgasmed: with her vagina squeezing his cock as a result. The Lucario had had enough, wincing his eyes shut before ultimately giving in: blasting her vaginal walls and womb with repeated thick strings of cum. His knot locking her in place with both of his paws holding onto her ass, so she couldn't move, eliciting a loud sexual moan from her. Masako had a deep look of pride and satisfaction as she looked downwards where their bodies met, and her gaze went from watching his face to where his dick disappeared inside her. She counted 7, no, 9 huge loads in her cunt before it slowly stopped. With both Pokémon out of breath and pink in the face, she looks at him with a big smile of satisfaction and gyrates her hips against him to wring it all out, causing Mirukon's toes to curl up.
"Fufufufu... that was amazing," the Gardevoir said to him, kissing his neck's weakest spot sweetly. All Mirukon could do was lay there as the program that was on the nearby television had already ended. Masako uses her abilities to turn off the TV and clean up the mess. After she had finished removing every trace of his DNA, except for what he blasted inside her, of course, she pushed him down so he lays on his back and her on top of him.
"Let's just be like this for a bit and then we'll move, okay?" she asked, circling a paw on his chest. Mirukon nodded slowly and wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back.
"You don't think... Master Haru will be mad, will he?" he would ask.
"No. I'm not thinking about that right now, though. What I wanna know is, how good was it for you, big guy?" kissing him on the lips: being all lovey-dovey at the moment.
"You're the best, love."
"Of course, I am... fufufu..." she would say, and before either knew it, they would pass out without ever having moved from each other. By the time Haru came home, Mirukon's member had receded entirely, and with Masako's dress-like appearance hiding her nether regions, couldn't even tell he was inside her hours earlier.
For now, it was for the best.
Motostoke
Later in the day
Returning home from the eventful morning he had, Haru went back to his home carrying a few bags of groceries and one bag of clothes. Thankfully, he still had plenty of time in the day to knock off that pesky laundry he avoided for a bit.
"I'm home, everyone~" he calls out when he gets inside. He doesn't hear anyone coming immediately to greet him and calls again. "Guys? Nora? Goji?" He makes it to the living room den and sees almost nobody. "Miruk-!" he starts to call out, but comes across something he didn't count on. Both his Lucario and Gardevoir are napping on the couch, as on the floor, there's a few of his movies near them. Both are completely and soundly asleep, but with the Gardevoir subconsciously clinging to him. In the entire time he had been their trainer, not once did he notice this, and actually had no idea how to react. Pokémon, having connections like friends or family, was common, especially amongst inter-species and humans too. However, like this?
His face softened up into a smile; finding the scene really cute and endearing. What an interesting thing to come back home to. What kind of man would I be if I was to wake them? I already work them all hard to the bone as it is, and they recognized my fatigue lately too. I'll let them nap, he thinks, finding a blanket and putting it over both. Masako shifts a bit in her sleep as her head still rests on his chest, and Mirukon's eyes slowly flutter open... seeing Haru upside down, and his face turning red. Haru quickly shushes him with a finger to his lips. "Just wanted to keep you warm. Go back and nap, bud," he whispers, walking away. The Lucario almost doesn't know how to react but gives a smile that his trainer is so understanding, then wraps his arms around Masako more. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: celebrity
Chapter 1
‘No, I don’t want to.’ ‘You don’t even want to try it? Just for one time?’ Guy-Manuel shook his head, insecure about what his best friend might think of him if he didn’t follow his example. ‘They’re all saying it’s great.’ Thomas’s brown eyes gave him a last questioning look, but when he understood he wasn’t going to change his mind, he just shrugged, to Manuel’s relief. ‘I guess it’s for the best. You can carry me home afterwards,’ he said jokingly.
Guy-Manuel smiled, because he didn’t want him to know how much he worried about him. He didn’t want to be an overbearing friend about it. He wanted to be Thomas’s friend, and he was willing to support him in anything that wouldn’t kill him. Nevertheless, when they had arrived at the huge hall at 2 AM and he noticed some suspicious groups of guys standing in a corner, he couldn’t help touching Thomas’s shoulder slightly. ‘Be careful,’ he mumbled.
Thomas messed up Manuel’s hair playfully, as if to tell him he’d be fine. Manuel watched him walk towards the shady guys, and as he lit a cigarette to calm his nerves, he suddenly felt threatened by his surroundings. The dark factory hall, the noisy people, the cold. He was only wearing jeans and a shirt, to avoid losing his warm coat inside, but he was regretting his decision now that Thomas was taking so long. What was he doing? Couldn’t he just make the exchange and come back? Manuel sighed impatiently and watched his smoke evaporate in the freezing air.
He didn’t want Thomas to get too involved in this whole ecstasy scene. To be perfectly honest, he was also against him trying it tonight, and what he really didn’t want was Thomas making the wrong friends and losing him to them. He knew it was probably childish and unreasonable, but ever since he had met Thomas, he had been absolutely terrified of losing him.
After what seemed to be ten minutes, Thomas finally broke loose from the group of guys and returned to Guy-Manuel. ‘You got them?’ he whispered, holding his arms around himself and shivering uncontrollably. With a triumphant grin on his face, Thomas opened his hand, showing him two tablets, a pink one and a white one. ‘Are you one hundred percent sure you don’t want one?’ ‘Yes. Hurry up and eat them before we get caught,’ Manuel stressed.
Thomas seemed amused by his agitation, and laughed at him carelessly. ‘Yes mommy,’ he said, and swallowed both of his pills in one go. Guy-Manuel could only stare at him, hardly believing he had really done it. ‘Stop worrying, dumbass,’ Thomas smiled. ‘If I don’t like it, I’ll never do it again.’ When Guy-Manuel still didn’t reply, Thomas pushed him. ‘Lighten up, man! This is a rave!’ Manuel smiled nervously. ‘Yeah.’ ‘We’re gonna have a good time, I promise, if you just loosen up,’ Thomas said. ‘Okay, I’ll try,’ Manuel gave in. ‘Let’s go in then. I’m freezing.’
As soon as they were inside, Manuel had to admit things were looking much better. The atmosphere and the music were great, and most people seemed to be relatively sober. It was like they were walking in a completely different world. He looked beside him, where Thomas was smiling with sparks in his eyes, as flashes of colored light shone on his face every half of a second. ‘Let’s get a drink,’ Thomas yelled over the sound of the music.
Manuel hesitated. He wanted a drink, sure, but if Thomas drank alcohol tonight, he would have a cocktail of drugs in his body. But before he could decide on what to say, Thomas walked away through the crowd, and he had no choice but to follow him. When he ordered a drink anyway, he didn’t have the courage to stop him, and watched him empty his glass powerlessly. As they returned to the floor, he constantly checked on Thomas’s eyes, to see if the drugs were taking effect yet. So far, he was still the same Thomas. Moving slowly, looking around with his mouth open, smiling at him when someone walked by he thought was funny.
But after half an hour, Guy-Manuel definitely saw him change. His smiles were bigger, and he couldn’t stop laughing. His movements became quicker and less controlled. He jumped to every beat and never seemed to lose his energy. It was fucking scary. Guy-Manuel really enjoyed dancing a bit with him, secretly, and the music was still amazing. But he just kept going and going. He could see the sweat shining on his forehead. His eyes focused on nothing, and it was like he couldn’t even see him. He moved his head so roughly Manuel was afraid he would get dizzy and fall.
Sometimes he tripped and fell into someone, but he just hugged whoever he had hit and things were okay. And it was so crowded and so hot. Even Manuel was feeling light-headed by now. He couldn’t imagine what was going on in Thomas’s head. ‘Guy-Man,’ he yelled, his voice hoarse. ‘Guy-Man! Smile!’ ‘You need some water,’ Manuel yelled. ‘No…’ Thomas said, ‘no, I don’t need anything…’ ‘Okay,’ Guy-Manuel said nervously, before Thomas jumped towards him and threw his arms around him. ‘You’re the only thing I need, baby,’ he yelled in his ear. ‘I love you!’
A shock went through him, and suddenly feeling weak, he tried to push Thomas off of him. ‘I’m alive,’ Thomas smiled, a childishly delighted look on his face. ‘Yes, you are,’ Guy-Manuel answered, not knowing how to deal with this situation. Thomas was softly stroking his cheeks, and even though he knew he was high out of his mind, he liked being touched. ‘I’m so fucking high,’ Thomas shouted and burst into laughter. ‘So fucking high.’ ‘Relax,’ Guy-Manuel said. ‘Let’s get you some water before you dry out.’ ‘Yes, Manuel,’ Thomas laughed, and kissed him on his mouth.
Guy-Manuel couldn’t believe this was happening, and almost thought he was high, too. But no, they were actually kissing. For the first time. ‘I love you,’ Thomas told him again, falling into his arms. Manuel managed to catch him. Thomas seemed to regain his balance, and flawlessly turned his fall into a dance. That was the point where Guy-Manuel’s mouth cracked into a small smile, and he could see the fun of it all. As long as he could keep him hydrated - because he knew that was the most important thing while using ecstasy - Thomas would just act like a weirdo for a few hours, and return back to normal with a big hangover. All he had to do was keep an eye on him.
They returned to the bar. Thomas said he wanted a cocktail, but Guy-Manuel ordered two sodas and he didn’t even notice. He drank it down in one go. They returned to the floor around half past three, and they spent some happy minutes dancing. Maybe it was going to be okay after all.
Just when Guy-Manuel was actually starting to have a good time, something changed between them. They had been dancing like before; Thomas a lot wilder than Manuel; and everything was fine, until Thomas suddenly grabbed him and tried to pull him closer. ‘What are you doing?’ Manuel laughed. Thomas grabbed his chin, something he had never done before, and looked him in his eyes for what seemed to be an hour. Manuel looked around them nervously and felt kind of intimidated by his mate. He didn’t know what he wanted. Could ecstasy make you aggressive? Scared by the intense look in his eyes, he tried to get away. The only result was Thomas holding on to him more tightly. People were bumping into them. The floor was shaking and the music seemed louder than ever.
‘Go home with me,’ Thomas shouted. ‘Wh-what?!’ ‘Please. I love you so much.’ ‘But we can’t… we’re friends,’ Guy-Manuel tried to talk sense into him. All he did was shake his head. ‘No, no, no,’ he said. ‘We’ve come here together, and you need to go home with me.’ It was strange to realize that you lose your courage when what you have wanted for years is suddenly within your reach.
It wouldn’t be real, he told himself. He’s under the influence of that stuff and he’s doing things he would never have done if he had been sober. I only want his love if he really means it. Things will change forever, he told himself. When he wakes up tomorrow and finds out what has happened, he will never want to see me again. And I’d be taking advantage of him if I do what he suggests, because I really want it, and I have always wanted it…
But when he got kissed on the subway station, in a corner no one could see them, so heavily Manuel thought his knees wouldn’t be able to hold him anymore, all his arguments disappeared. Pressed against him tightly, he felt how much he wanted him, and thought he was about to lose his mind. ‘I can’t wait to get home,’ Thomas said in his ear, louder than he had probably intended. ‘I’m gonna undress you and kiss you everywhere.’ Blushing all over, Manuel stopped him as he tried to begin unbuttoning his shirt early. Thomas smiled, making Guy-Manuel’s heart miss a beat. ‘I know you want it, as much as I do.’ Their train arrived, and Guy-Manuel was quick to push him off of him so no one would know what they had been doing.
‘Did you see that girl?’ Thomas mumbled as the train rattled and shook. Guy-Manuel shook his head. ‘She had glitter all over her,’ he said dreamily. ‘She was beautiful. Do you know how much gravity there is?’ The train stopped and Guy-Manuel gently pushed him out and onto the escalators. ‘Ooooh,’ Thomas said when they were outside. ‘Look at all those stars!’ ‘You’re standing on the middle of the road, idiot,’ Manuel said and pulled him to the sidewalk. He was now consciously guiding Thomas to where he wanted them to be, taking the lead in his ridiculous plan. It felt so strange. They were the only people on the sidewalk.
Thomas Bangalter kept his promises. After Guy-Manuel had opened the front door for him and they had locked themselves inside Thomas’s bedroom, he jumped towards him and almost broke his shirt as he unbuttoned it, kissing him in his neck, using his tongue. ‘Be honest,’ he asked. ‘What do you think of me?’ Out of breath and overwhelmed by the feeling of Thomas’s full lips on his collarbone, his throat, his ear, Manuel said ‘I think you are the most beautiful, sweet and amazing person ever, and I have loved you since always.’ Thomas looked down to him, pausing his kisses. ‘Really?’ Guy-Manuel didn’t know what to say as he saw him standing in the light of his bedside lamp, Thomas, the way he had known him for years. Acting on impulse, he stood on his toes, put his hands on his cheeks and kissed his lips, without control or the shyness that had always ruined things for him.
Thomas liked it, he could tell, and before he knew it, they had fallen on his bed and Thomas was busy getting Manuel’s pants off. Manuel’s breath sped up. He wasn’t sure he wanted this. Thomas was still high, he guessed, because he looked as though he had no idea what was happening around him. How did he get out of this situation? He tried to get away from underneath Thomas, but he was pretty heavy with his entire weight lying on him. He tried to push him away softly, mumbled his name, but Thomas ignored him completely. Guy-Manuel closed his eyes, waiting for a moment when Thomas would move so he could get away.
Nothing happened. Thomas only seemed to become heavier. What was he doing? Guy-Manuel peeked through his eyelids. Thomas was on top of him, sleeping. Manuel rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. He pushed him off of him without waking him up, threw a blanket over him, and after changing into a shirt and jogging pants, he crawled into his bed, next to him. He was warm, and his face looked childish and peaceful. Guy-Manuel grinned as he switched off the lights, and laughed out loud for a minute. Would he tell him what he had done tomorrow? Maybe it would be better to keep it all a secret... |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Eight, Nine, Ten
In the beginning, there was a hum; a deep and endless vibration that seemed to be everywhere, inside and out, heard and felt. There was nothing else, no light or dark, no sensation at all. Eventually, and he couldn't say when it changed, he began to listen to the hum instead of enduring it. Slowly, little by little, the hum resolved itself into the quiet murmur of conversation, as of that in a library. The sound in the darkness throbbed in a rhythm that he eventually recognized as his own slow and steady breathing.
His eyes opened so suddenly with the shock of awareness that they almost seemed to click. In the glare of the fluorescent light, his eyes hurt, but he could recognize one important mistake in his thinking. Not a library – a hospital. Immediately, he tried to remember what he had been doing, and how he might have ended up here. Nothing. Not even a recollection of pain. Tentatively, he tensed each of his muscles, moved his hand where it lay on the bed. Nothing seemed to be missing or broken, and nothing hurt. The faint smell of old antiseptic lingered, but he didn't seem to be injured.
Before he could wonder about much more, a face appeared at his bedside. "Good evening. How are you feeling?" asked the doctor. He must be a doctor, not a nurse. He didn't seem as rushed as a nurse would. The man seemed familiar, but he couldn't place where he'd seen him before. Inquisitive eyes were set into a slightly tanned face, more likely from the climate than a holiday. Perhaps he was a golfer. Weren't all doctors? He looked like a doctor – like a cliché.
"How do I feel?" he echoed hollowly, sounding like an impersonator, surprised that his voice wasn't croaky, although for some reason it just didn't sound like his own. He looked down the bed again, wiggled his toes and saw the sheets move. "Okay, I suppose." There were questions he needed answers to, but the doctor was noting something on his clipboard, and it seemed to be an obstacle between them, keeping him silent. Fortunately, the same things appeared to be on the doctor's mind. "Can you remember anything?" If he hadn't been aware of his heart before, he felt it now as it picked up pace a little. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth as he stared at the name tag as if searching for a clue. Doctor Bell. Doctor Bell fell down a well, his mind supplied, making him giggle inappropriately.
He didn't think he was hurt, but he was in a hospital. Something had happened to put him here. "Not a thing," he said after a moment or two, opting for flippancy. "Where am I?" he blurted then. "I mean," he elaborated, "Which hospital am I in?" The doctor's thin lips were a straight line, giving away nothing. "Can you tell me the name of a hospital?" He tried to think, finding nothing but empty space in his brain where the answer should be. In fact, there weren't any answers at all, and he was afraid. "Any hospital," the doctor prompted, not unkindly, but it was cruel all the same. "No," he admitted at last. "I can't seem to..." he realized he couldn't find a way to articulate the horror that was crawling onto the bed with him. "I don't remember anything," he finished, at a loss. "I don't even know who I am," he admitted quietly, willing himself not to cry, but he heard the break in his voice regardless; felt it crowding his throat so that he had to swallow. His mouth was so dry it made a papery sound.
"It's only temporary," the doctor said, and he was halfway to asking what that meant, since his mind refused to stop whirring around in a desperate search for information. The doctor caught his look and supplied: "The amnesia." After a moment, something in the doctor's eyes softened, and he said: "Your name is Bell. Steven Bell." There was a pause while they both waited for it to mean something, but it didn't, and that was perhaps more distressing. How can you not recognize your own name?
"You've been asleep for a while," the doctor noted. "In fact, you've been in a coma." "How long is a while?" he demanded suddenly, panicking, somehow recollecting that comas could last lifetimes. How was it he could know that and not recognize himself? How was it he could remember how to speak? "Weeks," the doctor replied. "No more than that. I expect as you spend more time awake, the memories will come." A nurse hovered nearby; she had turned up during the short conversation, her perfume sweet and a match for the smell of the hospital. "Can I have a glass of water?" he asked, turning to her, seeing another cliché in blonde hair and lipstick. He wanted badly to soothe his throat. The small amount of talking and his upset had left it feeling raw and dry.
The doctor's nod was near imperceptible, but it was that and not his request that made the nurse pour him a flimsy plastic cup and hold it to his lips. It tasted sweet and cool and of life. It was the best thing that had happened since he opened his eyes. He closed his eyes and let his tongue roll around in his mouth, relishing the freshness of the water, and by the time he looked again, the doctor was gone. The nurse seemed much less distant than the doctor – he'd felt her body heat when she leaned over him – and he asked her what remained of his questions for now; the important ones he needed an answer to before he could rest. "What happened to me?" he said, and didn't like the timbre of his own voice. Even in the smallish ward where his bed was, it seemed to echo. "Was it an accident?" There wasn't much else it could be, he supposed, but then, what did he really know about himself?
"Yes," she said after a slight hesitation, her voice as soft as the rest of her with a pleasant lilt that was surely Welsh. "But you've been very lucky. You shouldn't be here at all." Her lips turned upwards in a genuine smile. "Most of the staff think you're a miracle." Somehow, that made him feel better, and he felt himself giving the smile back, as if the muscles in his face had finally relaxed. The bed felt more comfortable, and he pressed his back into it with a small sigh. He moistened his lips; sure the next answer would be comforting too. "Do I get any visitors? When do they come?" She looked away, fiddling with one of the machines he was attached to, but not before he saw the dark and compassionate way her expression fell. His heart lurched so lazily that he was surprised none of the monitors around him emitted an alarm.
"No one?" he persisted, aware of what that look meant, and she glanced up, pleading in her gaze because she didn't want to say it, but it was all so clear. "But..." he faltered, feeling helpless, "but don't I have family? Friends?" There were a few seconds of silence filled with disbelief. "Anyone?" After a short consideration, the nurse relented and replied. "As far as we know," she said, "you're alone in the world." She looked as crestfallen as he felt, as if she was taking it personally. "I'm really sorry."
When she left, he noticed he was alone on the ward. The other beds were empty now, and so the buzz of conversation had gone too, leaving him in silence except for the occasional beeping of a monitor. The last thing he wanted was sleep, but it called him anyway, and he drifted into uneasy dreams of loneliness. He didn't know anything about himself, but he didn't feel like he was the kind of person to keep his distance from others. Over the next couple of weeks, he met the rest of the nursing staff, and suffered their 'oohs' and 'ahhs' of wonder at his recovery with deliberate good humor. The doctor came back regularly, and asked him series of questions that never seemed to end. There was a specialist who attempted to help him regain his memories. He even met a physiotherapist, and together they worked on his ability to get up and about on his own, since the weeks in bed had left his body weak and easily exhausted.
His memory didn't return, however, and the evasive answers to his questions began to bother him more than the amnesia. At last, when he was unsure why he was still on the ward, he came to a decision. When he tried to leave, he found that the door was magnetically locked, and so he paced for much of the morning, waiting. Whatever was out there in the real world, he had to face it, and however isolated his life was, it was time to go back. When the nurse appeared with his lunch, he smiled, and said how grateful he was for her care, then said he wished to discharge himself. Instead of answering, she simply uttered a shocked little gasp and all but ran out of the ward. Intrigued, he caught the door before it could close fully and followed, finding himself in a maze of short white corridors. He had regained strength but not speed, and she was soon gone, leaving him to find his way alone.
After only a few minutes, the doctor appeared at the end of the corridor, striding forward purposefully. Before he could say anything, the doctor did: "I really don't think you should be too far away from your bed, Steven." "Well, I think it's time," he replied, not wishing to sound rude, but wanting to be as direct as possible. "If you could let someone show me where to find my clothes and personal effects, I should like to go home." "You're not really well enough to – " "No!" he interrupted, tired of the never-ending questions. The doctor would not argue him out of it. He was certain and sure. "There's nothing wrong with me. I can walk, talk, eat, and sleep normally. I need to pick up whatever threads there are of my life, and make something of them."
"I'm afraid I can't allow that," said the doctor with a sigh. So saying, he produced a sheet of paper and thrust it into his hand. He skimmed the contents, and didn't understand. "What is this?" he demanded, his anger refusing to subside. "It's a sectioning order, issued under the Mental Health Act. I'm sorry, Mr. Bell, but we really can't allow you to leave." "Oh, my God," he said, some things clicking into place. "Did I..." The words faltered as his thoughts did. Alone in the world. "Did I do something to myself?" he asked, dreading the answer. "Not as such," the doctor said, a small frown creasing his features. What did that mean? "Come back to the ward, and I promise I'll explain everything to you there." The new information confused and bewildered him. He allowed himself to be led all the way back to his bed in a daze. Once there, a tremor of nervousness seemed to settle in him, and he felt weary.
"Sleep, if you want," the doctor said, "and when you awaken, I'll be here to answer all of your questions." Before he could stop it, the doctor produced a syringe, and he felt himself drifting off into a chemically induced, dreamless sleep. When he awoke this time, he was alone despite the doctor's promise, and he used the time to mull over what he had found out. Suicide, then. It didn't seem as surprising as it should, considering his isolation. But he had shown a change in mood, surely. He couldn't remember what had happened to drive him to such a terrible thing, but whatever it was, he was different now. He wanted to live, to get out and discover what he could do outside. He wasn't afraid or depressed. The news made him feel a little sad, but it was like feeling sorry for someone else, for a stranger. It didn't have any relevance for who he was now.
At last, the doctor appeared, and he glared suspiciously, in case he was hiding any more syringes in his coat. The doctor cleared his throat, guilty, and paused as if he had always known this moment would come. Of course, he had known. "It's time you knew some things about yourself," he said nervously, "and, I think it might be easier to show you." He wheeled across a tallish machine that was draped with a sheet. Pausing, with a sigh, the doctor pulled off the sheet to reveal a full-length mirror. He looked at it for the briefest of instants, his mind momentarily registering that he hadn't seen himself in a mirror for all of this time, and it seemed so ridiculous that he had never thought to ask.
"What kind of game are you..." he began, and then looked at the mirror again, stunned into silence. A much younger version of the doctor stared back at him, but with his own eyes. "What is this?" he said then, confused, a sick and horrible nausea settling in his stomach. Did he have family after all? They must be related! Why hadn't anyone told him? "This is going to be difficult to take in at first," the doctor said. "You are Steven Bell..." He paused. "As am I." It didn't make any sense. He couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from the mirror. It stared at him like a stranger. A face he'd been seeing for weeks, suddenly unfamiliar, somehow wrong.
"You are part clone, part fifth-generation artificial intelligence, with an advanced neural network that renders you capable of learning and also rational, independent thought." "Ha!" he derided with a disgusted laugh, but he was the only one laughing. He'd already seen the papers. Is this what it was to be crazy? Is this what true paranoia was like? "No, I don't think so," he said, then fell silent, waiting for the truth. He curled the fingers of a hand, and saw the mirror image copy him, perfectly. It was just a reflection, just a copy, not real. Several minutes passed. "You are quite remarkable," the doctor said with a small amount of pride, when he didn't say anything else, "even if I do say so myself, although I can't really claim responsibility for it. I made the slightest error in the improved programming for your generation, and ended up with a true AI, self-aware, functional, independent, and imaginative."
"No," he said, refusing to believe it. He wished he didn't understand the words, but he did. He wished he didn't hear them, wanted to believe with all his heart that he was insane, and imagining this, but somehow he knew he wasn't. He supposed it was intuition, but then how could it be if this were true? "I assure you, it's the truth. Don't be frightened. We're all here to help you adjust. There are so many things I – we," he corrected, "want to ask you. So many tests to conduct. You're amazing, and we will learn from you just as you learn from us. You've taught us so much already, more than you know."
"I'm not real," he said then, swallowing. "Not me. There is no me." He still didn't accept it, but a part of him believed, which was crueller, and he registered the doctor's enthusiasm with a slowly dawning sense of horror and fear. Tests, experiments, endless, no life outside this place that was his, no sanctuary to go to, no escape. He did have an imagination, and it was merciless even if it was synthetic. He wanted to scream, but his throat locked in terror.
"Quite the contrary, you're very real," the doctor began, but his voice trailed away, becoming nothing but a murmuring hum accompanied by a relentless droning bleep. That was strange, because he knew he was no longer connected to the machines. Maybe he was screaming. Then he realized it was the sound of a flat line, but it was inside his own brain. It was the sound of an endless loop – an error in programming – the high-pitched drone of a bug. More than anything else, it was the sound of forever, of death.
He registered that the doctor had grabbed his arms as if to keep him awake and was shouting for others to help, but that awareness faded. All that mattered was the dead tone; it was the sound of suicide. His last true thought was that he hoped the sound would be there for the sixth generation, the seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth.
In the beginning, there was a hum. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: celebrity
Chapter 1: …is the Beast
Author: gee_point
Rating: R
Pairing: Gee/Mikey
Summary: How Gerard really lost his shirt, or: Mikey's morals don't go as deep as Gerard's
Warning: waycest
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own the brothers, and all this never happened… wherein the "sadly" is the most important part…
A/N: Prequel to Sleeping Beauty..., it's okay, I guess
Mikey chuckled to himself, almost hiccuping, as he remembered a joke Frankie had told him once. Actually, he wasn't sure if it was a real joke or just some really bad case of twisting words. He probably would have been embarrassed by just thinking of it as funny had he been sober. But right now, it seemed like the best idea to share the laugh with Gee.
Getting up from the bed, he staggered over to Gerard, who was lying on the black carpet of the basement room, his bottle of whisky cradled to his side. Rather ungracefully, Mikey flopped down next to his brother. "Hey Gee," he slurred, laying his hand on Gerard's shoulder and shaking it lightly. But Gerard didn't answer. So Mikey leaned over him, looking down onto his relaxed face. "Hey GeeGee, you asleep?" Still, Gerard didn't react, even after Mikey had pinched his cheek repeatedly.
A wide grin spread across Mikey's face. He knew how heavy of a sleeper Gerard was when drunk. One could do almost everything to him. The ideas that came to his mind at that thought made Mikey's grin falter. It became a sad grimace. He had hoped these thoughts would leave him alone at least today. The only reason he had started drinking in the morning already was to forget, but obviously, it hadn't worked.
Huffing in resignation, he hunched over till he could lay his head, heavy from the booze, on Gerard's chest. From this perspective, he could see the burn mark from when Frankie and Gerard had wrestled once, and Frankie's lit cigarette had fallen from his lips by accident, scarring Gee's skin. And again, thoughts of licking and kissing it better came unbidden to Mikey's mind. 'Oh, fuck it all,' he thought, and straddled Gerard's hips. It was his birthday, after all, and his own brother hadn't even given him a present yet. Probably, he should simply take what he wanted.
Leaning down, he pressed his lips against Gerard's. Feeling the soft flesh beneath his made him even dizzier than he already was from the alcohol. Pulling back, he brought his hand up to Gerard's neck and encircled it, as if he wanted to press down. Not to kill Gerard, never, but to mark him, leave some physical sign of himself on his brother's skin. But he knew he couldn't, instead letting his fingers wander to Gerard's collar bones, which peeked out slightly through the neckline of Gee's shirt, entranced by the feeling of fragile bones beneath the skin.
He took the bottle of whiskey from Gerard's arm and drank down the liquid Gerard had left over. Discarding the empty bottle to the side, he leaned down again to attach his lips to Gerard's neck. He tasted of sweat and the alcohol that had spilled down his chin the many times he had started laughing about one thing or another while the open bottle still was at his mouth. He felt himself harden in his pants at this. Mikey always thought of knowing how someone tasted as something incredibly hot and intimate.
Licking his lips, Mikey opened his pants and pulled down his boxer briefs quickly, so he could touch himself. He wasn't going to make a sound. No matter how good it felt. For Gerard had told him once that God couldn't have his eyes everywhere at once, but he hears. Every little sound emitted by a creature, no matter how low its rank in the evolution charts, was carried to God. And so Mikey thought, if he didn't make a noise, maybe no one could punish him for this.
The unoccupied hand slipped beneath his shirt, stimulating his nipples, while the other picked up a nice, slow pace on his cock. Mikey's half-lidded eyes stayed on Gerard, imagining how he would look all hot and bothered, his face flushed, and hair tousled. He would love to hear Gerard moan his name in that unbelievable voice of his. But no. No matter what dirty promises these lips made by their lush fullness and the deep red coloring them, never would things sick enough to make Mikey happy slip from them.
Rubbing his thumb through the pre-cum gathering in his slit, he had to bite his lip to keep the sounds in. He reached up and stroked his glistening finger over Gerard's lips, spreading his pre-cum. The simple thought of it made him feel deep down dirty, but he couldn't stop himself from licking his pre-cum from Gerard's lips. The bitter taste mixed with alcohol and smoke, and made it even better. The sickness of enjoying this, doing this to his brother, brought him so close to climax.
Stroking himself again, Mikey had problems keeping his eyelids from drooping close. His breath was heavy, and his whole body felt oversensitive. From the slightly scratchy feeling of his shirt to his hair that tickled his nose, it all added together with the heat of his hand, driving him mad. And at last, he came, leaving an imprint of his teeth on his left hand and strings of white cum on Gerard's back shirt. "Fuck," he cursed, cleaning himself and zipping his pants back up, looking shocked at the evidence of his guilt.
His first impulse was to simply run from the room, but he knew Gerard would wake up eventually, and it wouldn't be the best if he did so with a come-covered shirt. What the hell had he been thinking? He was so fucked. Staring off into space, he pondered if Gerard would wake if Mikey would try and simply take off the shirt. After all, Gerard was quite heavy. Deciding to go for it while Gerard was still fast asleep, he pulled the hem up to his brother's armpits. Not without a bit of effort, because it was caught beneath Gerard.
Right when Mikey was about to position Gerard's arms over his head to ease the rest of the way, Gerard turned over, resting on his stomach now. Mikey froze, fearing his brother had woken, but after a minute without any proof of awareness, Mikey set back to work, trying as gently as possible to detach the shirt from Gerard. But the damn thing was caught on Gerard's chin. So, no matter how much he knew he had to be careful, he still was drunk, and drunkenness always made him impatient.
That's why, after another minute or two, he simply jerked on the shirt, suddenly relieved that Gerard had carpet in his room. He didn't want to imagine the sound Gerard's face colliding with wooden floorboards would have made. "Wow, you really are wasted, aren't you?" he addressed his brother, who was still lying there, oblivious to the world. And with that, he got up to go and hide the shirt in his room somewhere. Maybe he would clean it and give it back later. But maybe, he thought, he should just wash it and keep it as a kind of... inspiration. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: final_fantasy
Chapter 1
It was the evening that Reno, along with a few other Turklets, had completed his training and become a full-fledged Turk. Several of the Turks had come to like the young trainee, having met him during training exercises and tagalongs, and decided to take the redhead out for a drink at a tavern, which only served ShinRa employees. While none had said anything to the boy either way, many of the senior Turks had wondered if he would succeed in his training. Not one of them doubted the teen's skill, but many had questioned whether he had the disposition for Turk. However, their concerns were put to rest when the boy had been given a uniform and Turk identification card instead of a bullet between the eyes at that morning's meeting.
Therefore, after several hours of ceremony, paperwork, and a tour of headquarters, the newest member of the Turks could be found sitting at a table in the back with several of his newly official coworkers, with his shirt untucked and his collar open, the tie having been long since discarded. After a couple of hours, the redhead could not help but notice that Rod, Kilik, and Fayte kept glancing towards the far corner of the tavern. "Is there something suspicious going on in the corner or what, yo?" Blue eyes scanned the area, not finding anything he would consider attention-worthy in the process. "Why do you guys keep looking over there?" Each of the others grinned, and Kilik decided to have mercy on the rookie. "Look about five paces from the last stool – the blonde in the purple dress."
The teenager turned and found the described woman. She was fairly tall, with wavy blonde hair that fell to her hips, reaching almost to the hem of her dress in the process, and heavily lidded green eyes. The woman was quite fit, with just enough weight to allow for the curves expected of a female – or perhaps a bit more than expected, as the redhead discovered when the woman turned. He briefly spared a thought that it could not be comfortable to carry that much weight on your chest before noting the drink she was holding and the cigarette in the other hand. Reno turned back to the others with a questioning look, "What about her?" The grins fell from all three Turks' faces simultaneously, to be replaced by completely blank expressions. It was as though they had never before heard the words that the slight teen had spoken.
"Are you serious?" asked Rod. "Yeah," the redhead's tone indicated that he thought the question stupid. "What's so interesting about her? She doesn't seem to be doing anything entertaining." Fayte simply shook his head and sipped his drink, Rod was staring at the younger Turk in shock, and Kilik smiled, releasing a sigh that seemed to hold a small laugh before turning to the others. "See? This is why they shouldn't take in Turklets so young – the kid has completely missed the finer pleasures in life. I mean, look at him; he's completely clueless." Reno looked away while his new friend apparently searched for a word of appropriate proportion for describing the inhumanity of a world that allows an adolescent to be so distracted that he is uninterested in a woman who appears to be suffering from some sort of elephantitis in her chest.
The redhead really could not see it as a problem. He was a competent helicopter pilot, proficient in several forms of martial arts and weaponry, and could pick just about any lock built by man, all by the age of fifteen – a worthy trade for any social shortcomings he may have, in his opinion. Someone moved in the crowd, revealing what the scrawny Turk recognized as a SOLDIER uniform. Blue eyes trailed up a toned stomach and broad chest to meet with the brightest pair of violet eyes he had ever seen, framed with dark lashes and a few stray strands of black hair. The man Reno did not realize he was staring at offered a pleasant smile to the younger male, which snapped the redhead back to reality. He replied to the handsome man's friendly nod with a grin and a small nod of his own.
The small Turk then returned his attention to his companions, whom he realized had not spoken since Kilik trailed off a moment before. Reno was marginally surprised to find all three Turks staring at him. Fayte's expression was neutral, save for a questionably arched eyebrow. Kilik was smirking; his eyes bright as he clearly fought the urge to laugh about something. Rod was looking at Reno with a slightly disturbed expression, as though the shorter male had a nasty cold with which he did not want to become inflicted. These reactions caused the redhead to frown in confusion. The frown quickly gave way to a small but fierce glare as Kilik lost the fight against his amusement and released a hearty chuckle, "What, yo?"
"Making a new friend, were you?" commented the former mob guard once his chuckling had eased. The shorter Turk glanced back to the SOLDIER, who was still watching him, oddly enough. Reno drew his brows in irritation, knowing there was something going on here that he really should be catching. He had passed all of the tests on observational and deductive skills very well, after all. The corner of Fayte's mouth quirked up into a minute grin, "I guess the blonde woman just isn't put together to your liking." Kilik broke into a fresh wave of chuckles when the katana wielder stressed the word "woman" slightly, and Rod looked like a rookie after his first day at hands-on triage training.
Reno turned his gaze back to the woman in question, who was now flirting shamelessly with a dark-haired man in a long blue coat. He still could not see what was so great about her, but then, he realized he never had found women to be particularly interesting – from a physical standpoint anyway. Girls like Cissnei and Elena were cool to talk to and fun to hang out with, but he had never had any romantic interest in them. Actually, the redhead suddenly realized that he had never had any romantic interest in any girls. Of course, he had been more than a little busy trying to survive in the slums up until a couple of years prior and had spent his time since then determined to prove himself worthy of Turk.
Despite the logic in the explanations, the teen could not help but notice that they felt like excuses. Blue eyes turned to the raven-haired SOLDIER at the bar, who had been joined by another young man. Both were very well built, obviously they spent plenty of time working out. Since coming to the upper plates to join Turk, the redhead had realized that he noticed the build of the men around him. At first, he had written it off, thinking that of course a pale, scrawny kid from the slums would notice the toned, large, and usually tanned (or at least a healthy fair shade when not) skin of all the people who used the same locker rooms as he did, who were naturally males.
While logical, the teen also found this to feel like an excuse. Then, the raven-haired man he was watching absently stroked his companion's side in a gesture that was far too slow and intimate to be strictly platonic. Reno blinked and looked down at the table in front of him. Okay, so he obviously was attracted to men instead of women. He knew that was not unheard of, for he had accidentally interrupted upon alleyway rendezvous of all sorts while looking for a place to sleep out of the elements as a kid. It clearly was not that unheard of on the upper plate as well, if all three of his companions had reached the conclusion that he was gay after seeing him check out only one man.
It only took a few more seconds for the redhead to decide that he was fine with this new discovery. He also decided that he might as well have some fun with the information. He looked up and smirked at his companions, "Well, at least I picked a good job for my tastes, yo." He wagged his eyebrows once at their suddenly confused expression. "I get to share a locker room – and get naked – with the hottest bodies on the planet." All four stared at each other in silence for a brief moment, before both Reno and Kilik broke into laughter.
"Oh man, you should see your faces, yo," Reno chuckled. Fayte grinned lightly and shook his head at the younger Turks, while Rod released a nervous chuckle. "Relax, man," commented Kilik. "I think he was teasing about checking us all out in the locker rooms – besides, if he wasn't, I doubt you're one of the guys he'll be looking at. He seems to like the big ones." "Oh come on," Reno rolled his eyes. "Just because I like men doesn't mean I like all men. I have my standards, yo."
"Uh-huh," Rod nodded and then stiffly stood from the table. "I'll see you guys tomorrow. I think it's time to cut myself off." Reno frowned as the baton wielder all but fled the tavern. He got along well with the slightly older man, and hoped that they would still be able to be friends. "Just give him a couple of days to wrap his head around it," stated Fayte, catching the teen's eyes and holding them with his own. "Then, he'll realize he's being an idiot and you two will be joining forces to give Verdot some more grey hairs in no time." "Yeah," Kilik nodded his agreement. "Rod's cool – he just takes some time to adjust to things. You'll be fine, kid, don't worry."
Reno shrugged, "Hey, if he can't take it, he can't take it. I'm not crying over it, yo. As long as he can deal so we can both do our jobs, it's okay." The redhead glanced across the room again. The blonde woman was sitting at the bar with a different man than before, and the two SOLDIERs had disappeared. "You know, I'm not really planning on checking anyone out at work – it just doesn't seem like a bright idea, yo?" "Yeah, with a job like ours – one you can't get out of, it really is playing with fire," commented Fayte with an agreeable nod. "If it goes wrong, you're gonna burn or suffocate. There's no escaping."
Reno and Kilik nodded, and then the youngest male noticed a large man with sunglasses and a shaven head approaching the table. The redhead had seen, or more to the point, admired this man whenever he saw him around headquarters or the Turk training grounds before. The suit and badass air about him would have marked him as a Turk even if Reno had not seen him in places where only Turk had access. The small male could not help but wonder if it was his newly acknowledged preferences or simply the lighting in the tavern that made the older man look sexy enough for the redhead to actually feel himself blush as he reached the table.
"Shit," the teenager muttered and then met Kilik's eyes across the table as Fayte greeted the brawny Turk. "I'm gonna burn, yo." The gunman chuckled at the younger man's declaration as the bald man took Rod's vacated chair. "I saw Rod on the way in," commented the large Turk once he had seated himself. Reno could not recall ever having heard the man speak before and he immediately thought that he could easily become drunk of the sound of his voice alone. "What's wrong with him?" Fayte answered, which only made sense, seeing as how Kilik was clearly trying not to burst into hysterical laughter at both the reminder of the previous event and the youngest Turk's current blush.
Reno was too busy studying the wood grain of the table and trying to fight down said flush. "Apparently he doesn't find the idea of young Reno here checking us out in the locker rooms all that appealing." The bald man simply made a sound of acknowledgement and nodded. If the answer bothered him at all, he did not show it. The shift of white behind his shades suggested that he glanced at the redhead, who had paled slightly at the sword-wielder's reply. Then, he seemed to turn his attention back to Fayte. "I'm leading a small team out to the Gongaga area in the morning. Inara's already on board, but I need someone who's good at close combat."
The katana wielder nodded, "Should I meet you at the helicopter pad?" The large Turk nodded as well, "At four. Reno?" He turned to the small redhead again, who looked up immediately. "I need a pilot. Meet me at the chopper at three for prepping." The teen grinned, pleased that the older man had obviously heard enough about him to know his name and that he was a pilot. "You got it." He titled his head slightly as he thought of each time he had seen the man, usually with another senior officer. "You're Rude, right? I mean, that's your name, yo?"
"Mm-Hmm," the large man fixed his tie after he stood and offered a hand to the younger Turk, "Pleased to meet you." Reno accepted the offered handshake, and was surprised when the larger hand did not crush his own; even though it gripped just tightly enough for it to be clear that it possessed the strength to do so. The younger Turk actually had to push away thoughts of how well his smaller hand seemed to fit into Rude's powerful one, "Same here." Kilik arched an eyebrow as the two Turks pulled their hands back to their sides, noting that their fingers dragged along each other's briefly, and keeping contact for a just a few seconds longer than necessary.
He glanced at Fayte, "Well if you guys have to get up that early, then we should really call it a night, don't you think?" "Yes, we should," the older Turk replied as he stood and took out his wallet, noting that the two younger males were following suite. He held up a hand to Reno, "No, this was to celebrate your graduation, so you're off the hook this round." Kilik nodded his agreement and Reno grinned. "Thanks, yo. I had a good time – this is a nice place." While it was what most would call a quiet, modest tavern, where ShinRa's finest went to relax and try to forget the stresses of their jobs, to Reno the quiet and calm atmosphere was very comfortable after being used to the rowdy, loud bars in the slums.
It was also a lot cleaner than what he was used to, but everything on the upper plates seemed to be that way. While he glanced around the tavern one more time, Reno failed to notice that Rude was watching him thoughtfully. Fayte, however, did not. "Rude? Are you heading home as well?" He glanced towards their newest coworker when the bald man nodded. "Reno here lives in one of those little apartments just past your building; do you think you could walk with him? It's a bit out of the way for us." "Oh, I don't need an escort or anything, yo," interjected the teenager as he looked between Rude and Fayte.
"I'm fine on my own." The large Turk shrugged slightly, "We're heading in the same direction anyway." "Yeah," added Kilik. "You might as well walk together as far as Rude's building. No sense in going alone when you can get to know another one of the people you're going to have to trust with your life soon, kid." Reno stared at the other Turk for a moment.
While having his life in someone else's hands was not a new experience, he still was unused to the concept of actually being expected to trust others with it. He blinked and glanced at the others, wondering if that might actually work. Then, he shrugged casually. "Okay, let's go home."
Reno could not tell if the taller man enjoyed his company or not throughout the walk back to his apartment. The older Turk stayed beside him the entire time, never told him to shut up (which was what the teen was used to), and even spoke a few words that could have been intended to prompt the redhead to talk more during the lulls in the conversation—if it could be called that with how little the larger man was actually speaking. Still, the younger Turk could not help but wonder if he was annoying Rude.
Then Reno suddenly realized that they had reached his building, which was several buildings past Rude's own. "Hey, why didn't you tell me when we reached your building? You didn't have to go out of your way." "I felt like walking," replied the brawny man simply. "Oh...okay," the teen looked from the man beside him to his building and then back again, feeling even more confused. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow then."
The bald man nodded, "See you tomorrow." He then nodded his head towards the door, and did not head back to his building until Reno was already safely inside his own. The redhead noticed this and wondered if he should feel insulted or just give into the warm fuzzy feeling growing in his torso.
The redhead took the stairs up to his floor, hoping the movement would help clear his head, and once he had entered his small apartment and set his alarm for the next morning, he decided that maybe it had. After all, he had suffered through worse than a burning before and survived. At least this time, he might get some good memories out of it too. The teenager set his alarm for a little earlier before going to bed. He decided he would try ironing one of his suits in the morning. The redhead sighed and snuggled into his warm bed, thinking that he was really going to enjoy life as a Turk. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
A Game of Castles
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: This work is my own. The characters are my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, 'you gotta read this' excerpts, the usual). The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic. I tend to work with size-themed fiction, which includes overwhelming control issues and outrageous differences in scale. Such disparate sizes between partners are not for everyone, so be warned. No sex in this story, but violence and staplers. And a zealously dominating woman.
The Red General was a moron, opting for short-sighted solutions. He had taken over the kitchen, but his primary motivation was the knives. I mean, knives? What good was even a steak knife going to be in combat?
The Yellow General wasn't a lot smarter. He had driven his troops to take over the hall bathroom. He had water, but that was all he had. I was trading him food from my hoarded reserves for water, so we were at least nominally allied against Red. However, he needed me a lot more than I needed him.
I had secured the desk, and my Blue forces had taken control of the one corner of the living room with everything I needed to win. I was under the sofa, evaluating the efforts to ready our weapons. Everything was where it should be. That's when She came in.
Mistress strode down the hallway and into her living room, barely glancing around at the war zone. She stepped easily over Red's barricade at the kitchen door and made herself a sandwich. She took that and a drink over to her desk and called up her surveillance files.
My spy on the mantel signaled that he had a good view of the screen. Getting a man up there and keeping him supplied was a major effort, but today it would be worth it all. He noted the positions of all other men, especially Red and Yellow's sentries, dropped a message to waiting couriers, and then started the arduous descent to the hearth.
I think Mistress knew what he was doing; I know her little sensors had logged that he was there. She played around with the camera views for a while, then surfed the internet. Finally, she stepped to the terrarium, selected a few men to drop into her panties, and left the apartment.
While my lookout continued to work his way down, brick by brick, we started moving out. Three-man teams moved plastic cups over by the bookcase, using them as pavises, as if to hide something. More and more Red men moved to try to glimpse what was under the cups. That meant we could get the actual artillery quite close before we were noticed.
Every man in the apartment had had a chance to arm himself with a sewing pin. The generals had needles. Red and Yellow teams had stopped there. Not me. I had onagers and ballistae formed from torsion springs out of a stapler, and various weapons using springs from dismantled ballpoint pens and the hole-punch.
The men manning the wall were swept aside in the initial rush. Then we were over. Teams secured prisoners by literally pinning them to the ground. The stamina effect from the shrink ray would heal them quickly if they were left alone. By leaving them face down and spiked, we prevented them from being a problem later in the battle.
Red's secondary defense was steak knives. Four teams of four lifted the things and rushed our lines. It was pretty much what I'd expected. During Rome's wars with Carthage, the southern armies had done much damage, initially, with elephants. They stormed the Roman ranks and slaughtered many. The next time, the Roman army formed into ranks with huge alleys between units. The Carthaginian elephants had torn off down the avenues and left the battlefield entirely. A few arrows in the flanks goaded them on as they went by.
My men formed ranks and then split to let the knife men go by. As they passed, the weaponeers were stabbed a number of times by my soldiers, to stumble and fall. The prisoner teams rushed up to secure them while we went on.
Red and his officers retreated to the pantry, a final defense being to cut the cords holding back a potato avalanche. I lost a good half dozen men in the tumbling tubers, but there was no one to keep them down. They'd heal up inside of ten minutes, even the most crushed ones. The rest of us continued across the linoleum. Finally, they brought Red himself before me. The man was weeping, something about it not being fair.
Idiot. Kidnapped, shrunk, threatened, and placed in a freaking game of castles, and he expects me to play fair? We tied the prisoners up with dental floss and herded them out. We took a detour, though, down the hall to the bathroom. I let Yellow's sentries see us coming, and his officers came out to verify the reports. Most of my men and all of Red's were there, colored Sharpie ink on our chests numbering us from one to thirty. There was no way I could have changed the colors on my men and faked the victory.
After the victory parade, we turned around and marched them back. I glanced towards Mistress' bedroom door and the pair of two-foot-tall guards keeping it secure. They affected not to notice anyone three inches tall, but I was sure they were going to report this. I hoped the cameras got most of the action; Mistress would be pleased.
In the living room, my men marched the prisoners up the ramp to the edge of the terrarium. They were forced over the lip one at a time, and I watched them slide down to fall into the water dish. One man resisted, and the scuffle led to one of my men going over the top with him. Damn. I'd almost gone the entire round without losing a man.
He swam to the rim of the dish and climbed out. A few of the red prisoners started to rough him up, but the Oranges kept the peace. All colors aside, they were out of the War, now, no matter how they'd gotten there.
We consolidated our position, hiding the big weapons under the sofa, taking some food but leaving the kitchen alone. Yellow spies were seen moving into the kitchen. They must have seen the blood along the barricade, the abandoned knives, and potatoes. They couldn't have figured out exactly what we'd done, but would have to conclude that it was effective. That's the report I wanted taken back to Yellow and his men.
The next day, I took an escort and approached the bathroom. I brought along the last of the candy bar. I presented it to Yellow warriors and announced that it was the last shipment of food. Behind me, my men uncovered a piece of beef jerky we'd gotten from the pantry. I announced that if any Yellow surrendered to me, now, I'd take them as my own men. I'd implore the giantess to have them counted as part of the winning team, and not have to enter the terrarium as panty slaves.
No one took me up on the offer then and there. I wasn't surprised. We took the meat back to the sofa.
Over the next two days, about half of the Yellow team showed up in our camp. They deserted in ones and twos until we had 16 of them added to our forces. We fed them and started training them in our tactics, but kept them away from the weapons.
When it looked like no more were coming, we started taking them under the sofa in small groups. We told them they were being initiated into the secrets of our victory. Sort of. We mugged them and tied them up. When they were all secure, we marched them to the top of the ramp.
"If you believe we can make the Mistress change her mind about anything, you're too dumb to be worth a shit as soldiers. If you're smarter than that, you're probably a Yellow spy. Either way…" I jerked a thumb, and they went over the side. This time, we prodded them with spears (pins stuck through straws) to keep from another accident.
We left one outside of the tank. I made sure he had a count of the number of artillery weapons we owned. We marched down the hallway to stand just outside of the bathroom door.
I let the last Yellow go, to take a message to his general. No more food coming, half your forces gone, nowhere to go, etc. At least in the tank, they were fed regularly.
We waited. After an hour, the men started filing out of the door. They docilely waited to be bound and were led off. When we'd counted all but one, I took a squad in. We found Yellow pinned to a roll of toilet paper, pierced by at least ten pins and his own needle. He begged mercy. I was tempted to flush him down the toilet, let him find his own destiny downstream somewhere. But Mistress might punish me for that weakness. We dumped him in the tank, pins and all.
When the giantess reviewed the films the next day, she learned of our overwhelming victory. She called us out, and we formed ranks at her feet. My officers presented her with the Orange, Red, and Yellow banners.
Mistress picked up each Blue survivor and kissed us, setting us down in two groups atop her desk. She opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out four suits of armor, each six inches tall. Immediately, we fell to fighting each other. The usual fight was one on one, with the winner pinning the loser to the desk blotter, then taking the loser's pin. When we finally finished, there were only three men standing free.
She clapped in glee and kissed each of us again. Then she pulled out the last pin placed and gave that man a smaller kiss. She waved her hand, and we four rose until we were doubled in height. The ink faded as our skin stretched beneath it, until we were without marks. We policed the desktop, collecting the remaining Blues and escorting them into her In Box. She dumped them in the terrarium and returned to us.
Dressed in the armor, she collected us and went through her bedroom to the master bath. There, she placed us in the bathtub. A score of her champions stood on the edges, towering above us at 12 inches in height. They watched as she lowered a cage to the tub. We readied our weapons and awaited the next challenge. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: television
Chapter 1
More disclaimer: This work is my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, 'you gotta read this' excerpts, the usual). A Trek fan for about 40 years, and a fan of Lilliput since the day I heard of it, I imagine a crossover universe where the little people of Swift's tale are part of the Federation. And how that'd affect the series.
A transporter accident reduces the bridge crew to 1/12th scale. "Welcome to my world," the Lilliputian officer says. Later, a transporter accident causes her to become 12 times her normal size. "Man, you people have tiny, tiny rooms. Was the bridge always this claustrophobic?" The bad guys underestimate the Lilliputian due to her size, but she escapes and manages to release the crew, allowing them to recapture the ship.
The bad guys overlook the Lilliputian in the away party, but she tracks them back, infiltrates the fortress, and releases the away team, who then overcome the bad guys. The same crew member who kicked ass against professional mercenaries twice is helpless when she gets lost in a cargo bay and has to wait for someone to notice she's missing, find her, and rescue her. The director says it was to show her vulnerabilities.
Once every three episodes, station display failures prevent her from using her specially programmed interface, forcing her to jump back and forth on a giant display to do her job. Usually, she is within arm's reach of another officer who doesn't appear to be doing much of anything on his station. She is crucial in a first-contact with a race of beings so small that they don't even recognize the humans as a life form, but were about to open up the warp core for technobabble reasons. She talks them out of it.
She is also crucial in a first-contact with a race of giant beings, who are going to exterminate the crew as vermin, but come to understand from her example that there is a wide spectrum in sentient beings in the universe and come to adopt the Federation's basic fondness for the Vulcan philosophy of Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations (IDIC). As a sub-plot, the engineer will keep trying for an entire season to perfect a robotic or hologramic 'contact suit' that allows the Lilliputian to travel among and interact "normally" with her human and human-sized shipmates.
No one on the production crew notices how terribly sizeist this is, or how offensive it is to anyone that isn't human 'normal.' After the fans finally point out how this is poking IDIC one right in the eye, they quietly drop the subplot, and no one ever mentions it again, even in episodes where the character could be expected to use such a suit to resolve the plot nearly instantly.
The episode where the Counselor makes a big deal about how the thoughts and emotions of Lilliputians are 'just the same' to her as anyone else's seems to contradict the episode where telepathic aliens notice the Lilliputian only because her brain waves are at a drastically different amplitude, allowing them to communicate with her and thus saving the day. Convention fans spend a great deal of time justifying the two episodes as if they were real, not just written by two different writers during two different seasons.
The Trip to Risa episode shows how the casual actions of others can effectively discriminate against the Lilliputian, used as a metaphor to show how wrong discrimination is, no matter who is victimized by it, and how it's possible to thoughtlessly discriminate. Fans in general hate this episode for being excessively preachy, even for Trek, although they learn to stop saying so after it wins many accolades from minority groups.
The Empowerment Episode: Fans have noticed that her battle plan usually consists of escaping notice until she can release a 'biggie' to fight the monsters and save the day. Rankling under the internet title of 'the human lock pick,' she demands an episode where she actually faces and defeats opponents. Critics draw many unfortunate comparisons between this episode and the Batman/Green Hornet crossover, where Robin kicked Bruce Lee's ass.
Her opposite from the Mirror Universe wears a tighter, more revealing uniform, and there are implications that she is sexually active with other members of the crew. Afterwards, Real Universe crewmen, and the fans, look at the Lilliputian in a new light, mostly by muttering 'how?' to each other over and over again. Diagrams exploring the mechanics appear on the internet.
A transporter accident combines her with another crewman, imposing her form on his mass, creating 1701 of her, providing some 1700 evil twins, all of whom maintain that they are the 'real' one. The Packleds overwhelm the ship, but the Lilliputian convinces them that a transporter accident has made them all giants, and she can save them if they just step back on the transporter pads. She beams them to holding cells, then releases the crew.
The away team is accused of practicing witchcraft and are placed on trial. The Lilliputian allows herself to be seen, claims to be the corrupt judge's familiar, and Starfleet personnel escape in the confusion of the ensuing riot. Time travel places her on the first Enterprise, where she enlists the aid of the captain's dog, Porthos, to ride to the rescue of the original crew. After Porthos apparently reprograms the airlock to blast the aliens into space, Archer brags about how smart his doggy is. T'Pol thinks she sees a tiny human go by on doggy-back but refuses to comment. If anyone is going to behave as 'the delusional one,' it is not going to be the only Vulcan on board.
The Lilliputian is possessed by the unshriven soul of an alien sorcerer. The crew gets suspicious when she keeps "forgetting" that she is not five foot tall. A tribble infestation on a research facility leads to the Lilliputian wrestling her way through a mass of the fuzzy, cute, purring things in order to save the ship. Exposure to a depressed telepath heightens the tension by driving her to constantly reevaluate her decision to join Starfleet and most of her career choices made since. This episode is referred to by fandom as 'the Tickle Me Emo' episode.
A planet with an atmosphere high in helium has the away team talking like Lilliputians, but her own voice is not detectable without reprogramming a tricorder. An episode makes reference to her Kobiashi Maru test, where the fake explosions were big enough to blast her across the bridge, and she graduated with a cast on her leg. While heartbreakingly cute, no one explains why Starfleet technology was insufficient to fix a broken bone in time for the ceremony.
The Doctor has to make many unusual adjustments to the surgical table to save the Lilliputian's life after trauma, discussing abilities and limitations with the Engineer and two people of the Sciences staff. It is never explained why no one thought to address these problems for the first three seasons after she reported aboard, waiting for a life-threatening situation instead.
Harry Mudd's grandson is dealing in Starfleet Action Figures to Ferengi markets. The Lilliputian recognizes one as the Chancellor's nephew and risks all to rescue the stasis-kept Lilliputians from slavery. An evil Lilliputian inflicts a devastating biochemical attack upon the Enterprise, reducing the crew to mindless minions, except for the Lilliputian. She interrupts his plans of interstellar domination and tosses him in the brig, sneeringly referring to him as a 'The Brain' wannabe. The Captain congratulates her, while the XO suggests calling her Pinky from now on.
Fans point out that Pinky was the minion, not the opponent, and start a campaign to name her Snowball. A time-travel portal opens, and the descendants of several crew members appear. The Lilliputian's great-great-granddaughter stands 6 feet tall and says, "The Doctor found a cure for the Lilliputian condition! All our race has been restored!" Since most of 'their' race considers themselves as restored as they want to be, she suspiciously monitors the behavior of the visitors and detects and ultimately foils the Ferengi plot.
The Lilliputian's mother visits, wanting to see how her girl lives. At the same time, a Romulan diplomatic mission is hosted on the Enterprise. Yet another Romulan race is revealed as tiny Lilliputian-sized Vulcanoids attempt to kidnap the Lilliputian, but they get her mom instead. The daughter defeats the kidnappers, foils their insidious plot to destabilize the diplomatic mission, and actual progress is made towards peace. Mom leaves, more proud than scared.
Q decides that the Lilliputian needs to have a new perspective, and she wakes on a colony planet, the size of a Brobdingragian. While her new size helps in the resolution of a threat to the colony, it also affects her relationships with fellow officers. "C'mere, shorty," pretty well sums up her new attitude and altitude.
The Lilliputian crash lands on a planet with a civilization of tiny life forms. They worship her as a goddess. She's torn between leaving them to their beliefs (as mandated by the Prime Directive) and attempting to correct any changes made to their culture by her interaction (also as mandated by the Prime Directive). A scientist among the Tinies adapts her DNA to theirs, advancing the entire race along to the next stage of evolution. They transform to energy in a blinding light, just before an away team beams down, and the CO steps on the empty city.
The Holodeck episode features a program that goes berserk and threatens all life on board, as usual. It turns out the Blefuscan software company that developed the program (Micromicrosoft, of course) has a subroutine that puts little tunnels through the backdrops, allowing the Lilliputian to crawl around inside Data's fantasy to solve the puzzle, finish the program, and save all life on board.
There must be a 'Terrans on Trial' episode: Aliens monitoring old Earth TV programs feel it is unlikely that there is only one sentient life form on Earth as depicted in the programs. They show up, ready to kick ass in the name of the unsung species, and the presence of the Lilliputian saves the day. Fandom responds by saying: Yeah, I loved the fourth movie... And a false deity episode...
The ship passes a new frontier into a previously unexplored region of space. A woman claiming to be the goddess Neith appears on the bridge. Everyone says 'Neith who?' Data explains that Neith was the Atlantis name for the Greek goddess Athena (according to Plato). She claims that the Lilliputians were created by her priests in Atlantis, in an attempt to save the population when the island sank. She winks back and forth between Lilliputian size and human size, offering to restore all the tiny people. "Why does everyone think I wanna be 'restored'?" Rejecting the offer and the claim of divinity, she ends up discovering that Neith is an alien trickster out to incur a huge debt from the biggified and assumedly grateful Lilliputians.
Pissed off at the rejection, Neith says that now she 'wouldn't fix you little pygmies if you begged!' 'Put that in writing!' the other yells, poking the bitch one right in the eye. The CO ends the episode with the usual: 'Place wouldn't be the same if you weren't you,' speech. 'Damn straight,' she replies.
The old patron episode: She turns out to have had a Brobdingragian mentor at the Academy. This is brought to light when the Enterprise operates in tandem with a giant-crewed vessel captained by the mentor, probably with an incredibly original name like the USS Goliath. The plot will certify that the mentor has a chance to make his 'so proud' speech about the her protege's performance.
The historical figure episode: The crew meets J. Swift, finds out that he's a time-traveling alien who tried to ease Lilliput's introduction to the rest of humanity by offering a fictional story that was declared 'amazingly prescient' after the ReDiscovery.
The time-travel-to-the-year-of-the-show's-production episode: A temporal technobabble takes the Lilliputian to the 21st century. She discovers that a test of a new weapons system threatens the magically hidden islands of Lilliput and Blefuscu. Without revealing her existence or Lilliput's location, she must convince the scientist in charge of the test to select a new location.
The technology-out-of-control episode: The ship's artificial gravity goes nutsy fagin. As the crew are pinned to the decks, they lie there discussing the long-term effects of above-normal gravity, the difficulties of operating the ship by raspy voice commands, why the incredibly over-redundant system usually functions well after every other ship component has failed (power, inertial dampeners, lighting, life support, doors, replicators... everything but the cameras and the mood-lighting) yet remains vulnerable to casualties like this one, and the human-like muscle/skeletal arrangements of Lilliputians, which makes the race horribly over-muscled for their mass, allowing the tiny officer to be the only person aboard capable of addressing the malfunction.
The best-pick-for-the-mission episode: A team of scientists from the Daystrom Institute have been firing unmanned probes into a space anomaly, losing them immediately on crossing the event horizon. The nature of the anomaly puts a limit on the size of the probes, but they feel that the Lilliputian would make a dandy pilot for the next one (number 23, they eventually admit). As the tiny officer obviously loves a challenge, or she wouldn't be here, she feels good about the plan, but everyone else on the bridge crew tries to protect her from the danger. She calls them all sizists and sneaks out on the probe by herself. Her mission is successful, but the CO is still miffed about her insubordination. He gives her the same punishment he gave the last officer, polishing the ship's bell with a toothbrush. She rolls up her sleeves, shoulders the brush, and marches off... with a smile.
The Babysitter episode: LT "Dolly" must deal with hostile aliens while keeping a class of young children safe. Back on Earth, size discrimination has affected human/Brobdingrag/Lilliput interaction. The bridge officers try to find a way around prejudice, bias, and misconceptions without letting politics affect their relationships. The Engineer lets loose with the 'elf' word after seeing a new report. Shocked by the ethnic epithet, the Lilliputian returns to Maldonado to rethink her place in Starfleet. Engineer follows her home, apologizes in the town square. His humility, and her forgiveness, go a long way to at least calming the participants, if not solving the issues.
In a follow-up to the riots, the Engineer meets the Lilliputian on the holodeck. Careful programming allows him to join her at her normal size, spending a typical day on the ship, to try to get to understand her better.
To their surprise, he is still six inches tall when the holodeck simulation ends. Now he really has to walk a mile in her tiny, tiny shoes. He pretty much adopts "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" as a mantra. She just giggles. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
More Disclaimer: This work is my own. The characters are my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual). The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic.
I tend to work with size-themed fiction, which includes overwhelming control issues and outrageous differences in scale. Such disparate sizes between partners are not for everyone, so be warned.
I guess, I don't know, maybe we all get one wish. It's all I can think of. Maybe we all get that one moment when our minds and the universe click, when the stars are aligned, or some such. Most of us probably waste it wishing to pass a test, or school gets snowed out. Maybe that the bullies don't find us, or maybe that the wimpy kid in Phys Ed has extra lunch money today. I got my wish... Well, it'd be a bit harder to chalk it up to coincidence.
The TV show was about this cop and another cop, misfits with respect to authority, but kept on the force because they always get their man, blah, blah, blah. And the other cop was cute, sure. Not as sexy as they played her up to be, but not bad. Lots of scenes where she distracted witnesses or drug dealers or everyone driving by. But despite the efforts of the director, she just wasn't convincing as a traffic-stopping blonde. Then again, blondes aren't really to my taste.
There was one scene where the witness was a tall black Amazon. Oh, my God, sexy. Her business suit was there to show she was a professional with respect to the plot, but she definitely had curves underneath the costume. She could stop my traffic, that was for sure. I was thinking about how the show went to a lot of work to say Woman Cop was hot, and then worked hard to make sure this woman didn't challenge the idea. Flaunting the intention of the show's writers, I wanted Nameless Bank Manager. I mentally rejected Woman Cop as a fantasy, and out loud murmured: 'I'm really prefer this woman in my lap.' And there she was.
I didn't notice right away. The woman I was staring at disappeared from the screen. Everyone around her kept talking to the spot she'd been, and reacting to dialogue as if she was still there. I was wondering if she had been a digital creation when I heard a noise. A gasp. A teeny-tiny gasp. From my fly. Looking down, I saw Nameless Bank Manager. About a foot tall, sitting on my pants, looking around in surprise. I think... Well, I'm almost certain, she was the size she'd been on the screen when I spoke.
"What the hell?" she asked. She moved, and I felt her ass roll across my dick. Little Jason responded to the attention and started to firm up. Then she saw the TV screen. She saw the scene and recognized it, or thought she did, and made a conceptual leap between filming expert dialogue on the morgue steps and being on a pair of giant jeans. "This is a sci-fi picture?" she muttered. She raised her voice. "Someone should tell people when they turn on the special effects!" She leaned forward to look between my legs, down at the ground. She slid down a bit to stand on the bit of chair there. Little Jason grew harder.
"Hey," I said. I don't know what else I was going to say. She twisted her head around, looking up. When she saw my face, she started to turn completely around. There wasn't room, and her position was already poorly balanced. She started to fall from my lap towards the floor. I reached quickly to grab her with both hands. One ended up around her back, with finger and thumb resting on her boobs. The other wrapped her thighs. She struggled, kicking and flailing. But nothing moved. She was too weak, too tiny. I had her in my grip, and nothing was going to move. I had total control over her.
"Stop," I said. "What do you want with me? Where am I?" "You're in my house," I said. "A couple weeks, probably since you filmed that scene." I slipped a thumb under her jacket. "You probably turned this in to Wardrobe and went home and got another job." She still squirmed in my hands. I could stop it, I knew I could. Just squeeze. Press the air out, and if she wanted to breathe, she'd be quiet. But I found that the struggles were fun. Mostly because they were absolutely useless. "Futile," I said softly.
"What?" She paused for a second. I lifted my thumb, stretching her jacket. Buttons popped. It was about as difficult as pulling cobwebs. She started fighting again. "Put me down! PUT ME DOWN!" "I just GOT you," I said. "But next time I should wish you were at least the size of a Centerfold." I wondered where I got that size from. Twenty-four inches tall instead of eleven or twelve? Still couldn't have sex with her. And she'd put up a better fight.
Then I noticed that the TV was showing a close-up. One of the cops was mouthing a message so the guy holding her hostage wouldn't know her partner was watching. If my little prize had been put in my lap at that scale, she'd be looking down on the remains of my roof, wondering what the squishy stuff under her ass was... I guessed I was okay with Barbie-sized instead of a giant.
I let go of her torso and pulled her jacket off. It was like undressing a doll. Or an action figure. I had GI Joes, back when they had uniforms and scuba suits, but never played with dolls. The blouse buttons parted in the effort to get the jacket off. I just grabbed the collar behind her neck and pulled. She tried to resist, but only tore a few stitches. "Please!" she pleaded. But by then it was way too late.
Her bra was not from the studio, I'd bet. It was not supporting a professional demeanor. Hooker red, lacy, and partially see-through, it would hardly fit the medical examiner image. I pushed my thumb up under the clasp between her breasts. It twisted, the hooks straightening out, and the bra fell away. "Nice," I said softly. She tried to cover them. I pushed her hands gently with a fingertip. Gently but firmly. I'd yank them away if I had to, but she must have realized that. She stopped fighting.
They were full and round, very large nipples sticking straight out at the front. One of the areolas was shaped a little strange, almost heart-shaped. "Wait, I know that boob," I said. "Miss... Oh, yeah, Miss September!" What was her name? She stared at me, mouth open. "You didn't recognize me until...?" She tugged at the remains of her bra. "Dwan, what did you think? Guys were going to open your portfolio and memorize your face?"
She covered her face with her hands as I stroked and pinched at the breasts, pushed my fingertip against her nipples, and ground them in tiny circles. I set her down on the drink stand. One of her shoes had fallen off; she twisted a bit. Then she kicked the remaining one free and stood, staring up at me. "Do that pose. The one where you're tugging the panties down to just show your pubes." "No!" she protested.
"What do you mean, no? You can't say no! You belong to me!" "Who says?" "I say!" "Why do I give a shit what you say?" she asked. I made a fist and held it over her head. "Oh." She reached around back and undid her skirt zipper. The panties weren't quite right. They matched the bra, but they were too small. The thong didn't cover as much as the pair she'd worn in the picture. But she did have a good memory for poses.
Two thumbs in the waistband, pulling down slowly and gently, leg cocked just so, dark hair barely identifiable against her almost-as-dark skin. It just needed... "And that come-hither expression," I said. My voice might have been a little husky. She looked anything but inviting. Not a Bunny but scared like a hare. I reached out. I was thinking I could hold her, cuddle her to my chest. Maybe it would calm her; she'd see I meant no harm. And nudity was what probably got her the TV show, so why should she mind?
Anyway, I was thinking this as I reached over. My hand out, fingers spread, ready to pick her up again. Her lip quivered as it approached. Eyes wide, the whites looking extra startling against her dark face. Her hands stole to cover her breasts. They heaved a bit as her breathing sped, staring at my thumb. Just before I touched her, she turned and jumped off the table. Little feet pattered on the carpet as she ran... towards the TV.
"Wrong direction," I said. I stood and pushed the door shut. "That's the only way out of my entertainment center," I said. I tipped the chair I'd been in over on its back. That lay it flat on the floor, no hiding place. The two chairs next to it went down, too. The drink table I put in the corner, behind the barricade of chairs. She was somewhere behind the TV or the other electronics.
I dropped to my knees and started to crawl in the general direction. She wasn't behind the speaker on the right. Or the stand for the DVD. Or the TV's pillar. Or the left-hand speaker. I got closer and closer to the minifridge. Somehow, she'd gotten on top of the column of speakers. I'd just heard her whimper and was trying to figure out where it came from. Then she jumped down, right on my back, jumped down to the floor, and ran.
I turned and followed. She reached the door, beat on it, tried to pry it open with fingers in the jamb. Then she beat on it some more, sliding down to sit on the floor as I got closer. She sobbed, hitting the door in a rhythm with her breathing. She watched me get closer and closer and finally reach out to take her. "That was naughty," I said. I lifted my chair back up and sat down. I spread her over my thigh and examined her ass.
Nothing much was hidden by the thong. It shook, trembling at an increasing frequency the longer I looked at it. I was afraid to do too much damage to it. It was a really nice, full ass. So I shifted my grip, putting my palm under her belly and my thumb just at the top of the crack of her ass. It's hard to hurt yourself, so I aimed a slap that would get my finger and both cheeks at once. I automatically pulled it, but it still smarted there on my knuckle. She let out a holler and kicked, little legs pumping furiously but meaninglessly.
"That's for saying 'no' to me," I said. I hit once more, pulling the slap even more. But my knuckle was sensitive now, and I think her cheeks were, too. "That's for not doing the face I wanted." I lifted my hand once more. "Pleeeeeease, no!" she wailed. "And for running away," I said slowly. Her hands waved, trying to reach around my fingers to grab her butt. "Well, it was fun." I put her down on the floor.
She nearly fell, taking a half-step before regaining her balance. I shook a finger in her face... Well, over her head. "Just don't do it until I tell you to, next time." "Yes, sir," she said softly. I put the table back and stood her on it. "Now. Take off the panties." She was quick and obedient. I crooked a finger, and she stepped to the edge. Hands at her side, she stood for inspection.
"You've trimmed since your shoot," I said. I ran a finger up and down the thin strip of hair remaining. "My agent said I should. If Playboy wanted another shoot." I nodded. "Lay down." She dropped like she'd been shot. She did wince as her abused butt hit the plastic, but she never paused. The table slid over the floor as I pulled it between my legs. She flinched as I pulled my zipper down. My cock was hard and throbbing as I wrestled it free of my underwear.
I stroked myself with one hand, trailed fingers of the other over her body. Nothing was hidden from me, nothing withheld, no resistance at all. She belonged to me, now, body and soul. And that got me as excited as seeing her tiny pussy did. There might have been a whimper or two, but that was all. I finally lurched to my feet, pushing the end of my dick against her breasts. "Lick it," I said.
She raised her head and did, following the tip as it moved with my continued stroking. A drop of clear fluid oozed into view, and she slurped it down. Her hands rose to grab the helmet, fingers tickling the ridge. She licked and slurped, moaned and squeezed, stroked and fingered. I could barely feel the touches, but there was enough sensation to anchor the sight I was watching. Precum covered her face, her throat, and shoulders, matted her hair, and slicked her cleavage.
I stopped pumping and just squeezed, pushing it against her. She sucked hard enough to leave a hickey. Then she nearly drowned. I came, harder than I have since I was a teenager. God, it was like my soul left my body through my dick. I grunted and pushed down on her. She burbled something through a face inundated with sperm. It took a few seconds to squeeze the last bits out, drops falling to her boob, belly, and thigh.
When I relaxed, I dropped down to my chair. I left my pants around my ankles and stared at her. She wiped her face off and lay there, gasping. My eye followed movement to see the credits rolling. "Your show's over," I said idly. Just then, I saw her full name in the credits. When I looked down, she was gone.
Back at the screen, I saw that they showed out-takes. I couldn't really move yet, so I watched to see if Dwan was... Yep. Her scene was there. A single shot of the three characters talking. Cop. Other cop. And a woman in a business suit, a torn suit, standing there with about a gallon of come on her face, shoulders, and in her hair. I found the bra and panties later, but not the rest of her outfit. I guess that really did go back to Wardrobe.
And I haven't been able to draw anyone else out of the TV since. So, like I said, I think we each get one real wish out of the universe. I got a Playmate. I hope you're just as happy that time you hoped the light wouldn't turn red, and it didn't... |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
"FULLA!" The editor's shout brought the reporter out of a sound sleep.. Too bad it was at her workstation.. "Got a story for you.. Get to the roof, private hopper coming.. Maybe you can sleep on the way.. "
"Sorry, Tagget," Chrissit replied, rubbing her eyes.. "I was up late-"
"Don't care," he said.. He tossed an assignment on the desk and strode away.. Just as well, she thought to herself.. She didn't like to lie to her boss, but couldn't really have explained staying up all night helping the station's Protector write a letter to his bosses.. She read over the assignment while gathering up her camera and notepad.. Then she nearly choked.. She was going along with Wilderness Security, who were investigating reports of giants under the jungle canopy.. Having been under the trees, on the shoulder of a giant, Chrissit figured she was probably both the best and worst choice to help in this investigation.. She turned to her computer to call Trevor and warn him that he'd been seen.. Hell, maybe THEY had been seen.. And to keep out of the Wilderness for a while.. "ROOF!" Taggert yelled.. She cursed lightly under her breath and ran for the elevator.. She gave a friendly nod to the maintenance workers in the car, with another silent curse.. She didn't mind the workers themselves, but if she wasn't alone in the car she couldn’t contact the Protector.. There was no respite on the roof, either.. A small hopper was tethered in place, Security officer at the controls, access crew holding the lines and waving her aboard.. With fairly well concealed frustration, she boarded and strapped in.. Seconds later, they were airborne, climbing swiftly.. The city of New Heria spread out to every side, shrinking down as she looked.. Beyond, the cities of New Key and Macaque were barely visible to the North and South.. Due to the curve of the station floor, the farmland sections of the station and the Wilderness overhead were still out of sight behind the dirigible above the passenger module.. From what she could see, the pilot was taking them straight up-spin.. Speaking of the pilot, she decided that the skies seemed clear enough of traffic to risk distracting him with a few questions.. She
"So, Officer...?" she asked, fishing for a name.. He turned around and she was quite surprised to find that she already knew it.. "Bridge Security Officer Tedder Fulla," he said with a smirk.. "I can write it down for you, if you like, so you won't misspell it in the article.. "
"What are you doing here?" she asked.. He smiled again and waved her to the copilot seat.. With her sitting there, he didn't have to turn completely around from the controls to speak with her.. "I assumed you were briefed," he said.. "Yeah, a single flimsy that is either a work assignment or a movie plot, and ten seconds to get upstairs.. That's a 'briefing' where I work.. "
"Oh.. Well, we have been getting reports of giants living in the jungles for a while, now.. Whatever is really there, they were finally seen by a credible witness.. "
"You mean one with rank?"
"Shuddup.. Anyway, there seems to be actual evidence.. No pictures, but a few footprints, disturbed grounds, there's definitely SOMEthing out there.. We're going to find out.. And you're invited to come along.. "
"Why me? Hey, and why YOU?" she asked her brother.. "You're a former Farmlands Security officer working on the Bridge.. Why did they-" She was interrupted by a series of loud popping sounds around the cabin.. "Relax.. The windows always do that when we reach this altitude.. " Outside, she saw that the hopper was high enough to see Arcadia from North to South.. The buildings of Santuario sparkled in the sunlight reflected through the great windows, while the dull colors of Back Off were only barely visible.. "The spin of the station," Tedder lectured.. Chrissit remembered that he was fond of pointing out things she didn't know.. "Keeps most of the air gathered along the floor.. Once you pass a certain height, you pass the bandwidth of 'normal' air pressure into an area that's much less dense, lower pressure, and the capsule reacts to the vacuum-like conditions outside the hull.. "
"Not a vacuum?"
"Well," he shrugged, "not a hard vacuum, no.. But the pounds per square inch are significantly lower.. Who's Trevor?" She also remembered his tendency to slip questions into his lectures like land mines or speed bumps.. "Trevor who?"
"Oh, come on! Last month when we were visiting, the whole family was talking about it.. Every conversation you're in, at least once you refer to a mysterious 'Trevor.. ' Trevor said, Trevor told me, I told Trevor.... We're really sick of it," he finished, but with a smile.. "I don't wish to talk about it," she said, trying to avoid sounding coy.. "Trevor helped find Jako, didn't he?" Chrissit turned to face him fully.. "What is going on here?"
"I... Well, if you must know, I'm worried.. "
"About me?"
"About TREVOR!" he said, slamming the console with a fist.. "I mean, my kid disappears, we're all searching everywhere for him, then my wife and sister disappear.. They find Jako, but don't bring him back.. Instead, Trevor seems to throw him into the elevator, alone, and trusts that he'll walk out at Dad's floor.. " He stared out the window, but Chrissit wasn't sure he was even seeing the skies around them.. Luckily, almost no one ever traveled at this altitude.. "Jako's full of stories about spaces on the station no one's ever seen, a guy no one's met who can make elevators do things no one's heard of, and space pirates.. "Then, four days later, after I'm pretty much out of my MIND, the two of them come back, shrug off any questions about where they've been, and say 'it's a secret.. '
"So, when I hear about this investigation, I pull a few strings, ask for favors, and wonder if, maybe, I can get my sister alone, she might go off record to freaking level with me, just a little bit.. " He turned a mournful face towards his sibling.. "Nice try, Tedder," she said with a giggle.. "But I remember the night you cracked Dad's flitter, and practicing that exact face in the mirror until he came home.. " He muttered something about 'worth a try' and laughed with her.. "Honestly, though," he finally said, "there's a lot more questions than I'm used to not getting answered.. Especially in my family.. " She sat quietly for a moment.. They were approaching the first window panel, one of the four sections of glass that separated the four living areas.. The dark wall of space decorated by hard, unblinking stars here and there, was always an odd experience when you looked fully into it.. When he spoke again, about his wife, it seemed like a non-sequitor.. "Sulli was raised by a pair of Bridge officers," he said.. "Five generations on the Bridge, they go back.. And on her dad's side, they were Security during Refuge.. "
When she figured out what he was asking, Chrissit reached out to take his hand and squeeze it.. "Tedder, Sulli has secrets, yeah.. But it's because we promised someone..."
"Trevor?"
"Okay, yeah, we promised Trevor that we wouldn't discuss anything until we could.. Until certain issues are resolved.. She's not freezing you out because you come from a city Zone.. " He started to smile a bit at her response.. "Sulli doesn't play games like that.. She's quiet because she gave her word, not because she thinks any less of you or your ability to keep a secret.. " He was definitely cheering up by her words.. "You big idiot," she went on, because he was a sibling.. Chrissit turned her back on him, then, to take pictures of the unusual view.. Without a comment from her, he tipped the hopper over to give her a clearer view straight down into the window.. Small dots of vehicles moved on the viaduct connecting city zones to the farmlands ahead.. She tried to estimate the hopper's speed against how long it took to drive the viaducts, but the math was beyond her.. She knew Tedder could figure it out, or some reading on the console probably told him, but damned if she'd give him the opportunity to lecture again.. -----
"Is anyone interviewing Dojara Pell?" she finally asked.. "Who?"
She turned to face him.. "Dojara Pell.. The woman that wrote the children’s books? The Tall Family series?" He just stared at her and shook his head.. "Fifteen years or so ago, she was a production manager in New Key.. She was fired, and stared writing books about a family of giants that lived under the Wilderness canopy where no one could see them.. I guess they were pretty popular for a while.. "I figure if Security is interested in giants, someone should be seeing what she knows? Or thinks she knows?" Chrissit had been trying to work up the nerve to interview the author.. But she knew that Pell had been fired for an apparent binge of Happy Juice.. And she knew that Trevor had dosed the woman because he didn't think she could be trusted with the secret of his existence beneath the Maintenance levels of Arcadia.. It seemed to have worked out well for her, but Chrissit was still uncomfortable with the thought of talking to the woman.. "I've never heard of her," Tedder said, but she could see he was thinking about something.. "What's wrong?" she asked.. "I...well, when I volunteered to lead this investigation, the Major asked if I was after...T'Pettya?"
"Oh.. T'Pettya Tall, the teenaged daughter of the family," Chrissit explained.. "Unloved and lonely, she's always getting love struck at the sight of a normal human boy traveling through the Wilderness.. But she can never meet him.. "
"Dammit," Tedder muttered.. "I don't mind being made fun of, but when I don't notice it, I can't retaliate.... "
-----
The upspin farm zones passed quickly below, then the next window.. Finally the jungle that hung above New Heria rolled down the side of Arcadia into view.. Tedder took the hopper into a quick dive to come down low over the window, aimed to skim the treetops.. The 'ground' beneath the jungle zone was ten or twelve stories lower than the farm or city floors.. The dip acted to increase the air pressure in the tropical forest, and, Chrissit knew from experience, to trap the humidity within the basin.. The high pressure bubble of air was visible as a wall of mist, as the slightly chilled air from the window hit the roasting mass over the foliage.. Tedder was aiming to burst through the wall of mist.. Once a show off, Chrissit thought to herself.. "Aren't you supposed to avoid the lip of the Wilderness air system?" she asked.. "Hey, who's the best pilot you know?" he retorted.. "Sulli," she said as they penetrated the mist.. Suddenly the nose of the dirigible bounced up as if it had hit a wall.. Chrissit had a brief glimpse of the city zones straight above them, then the sight was obscured by leaves as the gondola entered the canopy.. It seemed like years later when the vehicle stopped crashing through branches.. She sat very still for a moment, waiting to see if anything else was going to snap, pop or tear with a horrible screech.. When she was sure the remainder of the hopper was secure, she quickly checked that nothing attached to herself was broken.. The lack of pain wasn't a sure sign, she knew, so she moved every part carefully.. The next priority was her brother.. She turned as far as she could to see him going through a similar inventory in his own seat.. "Sulli," she repeated.. -------
Trevor wasn't taking things well, Sulli observed.. In the careful, understated call she received at her Post, he merely said that there was a difficulty concerning Tedder's mission.. She'd ended her watch, made arrangements for her kids to stay at her mother's for a while, then entered an elevator so Protector Lee could meet with her.. As the car dropped to Lee's level, then shot south towards his usual location, the conversation got more urgent.. Trevor monitored Security assignments as a matter of course, and the computers alerted him to any use of the word 'giant.. ' He recalled no recent activity in the Wilderness areas of interest, so his own curiosity was piqued.. He'd been monitoring their progress when they disappeared from any detectors.. He'd been unable to locate either Tedder or Chrissit since the hopper crashed.. Sulli had grown up with the Security officer superstition of a Protector watching over everyone, saving, protecting and helping as necessary.. Now she found herself having to reassure and calm the Protector over the intercom.. "They'll be fine," she repeated into the pick-up.. "I have to go find her!" he said again.. Sulli sighed and raised her voice.. "WE do not have to go find THEM.. "
"Oh, yeah.. Yeah, we need to go find them.. "
"NO, we do NOT!" she insisted, pounding on the panel next to the microphone.. "Maybe _I_ should, but they're looking for giants in the jungle already.. If you're going to reveal yourself, you want to do it calmly, not as a surprise in a crisis.. "
She hoped the long silence after that exchange was a good sign.. Eventually, the car reached the area of work stations Trevor tended to use.. She walked out as the doors opened to find him waiting for her.. For all the time she's spent in his presence, she was still shocked every time they met.. Sulli'd been a big girl since childhood, and part of her success as an officer in Security came from her confidence in her self image.. She knew she was an imposing figure at six foot three, usually more than a head taller than the people she met.. Trevor made her feel small.. Of course, the fact was that she was really about seven inches tall.. She was small in comparison to a man who really was six feet tall.. Sometimes she almost wished she was still unaware of the real state of affairs, like most of the rest of Arcadia.. Right now, though, as she walked across the table towards the giant, all she saw was a big puppy.. He slumped in his chair, raising his eyes but not his head to face her.. The frown reminded her of sons when they lost a pet.. "They'll be all right," she repeated.. "I never should have let her go on the mission," he replied.. She froze.. Then she walked to the edge of the table and waved him closer.. "C'mere.. C'mere, c'mere.. " When his head hovered over her on the table, she waved him still closer.. He dropped to his knees and placed his nose right next to her.. "Good.. " She hauled off and slugged his nose as hard as she could.. He snapped his head back, eyes tearing slightly.. "Are you OUT of your GIANT MIND?!" she yelled.. "Do you see us as pets? Is Chrissit your favorite pet human?!"
"What? No, of course not-"
"Are we toys? Did you save up your recycling vouchers to send off for a redhead to play with?"
"Sulli, no, no, I don't-" He rubbed at his nose, face full of confusion..
"Then you do NOT have a right to keep her from doing anything!" She saw the realization on his face, when he understood how he'd unthinkingly offended both Chrissit and Sulli.. "Now come here again," she said with another wave.. He hesitated.. "Oh, bend down here, you big baby.. "
When Trevor was close enough, Sulli stroked his face and kissed the tip of his nose.. "We will find them," she assured him.. "And if you behave yourself, I won't tell her what you said.. "
"I'd appreciate that, Sulli.. " She felt that his voice was stronger and more stable, now.. And she certainly had her confidence back.. That thought gave her pause.. As the man picked her up gently to move to his computer interface, she wondered if maybe it was all or partially an act for her benefit.. -----
"Let me," Chrissit said.. She lifted a stick up past her brother and poked the fruit he was reaching for.. It popped free and fell to his grasp.. Together they gathered three more, then started walking again.. "So, where was I?" she asked between bites.. "Seventy-two," he muttered.. "Right.. Okay.. When we found Jako in the air duct, he was using the drag chute to lift him up in the air over a vent, then floating down SAFELY and SOFTLY to the ground.. Your son is a better pilot than you.. "
"Seventy-three," he said.. "My neighbor? She has a budgie in her apartment.. The thing's as dumb as a power transformer.. He eats corks, attacks cats, tries to seduce house plants.. But when he flies, he doesn't crash on the ground or smash against the window.. Pitters is a better pilot than you.. "Seventy-four," he said, marching through the jungle.. -----
"They were somewhere around here when they crashed," Trevor said, waving a hand across the screen.. "Somewhere?" Sulli asked from his shoulder.. "I'm not sure exactly where.. "
"Then call up the surveillance.. "
"There isn't any.. " Sulli turned to look the Protector full in the ear.. "What do you mean there isn't any? I thought you said that everything you watch is recorded.. "
"I, uh, turned off the camera.. " She noticed that his ear was blushing.. Sulli just sat and stared at it for a while.. "You see," he finally continued, "I was watching Chrissit a lot, and didn't want to have too many files of her compiling in the archive.. "
"Because people would know you had a crush on her?" she asked sweetly.. "What?" He turned to face her in surprise, knocking her off of his shoulder with his chin.. She rolled backwards, catching herself between his seat back and shoulder.. Her feet dug into the fabric while her back pressed against his shirt.. She hung there for a moment, upside down.. He froze.. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," she replied, nowhere near as sweetly.. "Just don't move.. " She wiggled and slid and came out from behind him onto the arm of his chair.. He moved to pick her up.. "Don't touch me," she growled and jumped to the desk.. Standing at his keyboard, she looked up at the Protector.. "Look, if you're deep into denial, that’s between you and Chrissit.. From what I can tell she has the same problem.. But gods above, man, even my nephews know that you two are sweethearts.. " He stared back down at her in surprise.. "I'm guessing no one's teased you about your girlfriend in 400 years?" She shook her head.. "Beside the point.. Okay, what do you know about where they are?"
"They're somewhere between the center of the Jungle zone and Jungle Station, probably not too far from the down-spin edge of the zone.. If I had to guess, I'd say your husband was trying to fly over the reported giant's area on his way in.. "
"Sounds like Tedder," she muttered.. "So, where will they go? To the edge? I thought there was a walkway or something built there?"
"Yeah," he nodded, calling up a file.. "But certain plants and a predator species have taken those as their domain.. Chrissit knows to stay away from them.. "
On the screen, some sort of cat-creature from Heria crouched in a tangle of vegetation.. The rails of a catwalk were barely visible between the vines.. She couldn't make out many details from her angle, but didn't bother to move.. If they couldn't be on the walkway, she wouldn’t need to know about the walkway.. "Do you know anything about giants in there?"
"Nothing," he said.. "A few vague reports here and there, no confirmations, no evidence of any sort.. "
----
"Is that evidence?" Chrissit asked.. Tedder ignored her and looked up.. The clearing offered the first view of the sky since the crash and he was trying to see the city overhead.. Figuring out what they were under would help figure where they were and what direction they needed to go.. Directions were easy to keep straight under the canopy, of course.. Just shaking their head from side to side and their inner ears interpreted the spinning of the station as dizziness.. Before Arcadian children could walk, they could tell East from West in just a couple of shakes.. But before that could be useful, they had to orient themselves.. Tedder had tried to climb a tree, despite Chrissit's warning, to get a view of New Heria.. The third branch he'd grabbed had hissed at him and slithered away.. He picked himself off the ground and decided to look for a clearing.. For once, his sister didn't tease him about the choice or about how he screamed on the way to the ground.. Well, not much, anyway.. She just picked up the bundle of items salvaged from the wreck, wrapped in the fabric skin of the vessel, and marched on.. Now they'd found a hole in the leaves overhead, a small one, and she was distracting him.. "Seriously," she insisted.. "Take a look at this.. "
"Fine.. What?"
Chrissit pointed to a log on the ground.. The branches were stripped off, one end cut and the other very roughly sharpened.. "Evidence of what?" he asked.. "It's a log.. Crudely cut and sharpened.. Someone's probably making something.. The end's sharp enough to be driven into the ground, like the center pole of a tent, or a wall or..."
"Tedder, there aren't supposed to be people in the Wilderness.. "
"Not supposed to," he echoed.. "But there's always a few.. A lot of land, not too many officers, someone slips through a crack or two.. If we're lucky, maybe they can direct us to the Station.. " He watched as she moved to stand in the middle of the open area, pointing at two spots.. "But look! The pole's there, the chips over here.. Like, twenty feet away!"
"So?" He turned away to look back up at the overhead.. She moved to grab his arm.. "So, wouldn't the chips be under where the pole was sharpened?"
"They moved the pole, Chrissit.. "
"Sure...but if it was a giant that was sharpening it, they'd put it down...like, on the other side of their leg from where they'd been sharpening it!" Tedder turned to stare at her as the mimed the action.. "Is that what you think? Evidence of giants already? No, no, no.. Someone just hacked, moved and went away.. Probably hiding from the sound of your voice.. "
"Maybe..." she said softly.. For quite a while after that, though, she never was more than two steps away from him.. -----
"Okay, do you have a transmitter or something hidden in the hopper that we can follow.. "
"As a matter of fact, Sulli, I don't.. The hoppers were invented after Refuge.. I had no input on their design or construction, or a chance to slip anything into them.. "
"Really?" she asked.. She'd never known that about the main mass transit system used throughout Arcadia.. "Yeah, everyone thought Arcadians would use the subways.. The first generation did, then usage dropped off.. Finally, now, they're only used for goods and materials.. Someone came up with the ideas of blimps and dirigibles, and bashed some together out of materials on board the station.. Very popular, from the very beginning.. For some reason, everyone wants to look down on the cities.. "
"Fascinating," she said, "but no help here.. So what assets DO you have in the vegetation?"
He called up another map and caused red circles and green spots to appear.. "The red's for access ports I can open to get into the area.. I go at night, usually, or stay where no one in the city can see me.. The spots are where I've mounted hidden cameras, just to spot-check the wildlife from time to time.. "
"Are there any-?"
"The computer would tell me if anyone passed one.. No.. "
"Oh!" She spun around to smile up at him.. "I have an idea!"
-------
Darkness came with the usual suddenness.. Chrissit and Tedder had already selected the fork of a large tree to spend the night in.. They were making a bed of grasses, and a covering of hopper fabric, when the lighting dropped as half of the station's external mirrors turned slightly.. They finished the nest in the remaining minutes of Twilight, and finished off their fruit as darkness fell.. They lay close together in the nest listening to the changes in the sounds of the jungle.. Things gradually stopped moving in the branches and started moving through the underbush.. Sleep was shallow and brief.. At any time, a loud cough or screech would wake them.. Sometimes one would flinch from something more subtle and thus wake the other.. Some time around midnight, they both heard something large moving around past the tree.. Thumps on the ground matched sounds of branches and trees snapping.. The sounds were different from anything that had moved around them previously, they were greatly magnified.. Whatever it was, it was large indeed.. Tedder was trying to figure out the odd gait of the creature when he suddenly realized it was two distinct footsteps.. There were two creatures out there.. And even as the noise the pair made faded in one direction, another one or two came into hearing from the other direction.. The siblings lay very quietly while the parade passed.. Long after the sound of the last one died away, they finally compared notes.. "Seven?" Chrissit whispered.. "I counted eight.. I think," he replied at the same volume.. "I'm pretty sure they were bipedal.. "
"Yeah.. And am I crazy, or were they walking on two legs?"
"Chrissit, bipedal MEANS they...Oh.. You were joking!? At a time like THIS?" Tedder hissed.. "Yeah.. And?"
------
They examined the ground in the morning, but found no sign of passing giants.. "There probably are clues," Tedder said, "but I don't know enough Jungle Lore to find them.. "
Chrissit stood staring off in the direction the sounds had gone.. Her brother followed her gaze, then shook his head.. "Oh, no.. We have a rough idea where we need to go, we are going to continue in that direction.. "
"Which would you rather," she asked, "show up and say 'I screwed up but we survived,' or 'I screwed up, but then we found THIS!'?"
"No, Chrissit.. This isn't about my ego, it's about survival.. " He hoisted his own bundle and started off in the direction they thought led to Jungle Station.. "Okay," her voice came from behind him.. "I was going to give you at least half of the credit.. " He stopped as he realized her voice was fading too fast.. With a shrug and a deep sigh, he turned around and jogged to catch up with her.. Together they walked in the wake of the night's mystery.. . |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: television
Chapter 1
Malory was in her office, stirring her drink with a celery stick. Krieger entered, holding what looked like a steampunk torch.
"I've done it!" Krieger exclaimed.
Malory raised an eyebrow. "By 'done,' I assume you mean 'had sex with,' but by 'it,' I assume you mean something I don't want to know about."
Krieger shook his head. "No, no, no. Okay, yeah, but that's not what I've done today."
Malory's curiosity was piqued. "What is it, then?"
Krieger proudly announced, "I've invented Martian light."
Malory's expression was skeptical. "I didn't realize Mars was fattening."
Krieger corrected her, "No, no, no! Not Martian Lite, but Martian Light! Like Edgar Rice Burroughs."
Malory replied, "We get rice from paddies, not burrows."
Krieger paused, looking for Cheryl's usual interruption, but she remained silent. "No... no?"
Malory asked, "What is it you have, Krieger, and what does it do?"
Krieger explained, "In the stories Burroughs wrote about Barsoom, the ancient Martians invented a way that light came out of a source, illuminated everything in the room, without shadows, and then circled back into the source."
Malory was unimpressed. "Sounds like science fiction."
Krieger shook his torch. "Oh, it is. Or, it was!"
Malory dryly commented, "And you have invented something some hack writer invented a hundred years ago."
Krieger nodded. "Yes."
Malory asked, "And what good is that to a detective agency?"
Krieger flipped a switch on his torch. "Well, no one will be able to hide in the shadows when this puppy is on!" Malory's office had big windows, allowing in an amazing amount of California sunshine, but there was no noticeable effect.
Malory said, "I see."
Krieger exclaimed, "Yes, you do! You see everything!"
Malory raised an eyebrow. "Krieger, is this one of those flashlights that only work in daytime?"
Krieger admitted, "That idea was valid, just a small matter of-"
Lana interrupted, entering the room. "Malory, did Archer give you any-" She suddenly shrunk to 11 inches in height, her voice rising in pitch. "What the hell?"
Krieger reached down and lifted Lana to the top of Malory's desk. "Um... Did I do that?"
Malory sarcastically commented, "I would assume that only you could make her voice even more annoying."
Krieger apologized, "Sorry. But it wasn't supposed to do that."
Lana demanded, "What have you done to me?"
Malory replied, "It's always about you, isn't it? Maybe this wasn't done to you. Maybe Krieger made all of the rest of us giants."
Krieger considered the possibility. "Really?"
Malory dismissed the idea. "No, not really, you idiot."
Lana pleaded, "Krieger, you gotta fix this!"
Krieger tried to turn off the Martian light, flipping the switch several times, but nothing changed.
Malory asked, "What are you doing?"
Krieger explained, "Well, if it was the Martian light that did this to her, then it should have done it again."
Lana shouted, "STOP DOING THAT!"
Malory calmly said, "Now, dear, don't be so upset. You've been wanting to lose weight, haven't you?"
Lana denied it. "What? No!"
Malory asked Krieger, "Now, what could possibly be an explanation for why this affected Lana and not either of us?"
Krieger hypothesized, "Oh! It could be that when the CIA recruited us for that mission inside the miniaturization-inventing scientist, the people who were selected for the mission, by which I mean everyone but you and me, suffered some lingering effects that went completely unnoticed until they were exposed to the particular radiation of the Martian Light. That sparks the recurrence of the shrinking effect, if only to 1/6th scale rather than microscopic."
Malory found the explanation plausible. "That sounds plausible."
The scene cut to Cheryl's desk, where Pam sat in a guest chair next to her.
Cheryl commented, "That sounds like a really chicken-shit way to advance the plot."
Pam replied, "Time constraints. This isn't a two-parter."
The scene cut back to Malory's desk, where Lana was holding her forehead with both hands.
Lana begged, "Krieger, you have to fix this. I can't pick up AJ from daycare if she can pick me up!"
Krieger nodded and walked out, carrying his Martian light.
Pam wistfully said, "I always wanted Barbie's wardrobe."
Malory reached out to stroke Lana's back, but Lana flinched away. "You know, it's been a long time, but I do recall that I enjoyed playing with dolls."
Cheryl chimed in, "Ooooh! Did you put those little Ziploc baggies over their heads until they begged for the sweet release of death?"
Malory denied it. "Um... No."
Pam said, "No, I don't think anyone else did, either."
Lana shared, "My Barbie was a Charlie's Angel. A dual PhD in hand-to-hand combat and jewelry."
Pam revealed, "I only ever played with Princess Barbie."
Cheryl teased, "You're no princess. Even of dairy."
Pam replied, "Oh, I never imagined that I was the Princess."
Malory sarcastically asked, "You were Prince Charming?"
Pam said, "No. I was the dragon."
Malory reached out to stroke Pam's shoulder. "Well, then, I wonder how you'd taste covered in barbecue sauce."
Cheryl warned, "Oh, you can't do that. I mean, sure, you tell yourself you're just going to lick it off, then you start sucking on it, next thing you know you're picking someone's skin out of your teeth."
Lana reminded Cheryl, "Remember that time I asked you to babysit AJ?"
Cheryl claimed, "No."
Lana said, "There's a reason."
Pam defended Cheryl, "Oh, she's great with kids."
Malory joked, "I imagine she's great with duck sauce, too."
Cheryl exclaimed, "Yes! Cover me with condiment! Bury me in barbecue sauce. Drown me in duck sauce. Slather me with... Something!"
Pam suggested, "Slathered with Satay!"
Lana corrected, "Satay isn't a sauce, it's a dish. A style."
Pam clarified, "It comes with a sauce."
Lana explained, "But the sauce isn't 'satay.' It's usually a peanut sauce."
Cheryl fantasized, "And served... Skewered."
Pam found the fantasy disturbing. "Okay, that's an unhealthy fantasy, even for you."
Cheryl continued, "Long bamboo skewers, piercing flesh..."
Lana shut her down. "Shut it, Cheryl."
Malory considered the situation. "If this turns out to be permanent, I imagine that-"
Lana panicked. "PERMANENT!?!"
Pam asked, "What, seriously?"
Cheryl mused, "Or if not permanent... Maybe just for the rest of our lives."
Lana cuddled herself. "Malory, do you have a soundproofed shoe box we could put her in?"
Cheryl hoped, "Sound tight and air tight?"
Pam joked, "Too bad that office minifridge hasn't arrived yet."
Cheryl revealed, "Oh! Yes, that would be PERFECT! Too bad it... It... Um. Never got delivered."
Malory asked, "Where is it?"
Cheryl claimed, "Who knows where delivery men put things when they're distracted?"
Lana asked, "How were they distracted?"
Cheryl hinted, "Maybe by the chance of impersonal sex on the loading dock."
Pam asked, "So the minifridge is on the loading dock?"
Cheryl admitted, "Well, I wasn't going to carry it up here. All those stairs?"
Lana pointed out, "Carry? Why not use the elevator?"
Cheryl explained, "Because no one wants to have sex in the elevator."
Pam teased, "Depends on what button you push."
Cheryl asked, "There's a sex button on the elevator?" The room fell silent for four seconds before Malory, Lana, and Pam replied in unison, "Yes."
Krieger returned with an iPad. "I figured it out!"
Lana asked, "The cure?"
Malory was skeptical. "Lana, does anything about today strike you as your lucky day?"
Lana feared the worst. "Crap."
Krieger explained, "No, see, if Dr. Kovac's shrinking ray affected matter on exposure, then people would shrink on the side of the ray, first, then the rest of the body would shrink only after that matter was 'out of the way,' as it were."
Cheryl found the explanation obvious. "Well, duh."
Krieger continued, "So the shrinking effect must penetrate to the center of the target's mass, then change somehow and come back out. So in effect, the body of the shrink ray's target radiates the actual shrink ray. So THEY shrank-"
Malory warned Krieger, "Krieger, if all you've done is jimmy up a technobabble justification for their shrinking clothes, so help me God, I will overnight your testicles to a Canadian wolverine breeder."
Cheryl defended Krieger, "Wait, let him FINISH!"
Krieger concluded, "Well, um, no. I finished. Yep, that was pretty much it. I just, um..."
Lana summarized, "Need to figure out how to turn us into our own unshrinking radiators."
Krieger nodded and ran off.
Pam asked, "Do they really breed wolverines in Canada?"
Cheryl replied, "Duh! Where else would they do it, Monaco?" |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: cartoons
Chapter 1
More Disclaimer: This exploration of the world of the Smurfs is only for entertainment. This work is my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual).
Several smurfs run across a field of grass, moaning and crying. The smurf crowd exclaims, "Help! Help! Helpity!" The view changes to a high window looking down on the crowd of Smurfs running towards the camera. Evil Twin Smurf's voice is heard, "Oh, what is it now?"
The scene shifts to the base of a tree, where the tree bark is black, and a small doorway is carved into the base. The Smurf crowd runs up to the door, and several start knocking on the doorway. The Smurfs cry out, "Evil Twin Smurf! Evil Twin Smurf! Help! Help!"
A smurf steps through the doorway, wearing red smurf pants, a red smurf hat, and a rather obviously fake white smurfy beard. Evil Twin Smurf exclaims, "QUIET!" He points to the closest Smurf and asks, "Are you Papa Smurf?"
Paranoid Smurf responds, "What? No, I'm Paranoid Smurf. Why would you think that I was Papa Smurf?" Evil Twin Smurf replies, "I don't. But that means I'm not your evil twin, am I?" Paranoid Smurf answers, "Um, no, I guess not."
Evil Twin Smurf asks, "Well, what is it? What do you want? Why are you all bothering me?" Panic Smurf explains, "It's PAPA SMURF! He's been CAUGHT by GARGAMEL! All is LOST!" Pedantic Smurf adds, "Papa Smurf was captured by a trap set by the evil alchemist, along with Smurfette, Handy Smurf, Brainy Smurf, Hefty Smurf, Tough Smurf, and Jokey Smurf."
The Smurfs fall silent, looking at each other. Evil Twin Smurf asks, "And...?" Panic Smurf pleads, "You have to HELP us! Help THEM! HELP!" Pedantic Smurf continues, "Without Papa Smurf's magic, or Brainy Smurf's inventions, or, frankly, the bulk of the brains and the brawn of the Smurf Village, we don't stand a smurfberry's chance of rescuing them."
Evil Twin Smurf stares over their heads, lost in thought. Paranoid Smurf turns to stare in that direction. Evil Twin Smurf says, "Hm? Oh, sorry, I was trying to decide what to have for dinner. Well, thanks for stopping by, but next time, you only really need one messenger, unless you're all going to deliver it in three-smurf harmony. Smurfy day."
Before he can retreat into the tree, the Smurfs crowd him, falling at his feet and grabbing his pants, moaning for help, assistance, succor, and general aid. Evil Twin Smurf exclaims, "Back! BACK!" The Smurfs retreat, and he brushes at his trousers. He asks, "So. You say that Papa Smurf is in terrible danger? Probably doomed? Unlikely to return?"
The Smurfs nod their heads somberly. Evil Twin Smurf removes his puffy fake white smurf beard, revealing a trim black pointy one, which he strokes a few times. He says, "Alright, now, look here. If you want my help, there have to be a few changes."
Paranoid Smurf asks, "Why? What's in it for you?" Pedantic Smurf interrupts, "Quiet, Paranoid Smurf. What do you want, Evil Twin Smurf?" Evil Twin Smurf replies, "Well, for one thing, I don't want to be called Evil Twin Smurf anymore."
Panic Smurf protests, "But...you have to be. You ARE the evil twin. Everyone's named for what they ARE. For what they DO. It's more smurfy that way." Pedantic Smurf explains, "It is the bedrock certainty of Smurf ideology. Every one of us knows who he is and what Papa Smurf expects him to do."
Evil Twin Smurf says, "Thank you, Tevye. But I don't want to do anything. If I free Papa Smurf and the others, I want a new rule. For Smurfs living on this side of the smurfberry grove, we're named by where we live." He looks up at the burnt tree, noticing every branch is bare, and the entire surface is blackened.
Evil Twin Smurf exclaims, "Smelly Smurf!" Smelly Smurf steps out of the tree, wearing an apron, with the apron and an apple slice over his shoulder equally grungy. Smelly Smurf asks, "Yes, sir?" Evil Twin Smurf inquires, "Smelly Smurf, what sort of tree is this?"
Smelly Smurf responds, "It's an alder, Mr. ET." Evil Twin Smurf declares, "That's it, gentlemen. I shall be known henceforth as BlackAlder Smurf." Pedantic Smurf points out, "Smurfy. But...won't Smelly Smurf be known for his residence, too? Wouldn't that make you both BlackAlder Smurf?"
BlackAlder Smurf explains, "Not at all. Smelly lives in that belt over there." Beside the tree, a large black belt is curled around a single cot and a small chair. Smelly Smurf says, "So I shall henceforth be known as Belt Smurf." Panic Smurf asks, "Does this mean that you'll HELP us? Help THEM? HELP?"
BlackAlder Smurf responds, "Yes. If you'll shut up."
Some time later, BlackAlder Smurf steps from his tree and shuts the door. He and Belt Smurf each have a small pack on their shoulders, and they start walking through the forest. No other Smurfs are around. Belt Smurf mentions, "Actually, Mr. B, I think that my house is not a belt."
BlackAlder Smurf teases, "Sash Smurf? Girdle Smurf? You haven't the muscles to be Strapping Smurf." Belt Smurf recalls, "I think I heard a human call it a baldric, once." BlackAlder Smurf says, "But Belt Smurf is better, Belt. Because now I can call you by name with a clenched fist."
BlackAlder pretends to punch Belt, who exclaims, "OW! Oh! That's quite clever!" The two figures start to fade into the distance as they walk through the trees. BlackAlder Smurf asks, "Want to see it again?" Belt Smurf declines, "Not really."
BlackAlder Smurf offers, "How about in slow motion?" Belt Smurf responds, "That doesn't sound too smurfy." BlackAlder Smurf suggests, "What if I threw in some sound effects?" Belt Smurf asks, "Like what?" BlackAlder Smurf replies, "Like coconuts." A distinct clonk sounds as they disappear from sight.
BlackAlder and Belt crouch under a bush, looking over at Gargamel's hovel. Belt says, "Mr. B! I have a plan." BlackAlder asks, "Is it a smurfy plan?" Belt responds, "It is indeed." BlackAlder inquires, "Is it as smurfy as a smurfberry pie, with whipped smurfdrop topping?"
Belt replies, "TWICE as smurfy." BlackAlder asks, "Is it as smurfy as a pile of smurfsticks woven into a smurf sculpture?" Belt says, "Very nearly, sir." BlackAlder requests, "Very well, Belt, what is this plan."
Belt explains, "You buy the Smurfs from Gargamel, sir. You disguise yourself as a wizard, a traveling wizard." BlackAlder repeats, "A traveling wizard? Need I remind you that I stand only three apples tall." Belt suggests, "You tell him that you're from faaaaaaar away."
BlackAlder asks, "Then what?" Belt instructs, "You walk up to Gargamel's front door, knock on it, and say you wish to buy any Smurfs he may have." BlackAlder says, "Buy them." Belt confirms, "Yes, sir. Buy them."
BlackAlder inquires, "With what?" Belt fishes around in his pack and pulls out a single, tarnished penny. BlackAlder points out, "This man has enough Smurfs to cast a spell that makes gold, and he's going to give them up to me, because I have a penny."
Belt proposes, "You tell him it's a magic penny." BlackAlder questions, "Tell an evil alchemist that a magic penny is worth more than pure, shiny, incredibly smurfy gold." Belt goes on, "Well, sir, if you think you're not smurfy enough to carry it off."
BlackAlder says, "Now, I didn't say that...." Belt taunts, "No, no, sir, it's alright. There's no way you can outsmart the evil wizard Gargamel, with only a tarnished penny. We'll go home, you'll be the smartest Smurf...left...in Smurf Village. And Papa Smurf will never have the chance to criticize your failure. Minced smurfberry for dinner tonight?"
BlackAlder orders, "Shut up and go get me some minions."
Gargamel takes a kettle from the fire, turns, and starts to pour into two tea cups as he speaks. "I must admit, I've never met a sorcerer from Lichtenstein before. Especially one six apples tall." The view shows BlackAlder standing in a chair, wearing a long coat, obviously standing on Belt's shoulders.
BlackAlder says, "My people don't travel much."
In Gargamel's bedroom, Azrael sits on the floor, staring up at a small cage hanging from the rafters. Inside the cage are about ten Smurfs. Brainy Smurf has stuck his glass lenses onto Handy Smurf's pencil and fashioned his glasses into a periscope. He reaches out to the side of the cage to look out the door.
Handy Smurf asks, "Smurfy idea, Brainy. What do you see?" Brainy responds, "Gargamel has a visitor." Smurfette inquires, "A visitor? Who would visit smelly old Gargamel?" Papa Smurf asks, "We know he has a visitor, Brainy. What does he look like?"
Brainy describes, "Well, he's tall. Kind of Lichtensteinian features." Handy Smurf comments, "You wouldn't know Lichten- " Papa Smurf interrupts, "Hush! What are they talking about?" Brainy replies, "Matching Alchemy."
The scene cuts to the other room, showing Gargamel's head at an angle to display the makeshift periscope in the background. Gargamel asks, "Magic penny, huh? What ever does it do." BlackAlder explains, "Well, that's the odd part. I'm not quite sure. Look." He taps the coin down on the arm of the chair he's standing on.
Below the chair, Paranoid Smurf is holding tight to the straw that makes up the top. At the sound of the tap, he drops to the ground and exclaims, "Huh? What? Where am I? How did I get here?" Gargamel notices, "A Smurf?" Paranoid Smurf screams, "Eeek! GARGAMEL! Smurf me! I have to get back to Smurf Village!"
He runs out of the door, screaming into the distance. Gargamel sits stunned until he's gone. Gargamel says, "Did you just summon a Smurf?" BlackAlder responds, "Is that what they are? I can never catch one for long enough to tell what they are." He taps the coin again.
Behind Gargamel's chair, Pedantic Smurf leaps up into the air and slams both of his feet onto the ground. Gargamel spins around at the sound. Pedantic Smurf comments, "It appears that I have been magically transported across the forest. Again. Darn. This is terribly unsmurfy." He runs before the alchemist can get over the shock.
Gargamel remarks, "That's...quite a coin you have there, Mr. Traveling Wizard." BlackAlder downplays, "Is it? I don't know. I'm never able to predict where they'll show up. And I'm too slow to catch them. It seems a terrible waste, really." Gargamel offers, "Oh, really? Well, I could take it off your hands, if you don't want it..."
BlackAlder declines, "Oh, no. It's been in the family for years. I couldn't part with it just to be rid of it." Just then, Belt sneezes, and the flap of one pocket of BlackAlder's long coat explodes outward. The human stares. BlackAlder fans the area of the blast with his hands and says, "Sorry. Travel rations, you know how it is on the road."
Gargamel understands, "Oh, yes, of course. So, um... Would you consider trading for the coin?" BlackAlder ponders, "Trading? I'm not sure." He flips the coin, which clatters to the chair. At the sound, Panic Smurf swings down from the roof on a string, spreading across the window like a bug on a windshield.
Gargamel spins around at the sound of the SPLAT! Panic Smurf fades into the distance, screaming. Gargamel turns back to his guest, salivating at the thought of gaining the coin. He says, "I could make you an offer..."
BlackAlder asks, "Do you know what I want? I have been popping these things, these Smurfs you call them? I've brought them into existence for years and never had a chance to study them. If I had a dozen of them to keep for myself, I'd give up the coin and the hundreds of Smurfs it's made or summoned."
Gargamel repeats, "Hundreds?" BlackAlder confirms, "Or more."
The scene changes to the clearing in front of Gargamel's hovel. The captured Smurfs are in a cage that has wheels attached. BlackAlder has a rope and is prepared to tow the wagon off down the road. He says, "Well, I'm ready to tow this wagon off down the road." Gargamel bids farewell, "I'm sure you'll be very happy with your new Smurfs, Mr. TW."
BlackAlder tosses the coin to Gargamel, who rushes into the hovel. Gargamel exclaims, "Quickly, Azrael! We have to make the house completely Smurf-tight." The unhappy Smurfs gaze upon their new captor, eyes going wide as he doffs the coat and jumps down from Belt's shoulder.
BlackAlder rushes to the cage door and asks, "Alright, then. Who wants out of the cage?" Everyone responds, "We do!" BlackAlder asks, "And what's it worth to you?" The Smurfs stop and turn to Papa Smurf, who glares at his former evil twin.
A screen caption reads: The next day. Gargamel sits at his table, tapping the coin to the surface, then gazing around the room, waiting for the Smurf to appear. He taps again.
A screen caption reads: Two days later. Back at the black alder, a party of Smurfs carry a huge smurfberry pie to the front door. BlackAlder Smurf appears, dressed in vintage swimming clothes. Belt follows him with a towel draped over his arm. BlackAlder exclaims, "Ah, yes. It's Thursday, it must be Smurfberry Aerobics."
With a holler, he dives into the pie and starts splashing around. Belt waits at the side with the towel. The pie party departs. Handy Smurf says, "See you tomorrow, Belt." Belt replies, "Friday! Dodge Smurfberry. Til then!"
A screen caption reads: A week later. Gargamel taps the coin against a pile of sawdust where his table used to be. Finally, he stops, shrugs, and glares at the coin, saying, "I hate those Smurfs." |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: cartoons
Chapter 1
More Disclaimer: Rowan Atkinson and his resume are the property of Rowan Atkinson. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual).
The scene opens on a chalkboard that reads "Career Day." The camera pulls back to reveal Lisa's classroom, where Homer and a few other parents are seated at the side of the room. The teacher introduces a speaker.
HOOVER: And now, children, Sally's father is an actor.
SALLY-DAD: Who here watches television?
The class responds in unison, raising their hands and exclaiming, "I do! I do!"
SALLY-DAD: Well, with the exception of the people on the news, and on reality shows, and talk shows, and game shows, and the dumb criminals shows and half the people on C-SPAN, the people you see on television are all actors.
A kid in the class asks, "Are you on television?"
SALLY-DAD: No, I'm a stage actor. Right now, I just completed a run of a play called "Midsummer Night's Dream," where I had the role of Oberon.
The scene cuts to Bart sitting behind an anchor desk in a news studio. Lisa's classroom is displayed on the screen behind him with the caption "stock photo."
BART: You can all pretty well imagine the conversation, as Homer discovers a grown man who dreams that he plays the "king of the fairies." I'd just like to take this opportunity to remind you that you only have 257 more shopping days to buy Bartman T-shirts or Bart Action Figures for Christmas. And now, back to the humiliation!
The scene cuts to Lisa dragging Homer out into the hall as the whole class laughs behind them.
LISA: Dad! What is wrong with you?
HOMER: (laughing) But Lisa, he admitted that he spent the summer dreaming of fairies! What was I supposed to do, argue with him?
LISA: Once again, Father, you have shamed me before my peers, due to a complete disregard for anything resembling culture!
Lisa runs off, crying, "Boohoohoo." Homer watches her go, and his smile slowly fades.
The scene cuts to the dinner table at the Simpson house, where everyone sits quietly, eyes flicking back and forth between a quiet Lisa and a guilty-looking Homer. Lisa asks Bart to pass her the ketchup. Homer lunges for the bottle and walks around the table to deliver it by hand.
HOMER: Here, sweety. Did you know that Marco Polo brought ketchup to Europe on his famous exploration?
LISA: (looking at her plate) Actually, a salty pickled fish sauce that eventually became ketchup was imported from China by British seamen in the 1600s. Marco Polo's travels were in the early 1300s. And he wasn't a seaman. And he wasn't British.
Homer's shoulders and smile slump, and he slogs back to his seat. After he sits, Lisa delivers the final cut.
LISA: And the history of ketchup isn't exactly culture, is it?
Homer slumps more, and the dinner continues in silence.
The scene cuts to Homer and Marge in bed, moonlit from the window.
HOMER: Dammit, Marge, how can I gain culture, so my daughter won't look down her nose when she looks up at me?
MARGE: Oh, Homey, I don't think it's 'culture' as much as your attitude towards it. You never had any interest in learning about anything that doesn't either taste good, feel good, or bounce slightly as it comes towards you.
HOMER: Oh, you're right. But I'm interested now! Where can I learn what I've only scoffed at before?
MARGE: Well, if you're serious, there's a Shakespeare Appreciation course being taught at Adult Learning by the famous British comedian-actor-writer Rowan Atkinson.
HOMER: Who?
MARGE: Mr. Bean? Rat Race? Johnny Dangerously? Blackadder?
Homer shakes his head in confusion.
MARGE: Emile Mondavarious, from the Scooby Doo movie?
HOMER: Oh, him! But why would he be teaching an after-hours course in Springfield?
MARGE: Well, you know I don't listen to gossip, but the source of a rumor that it involves gambling debts has a 11.3% credibility advantage over the group that maintains blackmail is involved. Personally, I favor the theory of a love triangle between him, someone on Mayor Quimby's staff, and one of the other teachers. But that's because I'm a hopeless romantic.
The scene cuts to a classroom, where Homer is seated in the center of a room full of adult learners. Rowan Atkinson stands at the front, with a bust of Shakespeare on the desk.
ROWAN: Hello. Welcome to the Adult Learning Center course on Appreciating Shakespeare. Old Bill's work has endured for centuries, and includes some of the most moving examples of dialogue and imagery known to mankind. Quotes of his works and complete thefts of his plots are scattered throughout modern literature, movies, and television. A delight to the ear as well as the intellect, his plays and sonnets allow us to touch, however vicariously, true genius.
Rowan's voice changes to a more scornful tone.
ROWAN: Why any of you lot would miss an hour of television for it is beyond me.
He sits at his desk, puts up his feet, and continues.
ROWAN: So, if you are here because you heard there are naked witches in MacBeth and want to get a glimpse, I'm sorry to disappoint you, there will be no nudity in this course.
Skinner, Hibbard, and Willie get up and walk out.
ROWAN: Further, if you are here because you think Shakespeare wrote Lady Chatterly's Lover, that's wrong. There will be no discussion of graphic sex in this course.
Otto, Selma, and Patty get up and walk out.
ROWAN: Finally, if you're here because you have been challenged by your offspring to 'get some class,' I have to say that you probably don't reach the minimum standard to pass this course.
Rowan points to a cardboard cutout of Mary Poppins, who holds out her umbrella and a word balloon says "You must have this much class to study English Literature."
Homer steps to the cardboard, moans "D'ooooohhhh" mournfully, then stops.
HOMER: No. I have to restore my self-image in my daughter's eyes. I'm staying, even if I have to copy off every other student's test!
The scene cuts to Homer in a desk scooted up to Rowan's desk.
HOMER: So you see, Mr. Atkinson, that's the whole story.
ROWAN: And everyone in town agreed to accept him as the 'real' Principal Skinner, making no reference to the incident, ever?
HOMER: Yup.
ROWAN: Well, that's an interesting story, Homer, but I don't understand why it makes you so interested in getting an education in Old English Literature.
HOMER: Oh, that. My daughter thinks I'm a disgusting, know-nothing slob.
ROWAN: (blinking) Homer?
HOMER: And I don't want to embarrass her in public anymore.
ROWAN: Oh, well, we can do that. The thing is, Homer, you can either learn a great deal of information, and keep it all straight in your head, or you can learn how to convince other people that you have the information without years of study.
HOMER: Would that be like cheating?
ROWAN: Very like.
HOMER: Then that's for me. When do we start?
The two of them walk down Main Street.
ROWAN: You see, Homer, the secret to appearing to have culture, rather than actually spending the time to learn dates, attitudes, taboos, facts, customs, and gestures considered to be the basics of civilized behavior, is to convince…
Homer looks around, and Rowan turns to him.
ROWAN: Don't call me that.
HOMER: Okay, dude.
ROWAN: Don't call me that, either.
HOMER: Yessir, Mr. Atkinson.
ROWAN: Anyway, Homer, the point of culture is to be perceived as having it, whether you really do or not. And the easiest way to do that would be to become British.
HOMER: What? Does that mean I have to salute the queen?
ROWAN: No. Just insult everyone else. Throw in big words, foreign concepts, and ancient examples, and no one will have the knowledge or brass to call you on it.
HOMER: That's what the Brits do?
ROWAN: As far as any American who watches public television knows, yes.
HOMER: Wait. They have 'public' television now? Since when?
ROWAN: Never mind. Look, you just have to act as if you and everything you care about are the most important things anyone could possibly imagine, but do it with an edge of cunning humor so that they're laughing with you rather than throwing things at you.
HOMER: And that's the secret of British Humor?
ROWAN: That's the secret of the British Empire. And it's humour, not humor.
HOMER: I don't know…that joke only makes sense in print.
ROWAN: Well, it'll be funny in rehearsal, they'll take the scene out in post-production.
HOMER: Yeah, it wouldn't be funny at all unless you could see the way Brits spell humor.
ROWAN: That's 'humour.'
HOMER: Of course. Let's just hope the editor gets this far while he's still sober, so he doesn't take out the wrong…
The scene cuts to a confusing rip in the film, where Rowan and Homer are running down an alley and hiding behind a dumpster. A torch-waving lynch mob runs past the opening of the alley, screaming for blood.
ROWAN: Well, we probably should have avoided a crowd for your first attempt, Homer…Homer?
Homer is urinating on the wall.
HOMER: Ever have one of those days where you just can't pass an alley?
The scene fades, and then cuts back to Rowan and Homer walking down Main Street.
ROWAN: Look, all it takes is a patronizing attitude, and an ability to avoid cliché. Let's step in here.
They enter the Comic Book Guy's shop.
COMIC BOOK GUY: Rowan Atkinson! Mr. Bean! The Thin Blue Line! The Secret Policemen's Other Ball! Not the Nine O'Clock News! Sir! I have spent my whole life emulating your style of erudite patronising insults!
ROWAN: Your whole life, eh? Well, I would have thought you had dedicated your life to Monty Python.
COMIC BOOK GUY: Monty Python? Why would you think that?
ROWAN: Well, for one, the age would make more sense for your 'whole life,' and far more telling, the entire troupe could fit into your trousers.
COMIC BOOK GUY: Oooh! I have been insulted by Blackadder! What an honor! And in riposte, sir, I must say that your humour is… is… um… Damn. This ALWAYS happens.
ROWAN: Alright, you go home, and at 2 a.m., when something finally occurs to you, write it down, and send it to my agent. I'm sure he'll appreciate it. Come along, Homer, we'll find someplace a little more challenging.
They leave the shop, and Comic Book Guy speaks to himself.
COMIC BOOK GUY: I was insulted by Edmund, Lord Blackadder. This will become my new standard for a 'high point' in my life.
He takes the current page off the "page-a-day" Ziggy calendar, writes "Insulted by Blackadder" on it, and pins it to the wall at the top of a line of Ziggy calendar pages. The previous high points were "Sex with a woman!" followed by "Sold Radioactive Man #1," then "Paid off Car Loan," then "Sex," then "Star Wars #1," then "Met Spock at Convention," and "Sex?" pinned side by side as if unsure which was better, then Star Wars #3 (with the 3 crossed out to read 6), Star Wars #2 (with the 2 crossed out to read 5), and Star Wars #1 (with the 1 crossed out to read 4).
The scene cuts to Homer and Rowan entering Moe's Tavern.
MOE: Hey, Homer. How's life treating you?
HOMER: (with a passable British accent) In a never-ending series of disappointments, Moe, but I don't wish to talk about my family. What utter rot are you pawning off on the unsuspecting public tonight?
MOE: Unsuspecting public, huh? Well, Barney's drinking Duff as usual, and your other cohorts are into German Imports tonight.
LENNY & CARL: Hey, Homer. Yeah, hey.
HOMER: Ah, German beer. A liquid explanation for so many cultural mysteries.
LENNY: Uh, how's that, Homer?
HOMER: It has a taste that would make even German cooking palatable, and an alcoholic content to make German sex possible. Without it, the whole stretch between France and Poland would be a wasteland of starving, childless loners, screaming at each other on the autobahn.
LENNY, BARNEY & CARL: (nod to each other and mumble agreement) Uh-huh, yeah, uh-huh.
MOE: (serving Homer and Rowan mugs of beer) Yeah, so Homer, where'd you learn so much about German Beer? You suddenly seem, I dunno, culturally superior, or something.
Homer and Rowan wink at each other.
The scene fades, and then cuts to a banner that reads "Science Fair." The camera pulls back to reveal Lisa's school gymnasium, where each child has a science project on a table.
HOOVER: …And since Lisa Simpson won the science fair last year, as a reward, her father gets to judge the entries this year, in a bizarre plot twist that makes no sense at all unless you accept the concept of an arbitrary, pitiless deity.
LISA: Oh, no!
She turns towards the door in time to see Homer walk in, wearing a large button that says "JUDGE" pinned to his shirt. He walks to the front table, dons a white wig, and bangs on the table with a gavel.
HOMER: Court…I mean, Science Court…I mean, the Science Fair is now in session. Bailiff, call the first entry.
SKINNER: Mr. Simpson, it's not that kind of judging.
HOMER: I'll be the 'JUDGE' (stretches his pin and shirt towards Principal Skinner) of that! Now, call your first witness.
HOOVER: (sighs) Judy?
Judy brings her project up to the table.
HOMER: (back to the slight English accent) Ah. The mysteries of metamorphosis. Are you sure you want to go with something that revealing, dear?
JUDY: What?
HOMER: Well, a young girl, justifiably insecure about her looks, fascinated by the idea of an ugly worm turning into a beautiful butterfly? It's basically 'The Ugly Duckling' staged as science instead of a nursery story. You shouldn't be worried about how others will see you after puberty, but see the value inside, that you have right now. And if you don't blossom, you can always settle for Ralph.
Judy cries and runs to her table, and the class laughs.
HOMER: NEXT!
The scene cuts to Peter bringing up his project.
HOMER: Uh-huh. Computers. Wave of the future. Didn't I see this project in Popular Mechanics…in 1959? Do you think it's cutting edge to dredge up 'new' ideas that were accepted as fact by the writers of Star Trek? I mean, the good one, where they shot Klingons instead of promoted them?
PETER: But, I concentrated on the new technologies starting to…
HOMER: Pish-tosh. A better, faster, near-intelligent computer is still just a computer, right? An electronic tool that makes it easier to sort pornography. Come back when they acquire the right to vote. Then you'll have something 'new.'
Peter swallows and walks away, and the class laughs.
HOMER: NEXT!
In a corner of the gym, Nelson Munch stands next to Lisa's table, behind which is his project: a large poster showing a fist with the caption "Effishent slugging." Small pictures on the side show fists with the thumb in and wrapped around the other fingers. He turns to Lisa.
NELSON: Hey, Lisa, your dad's pretty cool.
LISA: Cool?
NELSON: Yeah, he's knocking those nerds down a peg or two. And with such style.
On the other side of Lisa, Milhouse contributed to the conversation.
MILHOUSE: Yeah, I can’t wait until he tears into me. Hopefully, it’ll be original enough that kids’ll be talking about me for months.
LISA: But Milhouse, they’ll be talking about how you were insulted!
MILHOUSE: At this point, my therapists say that any attention would be better than life as I know it.
HOOVER: Milhouse!
MILHOUSE: Here I go! (picks up his project) Wish me bad luck!
NELSON: Wait... (Reaches over and snaps off the top of Milhouse’s model of a space station) There you go.
MILHOUSE: Hey, thanks. (walks towards his doom)
Cut to a shot of Earth Orbit. The space station Milhouse’s project is modeled on spins slowly in space to the tune of ‘The Blue Danube.’ Suddenly, the top snaps off, exactly as the model did in Nelson’s hands. The music stops with the sound of a phonograph needle scratching to the edge. Inside, an astronaut calmly calls on the radio:
ASTRONAUT: Uh, Houston, we have someone practicing sympathetic magic on the Space Station again.
Cut to Houston Control, where a technician turns to his superior.
TECH: We told you the models were too accurate! We told you something like this would happen!
MANAGER: Yes... I shouldn’t have doubted your voodoo expertise.
Back on Earth, Lisa and her father walk out of the school door.
HOMER: Well, Lisa... Are you still ashamed of me?
LISA: I don’t know... (short pause) I mean, you’re certainly more popular now. And kids are talking to me again, but you did it by being mean to children. And what’s with the British Accent?
HOMER: It’s what you wanted, sweety.
LISA: What? When did I mention ‘British’ anything?
ROWAN: (Steps out from behind a tree) You mentioned ‘culture,’ Lisa. And to an American, that means Britain.
The three start walking down the sidewalk.
LISA: But there are plenty of other examples of culture besides Britain!
ROWAN: Nonsense. You, and every other American with a reading level above 5th grade, are fascinated by The English. Without us, you couldn’t even define yourselves. Who’s your favorite spy?
LISA: James Bond.
ROWAN: Your favorite detective?
LISA: Sherlock Holmes.
ROWAN: Favorite Religious Leader?
LISA: Aha! Pope Adrian the IVth!
ROWAN: You mean, Nicholas Breakspear, the only English Pope? (Lisa gives a small D’oh!)
HOMER: Wait... There was a fourth Pope Adrian? Since when?
ROWAN: Favorite accent?
LISA: Cockney.
ROWAN: Favorite historical mystery construction?
LISA: Stonehenge.
ROWAN: And who do you want to be when you grow up?
LISA: Susan B. Anthony!
ROWAN: Lisa……?
LISA: (looking down at her feet) Emma Peel. (small embarrassed giggle)
ROWAN: So you see, Lisa, whether you want to admit it or not, you are an Anglophile. As is most of America, did they but realize it.
LISA: I suppose... But does he have to be mean?
ROWAN: Your father is always going to be mean, child. The best we can hope for is to make him presentable to the public, and more entertaining than offending.
LISA: Yeah, I guess... So, ask me some more.
ROWAN: Alright... Favorite wax museum?
LISA: Madame Tussaud’s. But she’s French!
ROWAN: But she had to move to London to become famous. Oh, how about your favorite prince?
LISA: William. (Tee hee)
ROWAN: Mine, too. Favorite politically correct class traitor for economic reform?
LISA: Robin Hood.
ROWAN: Favorite bridge?
LISA: (sings) London bridge is falling down. (Rowan starts to sing with her as they walk into the sunset. Homer steps out from behind some bushes, zipping his pants.)
HOMER: Hey, you two! Wait up! (runs to catch up)
(roll credits) |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
More disclaimer: This work is my own.. The characters are my own.. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual).. the author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic.. I tend to work with size-themed fiction, which includes overwhelming control issues and outrageous differences in scale.. Such disparate sizes between partners is not for everyone, so be warned.. ------------------
Also, note the 'MINOR' warning on the codes.. Minors are in the story.. Minors have sex in the story.. Or try to, anyway.. Do not post comments complaining that there are minors in the story.. I already knew that.. ------------------
It was still early on a Saturday afternoon, and the kids were fourteen, maybe fifteen on the outside.. They stared at her, but boys had been doing that since she started high school.. They leaned on bikes and whispered to each other.. She parked in front of the lobby and climbed out.. One of the boys leered and tried to make a wolf whistle.. She smiled, amusement at his attempt to act grown up, not encouraging him.. The spike-haired blonde reminded her of the comic character Calvin.. Or maybe she'd call him Beavis when she told this story.. The other pointed at her and shouted, "You've got a camel toe!"
"I'm wearing a skirt, moron," she replied, without bothering to look down.. "Didn't the person who taught you that phrase tell you what it means?" She gave a derisive laugh and went inside.. Just to be safe, she made sure the money was in her purse and her keys were in her hand before she stepped out.. As she'd suspected, the jerks had moved to be between her and her car.. "Maybe you could teach me what it means," one said.. Up close, this one even actually resembled Butthead.. "I'd rather tell your mommy that you're going to grow up as a sexual harassment lawsuit in tennis shoes," she said and brushed between the two.. "Okay," Butthead said.. There was a clicking sound.. Lorraine started to turn, then there was a brilliant flash of light.. She staggered back a step, covering her eyes.. The ground was uneven between her feet, she stumbled and fell.. "Oh, man, it works!" someone shouted on a loudspeaker.. "Toldja," Butthead shouted on the same circuit.. Where did they get a loudspeaker? Was there a ball field nearby or something?
She blinked, trying to clear her vision, when someone threw a tarp over her.. "Now what do we do with her?" someone, must be Beavis, stage-whispered.. "Whatever we want," Butthead said.. Something smashed into her, bending her over under the tarp.. Then she was swinging through the air.. There were mechanical sounds.. At first she thought of the kids' bikes, then realized it must be some sort of hand-cranked crane lifting her.. The tarp swung crazily.. She was still dizzy from the flash, now she got nauseous.. Very nauseous.. Lunch started to boil out of her stomach.. She couldn't even twist her head to puke downwards, she couldn't tell where down even was.. Maybe she was on her side.. The puke seemed to be pooling against the side of her face, her shoulder.. She was too miserable to care, beyond twisting so as not to breathe any of it.. The spinning and swaying never stopped or slowed.. She struggled to lift her head clear, then gave up and passed out.. ---------
"Okay, lady, come on out.. "
Lorraine woke to shaking.. Something was shaking her roughly.. She kicked folds of the tarp clear and rolled to hands and knees.. There was light and she moved towards it slowly, carefully and deliberately.. "Okay," Butthead yelled, "Now you're gonna-"
"Oh, gross!" Beavis shouted.. "What is that?"
"She hurled!"
"Hey, lady, stop that!"
The noise was too much for Lorraine's pounding head.. She dropped to the ground, barely keeping her head off the surface, and puked once more.. "Aw, man!"
"Make her clean that up!"
"I was going to undress her!"
"Well, go ahead she's not going to put up much of a fight.. "
"I'm not touching her! She's all… Did she…wet herself?"
"STOP SCREAMING!" Lorraine shouted.. When she thought about it, when she tried to smell, she realized that she had wet herself.. And this was a new dress, too.. "Clean up the barf, lady," one of them shouted.. She cradled her head in her arms.. "No more noise, please," she whined.. "We're not yelling.. "
"Oh, but she's so tiny, she thinks we are.. "
"Well, she'll have to get used to it.. "
"Petite," she muttered.. "What?"
"Petite.. I'm called petite, not tiny.. "
The kids laughed at her.. "Maybe you should look up, lady," Beavis said.. She lifted herself up to sit on her ankles.. At least they were quiet while she was looking around.. The first thing she could really see was the floor.. It was a hard wood floor, a dark wood.. Very shiny.. Obviously the louts had at least one parent who cared for the place.. Maybe they'd get in trouble for the puke.. She looked around.. The world slowly came into focus.. There was a canvas tarp behind her, crumpled and stained, with the logo of a local supermarket chain stretched across it.. Had they stolen it from a company picnic? She rubbed her eyes and looked up.. The room soared up above her, reaching into the distance.. "Don't look up that high," Butthead said.. She looked at the voice.. The kids were giants.. Great looming masses sitting on either side of her, grinning like little fiends.. Great big little fiends.. Lorraine's eyes rolled back and she passed out again.. -----------
When she came to, she was sprawled on the table, still.. Pretty much in whatever position she'd dropped into.. The punks were arguing about taking her clothes off.. "I said I'm not touching her! You touch her!"
"Dude, you have to clean up the mess, anyway.. Your Mom's gonna shit if smells that mess on the table.. "
"Okay," Butthead said, "you clean her up, I'll clean the table.. "
"No.. She stinks.. "
"I'll clean her up," Lorraine said.. "Just… give me something to wash up with.. " They looked at each other, then Butthead walked away.. He came back with a plate.. "Sit on this," he said.. She crawled onto the plastic disk.. He carried her over to the sink and put the plate down.. He turned on the water and stepped back.. Her shirt was ruined, she shrugged that off and dropped it onto the plate.. She slid the skirt off and tossed that behind her.. She had no idea where her shoes had gone.. The water beckoned.. She waved a hand through the stream.. "COLD?!?" she shouted.. Her headache throbbed and she grabbed her head.. "Sorry," Butthead said.. He reached over to turn up the warm water.. "Don't apologize," Beavis told him.. "We're in charge.. If we want her to bathe in cold water, she has to.. "
"I thought we were trying to get her to stop being sick?"
"Oh.. Well, yeah.. For now.. " They stared down at her.. Lorraine was getting a sense of scale.. She was taller than the sides of the sink, but shorter than the top of the faucet.. She guessed 15 inches, just to have an idea.. They'd probably be measuring her, she figured.. Certainly her bust size.. The water was up to lukewarm when she stepped under it.. She let it flow over her hair, but it wasn't like a shower.. This was more like that time under the waterfall.. The pressure pounded at her shoulders as she took off her bra.. The boys whistled.. She turned her back.. Beavis pinched her shoulder between two fingers and turned her back around to face them.. She shrugged and went with it, no fight left in her.. Just like no food.. At that thought she cupped her hands and drank some water.. The headache softened a bit.. "Panties, too," Butthead told her.. She shoved them down in a single push, no artifice, no teasing, nothing sensual.. The plate was taken away, her clothes dumped into the trash.. And the plate that the icky girl had touched went into the dishwasher instantly.. "Table?" Beavis asked.. "Oh, yeah.. " Butthead grabbed a sponge.. He paused.. "Don't do nothing with her while I'm not here.. "
"Okay," Beavis said.. As soon as his partner's back was turned, he reached down to squeeze Lorraine's breast.. "Honk!" he said, then giggled.. Lorraine jerked away from the pinch, slipping on the wet steel and falling on her rump.. She leaned back against the side of the sink, pulling her legs out of the water's flow, and stared up at her captor.. "Okay, what the fuck is going on?" she asked.. "We shrank you.. We own you," he said with an evil grin.. "I shrank her!" Butthead shouted.. He came back over and put the sponge on the side of the sink.. "But I picked her out," Beavis said.. "Duh.. First woman to be alone with us, big strategic brainstorming effort," Butthead sneered.. "HOW did you shrink me?" she asked.. "Found a shrink ray, duh," Butthead said.. "Wonderful," she muttered.. "So what happens now?"
Beavis reached down to grab her around the waist and lifted her up to his face.. "Well, now, you tell us what a camel toe is.. " He squeezed gently, a clear threat against resistance.. "It's when her pants are so tight," Lorraine said quickly, "that you can see the outline of her labia.. " They looked confused.. "The lips of her pussy," she translated.. "Oh," Butthead said.. He pushed on her shoulder, Beavis rolled her backwards.. "But we can just look at your pussy.. "
"I think that's much better," Beavis agreed.. She kicked a bit, uncomfortable at the angle and with their scrutiny.. Beavis' hand kept her from reaching down to cover herself.. They stopped her by grabbing a leg each and pulling her wide apart.. Fingers poked and stroked, prodded at her.. She choked back tears.. She figured these two would enjoy her crying.. "So who do I belong to?" she asked.. "Both of us," Beavis said absently.. He licked a finger and stroked it along one thigh.. "You both own the shrink ray?" she asked.. Blood rushed to her down-tipped head.. "No, that's mine," Butthead said.. "Then I guess you're the one that owns me," she said.. "So you go first.. " Dots were starting to spin around in her vision when Beavis suddenly tipped her over.. "Hey!" Butthead protested.. "No," Beavis said.. "You belong to BOTH of us.. "
Yeah, that'll work, she thought to herself.. "Well, technically, it is my shrink ray," Butthead said.. "That doesn't make a difference!" Beavis protested.. "It would if you'd found the shrink ray," Butthead pointed out.. "Ow!" Lorraine protested.. "If you're going to argue, put me down.. I think you bruised a rib.. "
"Okay," Beavis said, starting to lower her t the counter.. "No, no, don't let her go, she'll get away.. Give her to me.. "
"How can she get away?" Beavis asked.. "She can't reach any doorknobs.. "
"I don't want to be looking under furniture when my mom comes home!"
"Oh.. " Beavis looked around and carried her to a cabinet.. He pulled down a Tupperware pitcher and lowered her into it, then slid the lid into place.. "There.. Now, how come suddenly you own her?"
The fight raged on outside.. Lorrain crouched, not quite able to stand up straight.. She kept her face by the grill that kept ice from pouring out of the spout, breathing deeply.. She tried to keep it slow and even.. A panic wouldn't help her, here.. These idiots were about half an insult away from tearing into each other.. If she could just push them a little…
Her prison swept up into the air.. The lid twisted up and away.. Butthead looked down.. "Okay, here's the schedule.. Jerry's going to play with you for a bit, first, because he has to go home for dinner.. After dinner, I get to play with you all night long.. "
"Wonderful," she said, stretching a bit.. "How long does this last?" They blinked down at her.. "How long are you going to keep me?"
"Oh, there's no switch on the shrink ray to put you back to normal," Beavis laughed.. Butthead laughed a beat later.. She noted the pause, but only barely.. Her mind went blank at the revelation.. "So," Butthead said, "take her-"
"Jerry?" Lorraine asked absently.. "What? Yeah, my name is Jerry.. "
"Oh," she said tonelessly.. "We weren't formally introduced.. I've been calling you Beavis in my head.. " She wondered why she was bothering with minutia.. The other kid laughed.. "Beavis.. You do kinda look like him, Jerry!"
"Oh, yeah? Well, that means she's been thinking of you as BUTThead.. " Jerry laughed.. Butthead's laugh cut off in an instant.. He leaned down to where Lorraine cowered in her pitcher.. "I'm Martin.. Mister Martin, to you, bitch.. "
"Yes, sir," she said.. "So take her into the guest room and fuck her," Martin growled.. "I was going to do her in your room.. "
"I don't want your come stains on my bed when I do her!"
"Then I'll do it in your mom's room!"
"And then Mom'll think I beat off in her bead again! Just use the guest room, idiot.. And use a towel!"
The pitcher tilted.. Jerry grabbed her around the waist as she slid out, then carried her through the house.. They ended up in a room that had one bed, a sewing machine, four chairs and a lot of boxes.. Jerry crawled onto the bed, laid on his back…and stared.. He obviously had no idea what to do with her.. She barely kept herself from asking, 'didn't think this far ahead?' Instead, she waved towards his shorts.. "Gonna unzip?" she asked.. "Uh, yeah," he said.. He set her down by his hip and skinned his shorts down.. She glanced down as his adolescent hard-on.. It looked small, even from her scale.. "Nice one!" she lied.. She crawled over his thigh and started to knead his cock.. It was firm, but not terribly hard.. "Oh, that's nice," he said softly.. "I mean, fuck me, bitch.. "
"Oh, I will, Jerry.. I will! I want you happy with me.. "
"Why?" he asked.. "Because I think I'm going to need to drink a lot if you guys are going to own me," she said.. "Maybe if I'm a good girl, you'll sneak me some vodka?"
"Yeah, yeah," he said.. Guys will promise you anything if you're touching their pee-pee, she knew.. She tugged at his sac.. "What are you doing?" he asked.. "Sex," she said, matter-of-factly.. "I mean, if you could unshrink me, I could fuck you for real, but this is as good as it gets, now.. "
"Well, that's not going to happen," he sneered.. "Even if I could, you'd just kick my ass and leave.. "
"Or, if it was reversible, Martin could shrink you and we could fuck.. " She tried to make it sound like it was something she wanted.. If the kid had seen any porn, the women were always asking for it.. He probably expected her to.. "You could tape me down, and just fuck me.. "
"Not happening," he said, but without as much scorn.. "I'd be trapped at your size.. " He reached down to finger one of her breasts.. "Which wouldn't be all THAT bad…"
She leaned down to kiss his fingertip, smiled up at him.. Then she knelt between his legs and put her face to his penis.. She made motions like she was licking him, but didn't touch him.. From his angle, he couldn't tell..
"I can't feel anything!"
"Oh, I guess my tongue's too small," she said with a little pout.. She grabbed him by the sides and pumped.. "This isn't going to be much better than you just beating off, then.. "
"That's… That'll be fine," he said.. She pumped away.. His hips started to pump up and down.. "Hey, where's my purse?" she asked, stopping the action.. "What? Marty got it.. "
"Oh.. Why?"
"I dunno, he picked it up.. Maybe so no one'll know you were there.. "
"My car's still there.. " He looked a question at her.. "My name is on the registration.. They'll know.. " She started to pump again, then paused.. "Do you think Martin got the money out of my wallet and put it back to normal? I had $400 dollars in there.. "
"No, he said it doesn't reverse," he said quickly.. He put fingers on her hands and started her pumping again.. "Has Martin ever lied to you?" she asked.. He growled.. She dipped her head and made loud slurping sounds, still without touching her tongue to him.. He made an odd sound in the back of his throat and came, come spurting out and arcing over to land on his t-shirt.. He grabbed a towel and cleaned himself up as she stood between his knees.. Then he lifted her, pulled up his pants and carried her out.. Jerry was surprised to find that there was still plenty of time before he had to leave for home.. The kids had figured sex would take about an hour and a half.. Lorraine easily kept from laughing.. She was used to men having outrageous estimations of their sexual prowess.. With that much time, Martin wasn't about to wait until after Mom got home and cooked dinner.. He took her into the bathroom and cleaned her off, then carried her into his bedroom.. He stretched out on his bed and stared at her.. "What, uh, what did you and Jerry do?" he asked.. That time, she had a difficulty keeping a straight face.. "We had sex," she said with a shrug.. "You know what sex is, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure.. " He stared.. She waved at his crotch.. "Well, first Jerry pulled his pants down…" Martin hastened to follow suit.. She walked to the same position and rubbed his dick the same way.. And faked the licking.. "Oh, yeah, baby, that feels so good," Martin said, happy with her fake fellatio.. Or at least talking the way he thought he was supposed to.. Maybe she wouldn't need vodka, she thought.. Then the door burst open.. "You lying sack of shit!" Jerry shouted.. He was holding Lorraine's purse.. Her full-sized purse.. She felt all the weight of an entire world lift off of her.. It was reversible.. "Dude, get out!" Martin shouted, covering his hard-on with both hands.. One knocked Lorraine on her ass.. She lay still, trying not to be noticed.. "Were you going to tell me about the money?"
"Sure," Martin lied.. "I was going to split the $200 with you!"
"Then where's the OTHER $200!" Jerry threw the purse at Martin's head.. That boy rolled to the side, falling off the bed.. Lorraine lay perfectly still.. "What are you talking about?"
"She got $400, dick! She told me! So, what, you took half and split the remaining half with me!? That's, like, a third or something!"
"Dude, she's lying about the $400!" Martin was trying to wrestle his shorts back into place but his dick wasn't cooperating.. "Right, SHE'S the liar!" He raised up a gun-looking thing.. "You said this didn't reverse!"
"Dude, I can explain!"
"You'll have to!" Jerry screamed.. He pointed the gun at Martin.. Martin shot forward, grabbing at it.. They fought for the ray over the top of the bed, over Lorraine.. She ducked her head.. There was a flash of light, so bright she even saw it through closed eyelids.. Then there was a thud.. She looked up.. The gun had landed on the bed right in front of her.. The boys were not in sight.. "Oh, shit, man," someone wailed.. The voice was so high, Lorraine couldn't tell if it was Marty or Jerry that was squeaking.. She crawled to the gun and looked it over.. There was a trigger, an on-off switch, and a slide marked with an up and down arrow.. It was set to 'down.. '
"Well, that's easy," she said.. She walked to the sides of the bed.. Marty had disappeared.. Jerry may have hit his head on the way down, he was lying on his side, moaning, arms covering his skull.. Lorraine levered the gun up and managed to grab the trigger while holding her lower leg in front of the barrel.. Evidently the ray only had to hit part of you, she figured, or else only one of the kids would have shrunk.. An instantly later, she was sprawled on a teen's bed, naked and wonderfully whole, normal and BIG!
Jerry resisted but only feebly.. It didn't matter a damn, he got dumped unceremoniously into the pillowcase.. She tied a knot in the case, then took it and the ray, looking for the mom's bedroom.. She didn't bother trying to look for the other teen.. Marty was certainly hiding from her.. She found some clothes she thought she could get away with wearing.. She took stuff from the far back of the closet, far enough that the theft might not be noticed at all.. At least it would be a while.. Then she looked for a jewelry case.. "What are you doing?" Marty squeaked from the door.. "Stealing some jewelry," she said.. "So your mom'll think you took it and ran away.. " Not the best pieces, because she really wasn't mad at the Mom.. Just the flashy stuff, stuff an idiot would think he could fence to finance running away from home.. "NO!" Marty protested.. "Would you rather I sat on your mom's bed, naked, until she got home and I explained the rape?"
"No, no, no!" Marty squeaked.. The bottom drawer had $700 in twenties.. She really didn't want to steal, but it had to look convincing.. That went with the jewelry into another pillowcase.. When she turned to the hall, she heard the pitter of tiny feet.. She heard Marty moving around when she went into his room to recover her purse.. Then it was like playing hide and seek with a three year old.. "Now, WHEEEEEERE'S Maaaarty?" There was a whimper.. Kids always gave themselves away.. But rather than kneeling down, she just used the shrink ray on the bed.. It shrank to the middle of the space it occupied, dropping down on top of the jerk.. An instant later, he was with Jerry.. She restored the bed and walked out.. They weren't far from the bank.. She could see the supermarket sign from the front porch.. There was a moment of fear when she realized that she'd dropped her keys when they shrank her.. Then she smiled and just shot the ground with the shrink ray on Up.. Her keychain lay there, shining in the sun.. ----------
At home, she drew the curtains and put the pillowcase on the table.. She didn't bother with the knot, she just cut the side and the boys tumbled out.. They looked far better than she had, coming out of the supermarket tote bag.. Well, the passenger seat didn't sway or rock.. "Hello, boys," she said with a big smile.. "Jerry.. And MISTER Martin.. "
"Hello, um, Lady," Jerry said.. Marty covered his face and moaned.. She forced Jerry to undress.. "Strip," she said.. Then she snapped the scissors.. "Or I'll cut off your dick.. "
When he was naked, she reached down to pinch his penis.. "Honk!" she said gleefully.. He screamed.. "What are you going to do with us?" Marty moaned.. "Well, we're not going to be fucking," she said.. "But I am in the mood to watch a live sex show, you know?"
The boys brightened up at that.. "You're… You're going to shrink someone to have sex with us?" Marty asked, eyes lighting up.. "Already have," she said.. "Marty… No.. Butthead, grab Beavis' dick.. " She snapped the scissors again.. He flinched and grabbed.. "Now, Beavis? Take Butthead's clothes off.. "Slow," she said breathily.. "Slow and sexy.. "
"I'm not gay!" Beavis protested.. "I didn't ask," she said with a sweet smile.. "JUST like you guys never asked my name, much less whether or not I was a lesbian.. "
She leaned forward and showed a toothy smile.. "Now, strip him.. And Butthead, don't let go of that little penis, or I'll make you suck him off.. "
She was going to, anyway, but didn't need him to know that just yet.. . |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: This work is my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, 'you gotta read this' excerpts, the usual). The characters are my own. The author is not making any kind of profit from this story.
This story is an endquel to Reversal. I'm not sure what all is going to happen to Dave and Masak over the stories, but I figured out where it ends. The story 'Reversal' should be read before reading this story.
He was 142 years old. When he'd lived to be 100, it was hardly noteworthy, not to the media, not with the baby-boomer funding of life sciences. At 105, he was the oldest living alum of his college, and got a 1-inch write-up in the newsletter.
After his 120th birthday, he started getting visits from reporters. They wanted a sound bite on how he'd attained such an advanced age. But by his 121st birthday, no one wanted to hear his story about binding his soul with a demon, especially when he couldn't help anyone else do it.
There was a brief surge in popularity for Retro New Age about the time he turned 127. His observations about how higher powers and souls worked didn't match the popular writers of the day, though, so he was largely ignored.
At least, outside of the family he was. His great-great-great-great grandchild loved to sit on his lap and hear stories about cars without safety circuits, planes that were limited to atmosphere, refrigerators you had to refill manually, and credit.
Her cousins, aunts, and uncles had heard all the stories. They'd even booted up his 'desk-top' more than a few times to see what it was like. They were hopeless on the keyboard, which was to be expected, but they kept at it until they could make the thing function.
And of course, they all played with Masak.
David had had a full life, a big family, and almost no regrets. There was one regret, though. And it was getting to be a big one.
He sat on the porch, watching some of his two- and three-greats grandkids play Hide and Taser with his familiar. She gave as good as she got, but never came close to harming any of the kids. She claimed it was only the restraint of his influence, but he wasn't so sure.
She had her favorites, and they weren't the same children he doted most on. She was always the first one to suggest Christmas gifts for all of his surviving descendants. And they were always the perfect choice. He really thought he'd reformed the immortal child of evil incarnate. And that was his regret.
He was old, he was dying. He'd been almost ageless for so long, it was a shock how fast it was creeping up on him now. He knew the end was close. And when he went, this bright, energetic creature was going to die as well.
If she'd remained a barely-leashed force for hatred and torture, he wouldn't mind taking her out of the universe with his departure.
But now, he'd spent more than a century with her. She was his friend, as well as his familiar. He owed her his life, and now a creature that had existed since time began would die with a pitiful mortal.
All because he'd had a whim to have a beautiful creature as a familiar. He didn't really regret that. Lives had been saved because she was in his life. He'd lived to welcome 82 descendants. He'd seen disease conquered, poverty diminished, people walk on a comet. He just wished there was some way to release her.
"A penny for your thoughts, Master?" she asked. She'd appeared on the porch rail in front of him without his noticing.
"Masak, I'm sorry."
"Oh, don't be, Master. I know you have no pennies." She hopped over to his lap and sat down. "You feel somber, Master. Why? It's a sunny day, your family attends, no one wants to sell you time share in the Asteroid Belt and Star Wars XXIV premieres next week."
Dave gave a brief snort at that. As the only man on Earth who'd been alive when the first SW movie came out, he was invited to the show. It wasn't going to be the high point of his year. They'd stopped asking his opinions since the divine ascension of Jar Jar, so he'd just be allowed to stand and wave.
"Oh, I'm just thinking, Masak."
"A bad habit, Master. That's why I avoid it." Truer words were never spoken, he thought. She tensed as a bird landed on the porch railing and gathered herself for a leap. She was about to attack, and Dave was reaching to grab her, when one of the little girls shouted 'BIRDIE!' from the lawn. Masak instantly relaxed, the bird was off limits.
Dave's reflexes were slower, so his hand continued to grab at her. He ended up gripping her around the waist, cupping her ass with his hand. Masak wrapped her tail around his wrist and ground her butt into the palm.
"Oooh, Master. So soon?"
"Uh, no, not that," he said, regretfully. "Masak, does it bother you that I'm going to die?" She shrugged, still wriggling in his grip.
"Not particularly, Master. All things do, eventually." The answer surprised him. It surprised him a lot. Maybe he hadn't reformed her.
"Well, what about you? You die when I die, right? How do you feel about that?"
She stopped what she was doing and stepped up to the arm of his rocking chair. "I'll miss the microwave, of course. And the cinematics." She shrugged. "And sunlight and Frisbees and cooking oil and grubs." Then she turned to look him in the eye. "But I'll never have to watch you bury a child, again. I'm not sure I can take many more of those."
He was touched and reached out to stroke her tiny shoulder. Then a thought occurred. "Masak, you have, on occasion, eaten children, haven't you?"
"Long ago, Master," she said, in that tone that tried to convey innocence. "But no one lets me take ketchup to the funeral anymore. It's very unfair."
He laughed, the mood broken. Finally, he continued. "Well, it's just that my lawyerbot seems to have gotten a report from my autodoc and wants me to update my will. I was wondering if I needed to make provisions for your care? I mean, is there any chance, any chance at all that you could still be alive after I..."
"Don't you DARE suggest that!" she screamed. Then she ran. Quick as a wink, she was off the porch and through the bushes. He still felt her, through their linked souls, and knew that she was seriously crying for the first time since he'd summoned her.
Her tear-filled eyes didn't see the elm tree growing next to the bushes. He saw it. Looking straight out over the brush, he felt her impact, and saw the distinct shudder in the trunk when she hit. The solid 'thunk' drew the attention of everyone on the property.
The profanity that followed could have been no one else on the planet but his demon. He laughed, even while everyone else wondered what had happened.
He continued laughing, louder and louder, as the absurdity of it all caught up with him. Months of growing guilt and worry evaporated in seconds then minutes of laughter.
Then the edges of his vision got darker. Tendrils of darkness fingered their way into his world, which got smaller and smaller, and farther and farther away.
He seemed to be trying to say goodbye from the bottom of a well. Faces of his children's children circled the lip as he sank. In the center of it, Masak smiled down at him. His next to last thought was that he was glad she'd come back.
His last thought was that she should have at least picked the bark out of her teeth before smiling at a dying man. Then the darkness flowed over and into him.
"I was in a hurry, David." Her voice brought him back from the darkness. Dave sat on a dark plain, with indirect light that seemed to be twilight glowing all around.
Before him, small plots of surreal flowers dotted the ground. One was close enough that he could smell the blossom. It reminded him of sulfur and blood, and for some reason he liked it.
He started to stand and was surprised at how responsive his body was. He glanced down to find it young and strong, unmarked by time. Oddly, though, the scar from that car accident Masak caused was still across his chest.
As he ran a finger across it, a great serpent circled his body and yanked him into the air. He yelped and kicked, stopping when he was turned to face the rest of the 'snake.' It was Masak's tail.
The demon stood over him, smiling down through her fangs. She must have been fifteen feet tall. He dangled from her tail and looked her over. She was as beautiful as he'd ever seen her. The lighting complemented her natural coloring.
"As I said, in answer to your last comment," she repeated, "I was in too much of a hurry to pick my teeth. You were leaving and I didn't want you to go alone." He wasn't sure he liked the way she was smiling down at him.
"Masak...I thought I was dying?"
"Oh, you did."
"Then, where are we?"
Her eyes bugged wide. "You didn't KNOW?" She swept him up in a gigantic hug. He was crushed to her chest and distinctly felt two ribs crack in her arms. "No wonder you've been a Gloomy Gus! Some wizard you are."
"Masak...can't...breathe..." Her grip shifted, pressure released, and she held him below her bosom as a child. Then she lectured, as if he was a child.
"Now, everyone who knows about such things knows what it means to die. Death is the end of an Earthly existence. It's one of the Big Rules that you can't be on Earth unless you're alive." She paused at the sound of his ribs popping back into place. The pain faded.
"Good," she continued. "Now, when you're mortal, death means Death. No arguments, no backsies, no do-overs. But if you're a demon, an angel, or any other supernatural being with at least part of your life force kept..." she waved to indicate the Garden around them, "...elsewhere, then death on Earth merely means that you're banished from Earth, for at least 735 years. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Does that make sense?" She was looking down past her boob at his face.
He looked into her eyes and was amazed to find she was even more beautiful than he'd realized. He laughed to realize, "I guess I wasn't as familiar with my familiar as I'd always thought!"
"No puns," she warned, "this place is what the mortals call Hell. We have Standards." He laughed even louder.
"But," he asked, when he regained control, "but why am I here? I'm mortal."
"You were, David, but you joined our souls. You have an off-world place to go when you die on Earth. Technically, you're a demon."
"Oh. Okay, cool." He pondered that for a moment. It explained his fondness for blood-sulfur flowers. "Hey, you called me by my name. Not Master. I've been telling you for a century to call me Dave. Hell, MOM told you to. What changed?"
"You're no longer my Master, little man. We have equal access to our one and only soul right now." She drew him up to plant a big, toothy kiss on his face. "You're my partner, now and for pretty much the rest of eternity."
Her tail worked its way slowly along his side to his ribs. When it was next to his heart, it started tapping the rib. "Or, well, you would be an equal partner, but for one thing."
"What's that?" he asked. The tail struck like a rattlesnake and he convulsed. He shrieked and fought, but she held him tight and helpless in her arms.
With a wicked grin, she told him: "I'm not ticklish." |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: This work is my own. The characters are my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, 'you gotta read this' excerpts, the usual). The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic. I tend to work with size-themed fiction, which includes overwhelming control issues and outrageous differences in scale. Such disparate sizes between partners are not for everyone, so be warned. In this story, a shrunken man and woman are at the mercy of a woman. Any depictions of rape, or rape-like behavior, are only literary devices either for character development or justification for the eventual violent end for the rapist.
Debbie shook, a little afraid, backed into the corner. The other woman loomed over her, pointing a gun. "No, wait!" Debbie cried. There was a flash. She thought she was shot, but realized that it was only a beam of light coming out to hit her.
She started to fall backwards. Then she realized that she was feeling the wall behind her move, instead. She braced herself against the two walls and felt both of them moving, her hands sliding downward.
She kicked off her shoes when the heels started to feel unstable. The woman with the gun watched, a knowing smile on her face. Debbie let go of the walls to hold up the slipping shoulder straps of her halter top.
The walls continued to feel like they were sliding up her butt and her back where they touched the wall. That pressure was the only thing holding her shorts up. It felt creepy, but she knew that if she stepped away from the wall, she'd be naked almost instantly.
Not that it mattered, she realized. As her height dropped to the waist of the woman who shrank her, she noticed the walls seemed to be sliding up faster. As her size decreased, the shrinking effect seemed to increase. Her clothes went from a negligible weight to noticeable, to a burden. She grabbed as much as she could and held it as close as she could.
Eventually, the material of her clothes started to smother her. She fought her way to the top of her puddle of fabric. She had time for one breath of fresh air, then she was grabbed. Fingers of the now-giantess closed around her torso and lifted her up. She was dumped unceremoniously into a handbag. Her screams went without notice.
Her captor carried her around for a while. Debbie bounced among the contents, in the dark, for a long, painful time. She was ready for the light when the purse opened again. Even without knowing what awaited her, it almost couldn't be as bad.
The Hand came back in and took her up. The bright light blinded her, so she saw no details of the room. She was lowered into a cage which was draped with a black cloth. Traveling from darkness to bright to darkness again, she had no vision to speak of. She started groping around the cage. There was no furniture, not even a water bottle. A grate on the bottom covered wood shavings, cedar she thought, from the smell.
She heard a scraping sound and light entered from one side of the cage. Something was lifting the cloth on one edge. As she watched, it rose above one horizontal strut and a pencil was shoved through to hold it up. Another section was lifted and held, and there was a doorway in the cloth.
A man stood there, about her current size. She walked slowly towards him, careful of her footing on the wires. He was blond, smiling, and dressed in a sort of scrap toga held in place with what looked like a shoelace.
"Hi!" he welcomed her. "I'm Ted."
"Where am I?"
"That's easy. You're in my house. Why is a little less easy. You hungry?" She shook her head. "Thirsty?" As he mentioned it, she realized she was very thirsty. She nodded.
"Okay." He handed a small plastic bag of water through the bars. It was a little awkward to drink from but she managed to get most of it into her. As she wiped spilled water from her breast she suddenly remembered that she was naked.
She turned away from Ted, blushing. Without a word, he tossed a bundle of fabric to her feet, with a length of shoelace. She glanced over her shoulder to see him facing away from the opening. She kept an eye on him while she covered herself. It was a little too primitive to consider it getting 'dressed.' He seemed to be in another cage like hers, but open to the light. She could see there was a Jacuzzi-sized bowl of water, cushions, and some slats across the wire bottom of the cage.
"Okay," she called, once she was tying the toga in place. "You can look, now, Ted." He turned back. "Hi. I'm Debbie. Now, what's going on?" He poked a couple of popsicle sticks through the opening.
"Here. They're more comfortable than the wire. Have a seat." He nodded as she arranged the sticks and sat on them. "Okay. Some time ago, I invented a shrinking ray."
"Really?" He just raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh. Yeah, I guess I shouldn't be amazed at that, not since I'm in a gerbil cage."
"Yeah. Anyway, when I showed it to my wife, she accidentally shrank me."
"And you can't get back?"
"I'm not Szalinski." She missed the reference but didn't want to interrupt him. "My method isn't reversible. It…kinda wigged my wife out."
"Wigged?"
"She…is of two minds about me. On the one hand, she knows I'm her husband and she loves me and wants to take care of me. On the other, she kinda sees me as a pet."
"Because you're five inches tall?"
"Exactly. The only two things she's ever really cared about are me and a hamster she owned in college. She didn't socialize well and 'Puffy' was her only friend until I came along.
"I think it was the guilt that drove her insane." Debbie refrained from commenting about how sane Hamster Girl must have been before the accident. "Anyway, she wants me to be happy. And she confuses my needs with Puffy's."
"Ted, I don't think I like the sound of that."
"No. As a man, she recognizes that I have needs. As her pet, she wants me to have a partner. So she goes out and finds one for me."
"What? I'm supposed to be your partner? She just picked me up and makes a pet out of me?"
"I think so. It's hard to be sure what she thinks."
"So…she's done this before?" He nodded. She thought it was a little sadly.
"Twice. One woman refused to cooperate, one tried to escape."
"Where are they? What happened to them?" Ted didn't answer and didn't meet her gaze. That was answer enough. "Okay, so what happens now?"
"Well, she put you in that cage to acclimate you to your new size and living condition. Eventually she'll introduce you to my habitat. Then she'll observe our interaction to see if you're a fit mate."
"A fit mate?! That's outrageous!" He glanced away from her rage.
"So…are you refusing to cooperate?" he asked. She gasped and fell into silence.
Some time later, The Hand came back. The fabric was lifted, the door opened and she was moved to the other cage. It was brighter, screens of white mesh of some sort surrounded it. A small room was created in a corner by hanging a cloth across it. A chamber pot rested in it. She apologized to Ted and hurried past him to take care of business long overdue. When she felt human again, she came back out and looked around.
"Okay, so what do we do?"
"Like I said, she watches for a while, sees how we relate." Debbie looked to the screens. With a lamp above lighting the mesh, Hamster Girl could see them, but they couldn't see out. She might or might not be out there, and Debbie wasn't sure which would be worse. Watched by a crazy woman or alone with a strange man.
"So, what is there to do in here?" He shrugged and pointed to a travel chess set. To her, it was about 5 feet across. "I'm not so much a chess player. Sorry."
"Okay. Well, the only other thing…" He reached over and rubbed her shoulder. She brushed his hand off reflexively, and froze when she heard a cough from beyond the screens.
"You were serious, weren't you?"
"Yeah. Now that you're here, she can never let you go. And either you're a good mate or a threat." He reached for her shoulder again. This time she let him rub it. She didn't interfere when it slid down from her shoulder to her breast. When his other hand moved to her other breast, though, she couldn't help herself from taking a step back.
"I'm sorry…I'm just not… I can't…" She was interrupted by the sound of the top of the cage being removed. The Hand came down and grabbed her. She screamed as she rose above the top of the cage. The giant woman undressed her by simply ripping the rag off of her and tossing it away.
Then Debbie saw a small box, covered with velcro, being placed in the cage below her. She was lowered to the box and positioned. More velcro strips held her down. She was face down across the box, with her legs spread on one side of it. Ted approached her from behind.
"I'm sorry, too, Debbie. But if I don't do this, she'll think I'm rejecting you. That would be bad." He stroked the helpless woman's sides, legs, ass. She found it relaxing, really, the touch of a fellow-scaled person. Every so often a gigantic finger would stroke her back. The fear of the threat of that finger made her heart race. Two giant fingers squeezed her hips gently together. It felt pleasant, and strangely compelling. The fear started to ebb, replaced by an urge to surrender to the power of the bigger woman.
The paired attentions soon brought her to full arousal. She began moving her butt, as much as possible, against Ted's fingers. When he dipped one into her pussy, he found her well lubricated and ready. Another finger joined it and was made welcome. He rubbed the walls of her pussy, and reached to gently toggle her clit. She was going mad with need.
"Oh, god, Ted, please!" He needed no further invitation and thrust his cock into her. With her pussy filled, his hands stroking the sides of her breasts, and the giant stroking the small of her back, she quickly exploded. Her screams tore at an already abused throat but she never noticed. She pulled against the restraints and shivered. He withdrew without completing his own pleasure.
The Hands cleared the straps from her spent form. She lay quietly until her new owner finished, and showed no sign of moving after that. The Hands gently picked her up and lay her back down on the box. She was atop it, facing up, and her legs and arms were soon rebound.
Ted climbed on top of her and entered her. She smiled lazily up at him as he began to stroke his meat through her lips. Over his shoulder she could see one finger descend slowly to his ass. The big woman started shoving him up and down across the tiny woman's body. Not far, not hard, but it was impossible for them to do anything but ride along. She set the rhythm for both of them. Debbie lay back and enjoyed it, including the look of joyful frustration on Ted's face. Well past the point he'd have moved to a frenzied pace, he was still riding in and out of her at a slow, steady one. His hands, squeezing her nipples, worked faster and faster, though. She took each hand to her mouth and licked them, lubricating them to improve her sensations and prevent chafing.
Finally, the pleasure built up to the point of no return. Ted screamed, a low animal sound, and the giantess responded by pressing harder and deeper than ever. Their combined orgasm was very nearly an out of body experience.
The giantess let go. Ted rolled off of Debbie, and they both watched lazily as the restraints were removed again. They sat up, swung off the box, and stood together in the middle of the cage. The giantess picked them up a last time, and placed them on the floor of the room.
When she was hit with the anti-shrinking ray again, Debbie found it a lot less frightening than the first time. But of course, that fear was part of the fun.
They rose to their full size, and Ted's wife, Jennifer, stepped over to kiss him. It was a long, lingering kiss and Debbie looked on with approval. With that out of the way, Jennifer offered them each a kimono and led them to the den.
Debbie crossed over to her own husband sitting on the sofa. She didn't exactly see kissing as a competition, but she did her best to impress the other couple. Under Mark's own robe, his interest was clear. She sat carefully on his lap and snuggled close.
"Did you enjoy that?" she asked, nodding towards the TV. It showed a clear view of the velcro box in the cage down the hall. The VCR next to it finished rewinding as he nodded a strong affirmative. Across the room, Ted and Jen sat in their own snuggle.
"Well," Ted said, "welcome to advanced swinging. Was it what you expected?"
"Oh, my GOD!" Debbie exclaimed. "It was everything and more!"
"Good." Jen toyed with Ted's chest hair. "Now, what shall Mark and I do next?" Mark had clearly been thinking that very question while sitting and watching the others. He leaned forward excitedly.
"Space explorers. We're on a planet where the locals are giants, and they poke and prod us and force us to demonstrate human biology for them." Jen laughed and looked to her husband.
"'Land of the Giants.' Episode 1, X-rated version. How many times have we done that fantasy?"
"Not too many for it to work," he replied. They all laughed. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: television
Chapter 1
"Hello?"
It's a dark space we're seeing.. A few random elements have light from an unknown source glinting off of them.. We can't identify shit, but the outlines give shape and density.. It's a crowded space, stuff piled on stuff, stacked by stuff and several more stuff lined up in a row.. "Hello?" A door opens and a female form is outlined by a dim light from the hall.. "Is anyone there?"
She moves cautiously into the space, hands out to keep from bumping into things.. "Can anyone hear me? Oh!" At her exclamation, we see her face in profile, looking to our right.. The camera pans over.. There's a frosted window.. A light behind it allows us to see the outline of a man standing in front of it.. "Oh, thank heavens," she says, moving towards him.. "I had to go to the bathroom, but I got lost when I came out.. Do you know the way back to the lobby? I think we're backstage, right?"
She gets close and suddenly realizes she's looking at a toy soldier.. One that stands six feet tall.. She flinches away from him, then smiles.. "I guess you only see daylight when they do the Nutcracker, huh?"
Behind the soldier's elbow, she sees a switch.. She throws it and the lights come on.. We see her clearly, a young redheaded woman in a business-appropriate suit.. The space is full of props of various sizes and scales.. "But are there any other doors?" she asks in a soft voice.. She looks in all directions.. "Hey.. Where's the door I came in?"
She turns to the soldier.. The wall behind him is smooth and blank.. There's no light switch and no window.. She reaches out to run her hand along the smooth surface.. "What's going on here?"
The camera spins swiftly to the left.. Rod Serling stands among the props.. In front of him is an HO scale replica of the White House.. To his left stands a Statue of Liberty, the torch coming up even with his eyes.. To his right a Raggedy Ann doll hangs from the rafters.. R-Ann is about 8 feet tall.. "Imagine if you will.. Emma Burden is a financial analyst helping restore an aging theatre.. She's left the presentation and she's become lost, somewhere backstage.. Now she's in a prop storeroom she can't get out of.. "But being lost shouldn't concern her, nor being trapped.. Because, you see, everything that's stored is stored by somebody.. She should worry about who owns this collection of odd-sized props and backgrounds and settings.. "And when they're going to come take something out of the collection.. We know this because we, at least, know where she is.. She's lost…in the Twilight Zone.. "
(Opening credits)
Emma moves around the room, pulling things away from the walls, looking for a way out.. She handles a drum the size of a doghouse, a dog food dish the size of a drive-through menu column, Mount Rushmore, a church with a steeple that's no taller than her waist.. "There has to be a way out," she says, slightly exasperated.. She continues on.. Ink pens and pencils five to seven feet long, a pair of skis and a ski mountain that's as tall as the skis are long, a teapot that's warm to the touch.. This discovery wigs her out a little bit.. Emma's more frantic as she passes the clear spot where she's sure the door used to be.. A nail in the wall has a chain of Christmas tree lights, all shaped like tiny toilets.. A skull she could hide in.. A leather wallet with Roy Rogers' face painted on it big enough to be a futon.. Finally she just steps back from the wall and screams wordlessly, then repeats: "There has to be a way out.. " She's much more frantic, now, and tears at her hair.. The camera circles her as she twists back and forth, hands to her temples, eyes starting to glaze over.. Emma's respiration increases, panting, quick and shallow breaths.. Then the lights go out.. There's silence, broken by a creaking sound.. Light returns, but this time as a thin sliver that slowly widens, as the creaking gets louder.. It should look and sound like someone opening the top of a chest or a toy box.. The light reveals Emma passed out on the floor.. One leg is folded over a giant crayon.. A roller skate key is next to her elbow, it's the size of leg of lamb.. "There should be something in here," an old man's voice says.. "I really appreciate this," a younger woman's voice replies.. "Oh! That's perfect!"
The gigantic shadow of a hand (or the shadow of a gigantic hand) appears and moves towards Emma's still form.. --------------
We see the inside of a room in a basement.. Cleaning supplies and a furnace are in view.. A man dressed as a train conductor lifts Emma up out of a wooden box.. Emma's about 16 inches tall, dangling lifelessly from one hand.. "Now, this isn't exactly the dolly she left behind, but it may-"
"She's perfect.. " He hands Emma over to a young mother.. She takes the dolly-sized woman into her two arms.. "It'll last her until we get home, where she left China Sal.. "
"Well, good, then," the conductor says and waves the woman off.. She scurries out of the basement, up the stairs and through a train station.. She goes out the door and we see a train platform with people boarding the waiting train.. A small girl sits on a bench, trying hard not to cry.. The mother hands Emma over.. The girl doesn't smile, but she stops nearly-crying.. She holds Emma up by the armpits and looks her over.. Emma starts to come to.. Her head lifts, her eyes open and she's face-to-face with a giant girl dangling her over a pretty decent drop to the platform floor.. "Hi," the girl says, still hesitant.. "What's your name?"
"What do you want to call her?" Mommy asks.. "I'm Emma," Emma says.. "Emma," the girl repeats.. Mommy looks confused and surprised.. "That's an odd name, Clystra.. Where did you get it?"
"She said it's her name," Clystra says.. She shrugs.. "I think it fits.. "
"Well, we have to run along, now.. Bring…Emma, and hurry up.. "
"Yes, Mommy.. Emma, we're going to get on the train, now.. " She throws Emma over her shoulder and scurries along behind Mommy.. ----------
The next scene is in the dining car.. Emma sits on the table next to Clystra's plate.. Mom sits across the tiny table from her daughter.. Clystra is speaking.. "Emma says it's not as dangerous as people think, and it's mostly an old wives' tale.. "
"Dear," Mommy sighs, "stop saying 'Emma said.. ' You know she doesn't really say these things.. "
"Better agree, Clystra," Emma says.. "If adults can't hear me, she'll never believe you.. "
"Emma says," Clystra tells her mother, "that I should play along with your delusions so that you don't think I'm the one that's delusional.. "
"I never said that!" Emma protests.. "But it's what you meant, right?" Clystra asks her.. Mommy stares at the two of them.. "Then tell Emma," Mommy says, a little tightly, "That if it's the doll that causes.. " She reaches for Emma.. "One of us to be delusional, the best thing to do-" She pauses.. "Oh, no!"
She's looking at her hand.. "My ring! The stone's fallen out!" She starts to look around frantically.. So do Emma and Clystra.. "When could that have happened?"
"Found it!" Emma shouts.. She reaches under the edge of Mommy's dinner plat and pulls out the rock.. She hands it up to Mommy.. There's a moment, silent, where no one moves.. Clystra speaks very softly.. "Emma says she found it, Mommy.. " Mommy opens her hand and Emma places the diamond in it very gently.. "Tell her it's a beautiful stone and I'm glad she didn't lose it," Emma tells Clystra.. "She says it's a beautiful stone and she's glad she could find it before you started crying.. "
"How old ARE you?" Emma asks Clystra.. "Then please," Mommy says, "thank Emma… I'm sorry.. " She turns to face the 'dolly.. ' "Thank you very much, Emma.. I'm glad I have my stone, too.. "
She puts it into her pocketbook and places it carefully into her purse.. "You're very welcome," Emma says, Clystra repeats it.. After a moment of silence, Clystra asks Mommy, "Do you believe in her now?"
"I'll give her the benefit of the doubt," Mommy says slowly.. Emma smiles.. They finish their meals.. Clystra offers some food to Emma.. "I'm not hungry," she says, surprised by that admission.. "Maybe I am a dolly.. "
Clystra tells Mommy, "Emma says I should get two desserts.. One for her and one for me.. "
"Did not," Emma and Mommy say together.. Clystra's eyes get wide at the harmonized response.. ---------
There are scenes of them reading in a private sleeper on the train, and getting ready for bed and Emma laying down with Clystra in the upper bunk.. Then it cuts to a city street.. Mommy is talking.. "Your Aunt Della is going to live with Grandma, we're going to put a mortgage on the house to fix it up a bit and give them some living money.. "
"What's a more gauge?" Clystra asks.. "Oh, I got this one," Emma says.. "Emma says she'll explain it to me," Clystra tells Mommy.. "Alright.. Just sit quietly in Mr.. Chaddick's office, alright?"
"Mr.. Chaddick won't hear a peep out of Emma," Clystra smiles.. They enter the door of a bank.. The next scene is in the bank manager's office.. The manager is one of those special Twilight Zone functionaries.. He's obsequious and helpful, while still giving you the feeling he's judging your every move.. Useful, but creepy.. Subservient but with a superior attitude.. Mommy sits on the opposite side of the desk.. Clystra has a chair beside her, but is paying all her attention on Emma, who talks very quietly to the girl.. He's explaining the contract just before Mommy signs it.. "…and at 2% interest, your monthly payment comes to $1,024.. 33.. "
"Oh.. " Mommy seems surprised.. "Say what?" Emma swings around towards the desk.. "That's a bit more than we were expecting," Mommy protests.. "Quite a bit more.. "
"Well, we did make clear that the estimate was only an estimate," he says.. He sounds sorry that he has to acquaint the poor woman with the facts of life, but he still slides the pen across to her.. "Hang on," Emma says, stepping to the chair's armrest.. "Something's wrong.. "
"Mommy, Emma says there's something wrong with the contract," Clystra announces.. She helps Emma step up onto the desk.. "Ah heh," the manager smiles, a little off his game.. "I'm sure your dolly is imagining things.. "
"She has a MBA from Harverd," Clystra points out.. "Oh, does she?" Banker nods, looking towards Mommy.. "Ma'am, I'm willing to…accommodate your daughter to a certain point.. And I can understand that she's bored by the proceedings, but…"
"Yes, of course," Mommy says.. She takes the contract and slips it across the desk.. And holds it where Emma can see it clearly.. "What's the problem?"
"Madam!" Banker protests.. "Aha!" Emma says, kneeling to tap a line in the contract.. "This is a one-time fee.. He's adding it as part of the monthly charges.. "
"She says…" Clystra screws her face up in concentration.. Emma speaks slowly and Clystra parrots it.. "Line… four…teen.. .. shouldn't be… a monthly…charge.. "
"Madam, I assure you that our staff has looked this contract over several times.. " Banker takes it back and looks down at line 14.. "No, see, this is the… Oh.. Oh, my.. "
----------
Cut immediately to a hotel room.. Emma stands on the nightstand between two beds.. Clystra is on the phone.. "And EMMA did the math in her HEAD! And they bought us lunch while they fixed the pepperwork and I had a chicken sandwich-"
Mommy, on the other bed, warns Clystra, "That's enough dear, it's long distance.. Tell Daddy goodnight.. "
"Goodnight!" Then she hangs up and climbs into bed.. Emma jumps over and they cuddle for a bit.. Mommy reads for a while.. When she puts the book down later, Clystra is asleep but Emma is watching Mommy.. Mommy leans forwards a bit.. "Thank you, Emma.. Really.. But… But now you're more than a little scary.. You know?"
Emma holds up a hand, one finger in a 'wait one' gesture.. She climbs down and scurries over to Mommy's purse.. She comes back with a quarter.. Her hands hold the coin to block most of the motto.. Mommy leans down to read that 'TRVST' is all she lets show.. "Trust, huh? And what would you tell me if you were an EVIL dolly come to life?"
Emma eases her hands so they cover everything but the word GOD.. Mommy gives a small gasp.. Then a smile.. "So… You're saying if you were evil, you wouldn't hesitate to claim you were working for God.. "
Emma nods.. They smile at each other for a moment.. Then Emma returns the quarter and climbs back up into bed with Clystra.. ----------
They return home, bursting through the door into a stylish, well-to-do apartment.. A man's reading the paper on the sofa.. He starts to stand.. Clystra shouts, "Hi, Daddy!" Then she puts Emma on a chair, says "Rightbackgottago!" and runs into a bathroom, shutting the door behind her.. Mommy enters, carrying two suitcases.. She puts them down to take Daddy into a hug.. They kiss, then look down.. "So this is Emma, I take it? The dolly whose head is full of math instead of fluff?"
"Do NOT tease the dolly," Mommy says.. "I wasn't going to when Clystra is around," he promises, nodding towards the bathroom.. "No.. Do NOT tease the doll.. Ever.. " There's steel in Mommy's tone.. "Emma saved us $635 a month, every month, for the next thirty years.. "
"Oh.. " He looks confused.. "You mean, Clystra… Or you… caught a mistake…"
"Nope," Emma says with a big smile.. "No," Mommy says.. "It was all Emma.. "
Daddy thanks Emma, his tone making it clear that he's just playing along.. "And don't play cards with her.. " Mommy is still serious.. She picks up a suitcase, Daddy takes the other, and they move towards the bedroom.. "That little woman is a cribbage SHARK!"
"What, you owe Clystra money?" he asks, jokingly.. "I'm into the dolly for $43," Mommy says.. Emma drops to the rug and ambles after them.. "Well, maybe I can win it back for you," he jokes.. "Let's see how she does with poker.. "
They enter the bedroom and put clothes in drawers or in clothes hampers.. Clystra walks in, Emma on her hip.. "Emma wants to know if you know the rules for Texas Hold 'Em?"
"What's a Texas?" he asks.. "Nothing you want to get involved in," Mommy warns him.. ------------
Mom walks down a busy street, holding Clystra's hand.. Clystra carries Emma, who watches the city go by.. "Ooh!" Emma says, pointing across the street.. "Ice cream! I'll buy.. "
"Emma says she wants to spend her poker money on ice cream for the two of us," Clystra reports.. Mom stops.. "She has plenty," Clystra says.. "I love your father but he IS a slow learner," Mommy says absently.. She looks across the street, then down a couple of doors.. "Well," Mom says, considering.. "We can get ice cream or we can go into this doll store and get her a new outfit.. " She pauses dramatically.. "And new underwear.. "
"Laundry!" Emma quips.. "She'll go by your recommendations, Mommy," Clystra says.. They walk along a little bit..
"Now, this dressmaker? She's supposed to be something of a witch.. " Mommy glances down at the dolly.. "Maybe she can tell us why Emma's here.. "
"And what Emma is," Emma adds.. Clystra nods.. They enter a vintage-looking shop.. Lots of dolls on shelves and under glass.. Shipping trunks of doll clothes.. A little tea table in the corner.. Mommy and Clystra take seats there, Emma is stood up on the table.. Her hair is coifed much as it was the day she arrived here (not unruly after several nights in bed), and her dress is unrumpled.. She looks much better than the witch does.. She comes out with a tray holding tea and fixings.. Her hair is askew, her dress dingy and she wears shoes that don't match.. She pours tea and makes sure everyone's comfortable.. "Now, let's see your dolly.. " She reaches for Emma, who takes a step back.. Witch/Shopkeeper pauses.. "Oh, you're interesting.. "
Witch reaches around to a pile of junk and roots through it.. She comes up with a magnifying glass.. The glass has been painted black.. She holds that up and looks through the lens at Emma.. "Oh, dear.. "
"What?" Clystra asks.. "Is she okay? Can she eat ice cream?"
"Hush," Mommy says.. "I dunno," Emma says, "they seem like good questions to me.. "
"You're in the wrong place, dear.. " She turns to Clystra.. "Your dolly is in the wrong world.. That means two worlds are out of balance.. "
"Are you going to send her home?" Mommy asks.. "But do you HAVE to?" Clystra asks immediately.. "More importantly, will it hurt?" Emma asks.. "The universe will set about adjusting the balance," the witch says.. "Somehow, some way, it will make things right.. " She smiles at the three of them, then.. "Now, did someone say underwear?"
"Um, can you make it so we understand her?" Mommy asks.. "You'll understand her when you need to.. "
"Then that's okay, then," Emma says.. "Now, do you just have panties or can I get some lingerie.. "
"What's lungery?" Clystra asks.. "It's like Texas," Mommy says absently.. "Just something else to get your Daddy in trouble.. "
----------------
In Clystra's bedroom, Emma is helping Clystra sort her other dolls.. "And Feesta is friends with Poleh but jealous of Grunder who's sister is Jeffa who's BEST friends with Feesta but only when Ammrat is asleep because-"
"And where do I fit in?" Emma asks, dragging Ammrat to the end of the line.. "There's… There's no one like you, Emma.. You're my extraspecialgood favorite.. "
"Aw," Emma says, running over to hug Clystra.. "And you're my extra special good friend, Clystra.. You're the best owner I've ever never had.. "
They hug again.. Daddy pokes his head in to say it's time to go to bed.. They both protest but they both get under the covers and cuddle.. After some time, Emma's eyes open and she looks around.. She doesn't see Clystra.. She sits up, then climbs up to turn on the lamp.. The bed is empty except for the row of dolls.. Emma walks slowly along the line asking "Did you guys see where she went?"
At the foot of the bed, there's a blue cloud, shimmering and wavering.. As Emma gets close she hears Clystra's voice, muffled and from far away.. She's screaming for Mommy, Daddy and Emma.. Emma instantly turns and runs, jumping off the bed.. She grabs a slipper and runs out of the room.. Mommy and Daddy are curled up on the couch, snuggling.. They look surprised as Emma runs out, slaps the floor with the slipper, and stares at them.. "What're you doing out here?" Daddy asks.. "That's Clystra's slipper!"
"Does this mean there's a problem with Clystra?" Emma gives Daddy two thumbs up and turns to run back to the bedroom.. She slips through the opening just as Daddy pushes it wide open.. Emma runs to the cloud and points up.. Daddy kneels beside it, Mommy sits on the bed.. They call out to their daughter.. She screams but apparently can't hear them.. He reaches into the blue cloud.. "Wait," Mommy says.. "This is the balance," Daddy replies.. "The universe took Clystra to balance the worlds.. " He tries to reach in but his hand won't enter the cloud.. "I can't… I can't reach her.. "
"I think I can," Emma says.. Both parents turn to stare at the dolly.. "I heard you," Daddy says softly.. "When we needed to," Mommy says, echoing the Witch.. "It's my world," Emma says.. "I'll bet it'll let me through.. You hold me and lower me in.. I'll save her if I can.. "
Daddy scoops her up in an instant.. Mommy says 'wait' once more.. They look at each other.. "You, uh… You'll probably have to stay there," Mommy says.. "Restore the balance, yeah," Emma shrugs.. "So, goodbye.. It's been great.. Really.. I… I loved it here.. "
Clystra screams wordlessly.. "Okay,g'bye,gottagonow," Daddy says and lowers her into the cloud.. She and his hand slip smoothly through.. Clystra stands inside a football stadium at night.. She's leaning against the wall at the fifty yard line.. Players and cheerleaders and staff all fight to get out of the field, fans scream and fight to get out of the seats.. The loudspeaker says that the cops have been called and to exit in an orderly fashion.. Security guards aim guns at the giant girl.. Cameramen try to get closer to her.. Someone's got a bullhorn and shouting for the press to get back.. There's not a chance in Hell that Clystra can understand any of this.. She just wants her parents or her dolly and cries for them, over and over and over.. Emma appears in the row of seats behind Clystra, sitting in Daddy's grasp.. "Clystra!" she shouts.. The girl turns around.. "EMMA!"
A gun goes off and Clystra slaps a hand to her cheek and screeches.. Emma strokes the hand, urging it down and forward.. When it's close, she yells for Clystra to take Daddy's hand.. Clystra screams for her Daddy and grabs the hand.. Emma jumps free and Daddy pulls.. In an instant, Clystra's gone, the cloud is gone, and Emma is lost in the stampede of retreating fans.. She pauses at the top of the stairs.. "Bye bye, Clystra," she says softly, then leaves.. The next scene is daylight.. Emma is dressed in a different suit, slightly different hair style, carrying a briefcase.. She crosses a plaza between large business skyscrapers.. There's a lift in her step.. "Now THAT'S how a meeting should go," she says triumphantly.. She crosses the street, passing a storefront where there are dolls on display.. She slows for a second, tracing her hand along the glass.. None of the dolls need to resemble Clystra or Emma.. It's not that poignant a pause.. She shakes her head sadly and turns to continue walking.. "That's EXACTLY how a meeting should go," she repeats, almost a mantra.. She passes a bus stop.. Rod Serling watches her go by, then turns to the camera.. "Somewhere out there, a little girl cries from time to time.. She misses her favorite dolly.. And sometimes, the dolly misses her favorite little girl.. It's sad, really.. "But we're going to consider it a happy ending.. Because the universe is balanced.. People are where they're supposed to be.. And if that little girl cries, at least it's on her mommy's shoulder.. She's not in a cage at the zoo, or under a tent in a circus, or being studied at Area 51.. "Any of which could have happened … in the Twilight Zone.. ". |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
Eileen followed Beth into the TalkModel offices.. She looked around curiously as her cousin walked quickly to the receptionist.. There were a lot of people in the waiting area.. Some she thought didn't really strike her as models.. Some were fairly old people, some young, some ugly.. A couple of people looked more like the people Central Casting would send to populate a free clinic on an inner-city cop show.. Beth came back with two clipboards and they filled them out.. The receptionist slipped them through a scanner and asked them to wait.. Then they sat and half-watched the television playing in one corner.. People were called in fairly quickly and soon Beth was tugging Eileen's arm.. A pair of young men were waiting at the door to the inner offices.. Beth air-kissed one and stood by him.. "Eileen, this is Tony.. He's my producer.. "
Tony extended a hand.. "More of a manager," he said with a smile.. "And this is Bunny.. He's another manager, he'll be taking care of you, Eileen.. "
"Bunny?" she asked as she shook hands.. "It's short for Morgenstern," Bunny said.. "No, it's not?" Beth declared/asked.. "It is if you attended a certain prep school in Massachusetts," he said.. There was the slightest grinding of teeth, Eileen thought.. She thought it quite likely that 'Bunny' was merely less offensive than any of the nicknames 'Morgenstern' might earn.. "Makes sense to me," she said aloud.. Bunny's smile shifted from formal to actually welcoming.. She relaxed a bit.. "Okay, you girls get ready," Tony said.. He ushered them into the back office and gestured towards a door.. That turned out to be a locker room.. Beth picked a locker and started stripping.. "Take all your clothes off," she said.. "What kind of modeling is this?" Eileen asked.. She did not start removing her clothes.. "It's fine," Beth promised.. "You won't' show anything below you collarbone.. They just have this goop they put on you, you do NOT want it staining anything you pay to have cleaned.. "
Inside of each locker was a huge fluffy robe with poofy, fluffy slippers.. As Beth promised, it had plenty of Velcro up to about mid-chest, and warm panels that folded down to expose only the shoulders.. Eileen shrugged and stripped.. --------
Bunny and Tony met them at the door and escorted them to individual photography rooms.. On the way, they were offered anything from a range of refreshments.. Both declined.. The photography room was a small, square space with a fairly small camera set up on a tripod.. There was a circle on the floor and a taped 'mark' in the center.. She'd modeled enough to know how to 'hit' the mark and went to stand there.. "Oh, nice to work with a professional," Bunny said.. He stepped to the camera and made a few adjustments.. "So what did Beth say we did here?"
"She wouldn't tell me, but she said it wasn't porn," Eileen said quickly.. Bunny laughed.. "Okay, don't worry your head about that," he said.. "Now, have you seen any 'behind the scenes' shows where they make computer-based images based on people?"
"You mean where they wear all those little dots on their faces and suits with lines so the computer knows what moves in what way?" she asked.. "I mean exactly that," he said with a smile.. He stepped to a table behind the camera.. "Now, this goo does the work of those dots.. "
He turned around with a large beaker of green stuff.. It reminded Eileen of the TMNT movie.. "Eugh," she said.. "Yeah," he said with a nod.. "But this stuff has the ability to map your whole face, down to a microscopic level, so we get a perfect image.. "
"Okay," she said slowly.. "It also means you don't spend four hours in makeup to shoot a ten-minute scene.. "
"Yay for science," she said more quickly.. He laughed, she joined him.. He put the beaker back down.. "Now, what we do is have you read some syllables and film you, with the goo on your face, and someone, somewhere, makes a computer simulator based on that.. "Your dialogue is broken up into nonsense syllables so that your avatar can say classified things, without us having to swear you to secrecy or do a background check.. "Or so they tell me," he shrugged.. "They tell you?"
"Yeah," he said, sounding reluctant.. "It doesn't really make sense that they'd go through this process every single message they needed.. So I don't understand why we get new orders like this.. "
Then he clapped his hands.. "But we do, and they pay us, so I get to spend time with beautiful women!" He smiled.. She smiled back.. Eileen wasn't above a little flirting.. He'd be more likely to remember her, and to remember her fondly, so he'd be more likely to call her for more work.. He let her read through the list of syllables a couple of times, then readied the goo, stirring it quickly with a paintbrush.. "What's in that?" she asked.. "The usual," he says.. "A biomimetic gel, a conductive substrate, eye of newt, wing of bat and the essence of thirteen white roses collected by a virgin at midnight under a full moon.. "
She giggled at his joke, still thinking of future contracts, and allowed him to paint her face with goo.. It itched ever so slightly, but didn't feel all that bad.. And it only ran for a bit then firmed up.. Little to nothing dripped.. Then she read the cue card of nonsense.. She concentrated on the words, trying to see if it included the syllables for 'nuclear' or 'president' or 'Kardashian.. '
While she was concentrating, the light around her changed.. Bunny's shirt glowed, and she realized they were using black-light.. The beaker of remaining goo glowed a sickly yellow in the ultraviolet, and some odd marks appeared on the floor.. But she wanted to be professional, so she concentrated on reading out the nonsense.. Then the light flared really, really bright.. Eileen was temporarily blinded.. She broke off her reading, apologizing.. "Sorry, I can't see the cue card.. Did the light.. .. ?" She blocked her eyes, careful not to touch her face or disturb the goo.. Her voice faded as the room returned to normal.. Normal lighting anyway.. The walls of the photobooth had fallen away and they were in some sort of a warehouse.. Had there been an earthquake? She felt more tremors in the ground.. She feared that the vibrations would shake her face and screw up the recording.. Then Bunny walked over beside her.. The ground shook at each step he took.. Those were the tremors.. She looked up, up, up into the face of a smiling giant.. And wrapped her robe around her more tightly.. "I'd like to have another take," she shouted.. "C'mere," he said, kneeling down.. She backed away, but his movements were deceptively fast.. Big feet covered a lot of ground in a few steps, and his reach was like a crane.. He lifted Eileen and cradled her in his arms.. A door appeared on a wall, not the one they'd come in through.. He walked towards it.. "What have you done to me?" she asked, trying hard not to scream.. She sounded pathetic when she screamed.. It wouldn't help.. "Actually, you did it," he said.. "You recited a shrinking spell, while standing in a Circle of Power, wearing the Potion of Focus.. "
"Potion of… The goo?"
"The goo," he said.. He lifted Eileen up to his face and whispered at her ear.. "I lied about the goo.. There's no conductive substrate.. "
"So the eye of newt?" she started to ask, then realized the answer.. "Euuuuuugh!"
He laughed as he stepped across a wide hall into yet another room.. This looked like a prop room.. Shelves on three walls were filled with little plastic boxes, most of them the size of a shoebox.. Bunny stood Eileen on a table and looked her over.. "Now you're a perfect fourteen inches tall," he said.. "Perfect for what?" she asked breathlessly.. "For voodoo!" he said quite cheerfully.. She imagined needles stuck in dolls and hair ripped out and drops of blood and ceremonies in graveyards.. And she screamed.. He winced at the high pitch but otherwise didn't react.. "Don't worry," he said.. "It's not what you're thinking.. "
She edged away from him to look to the floor.. It was farther down than she was tall.. Then there was a brief run to the door, which had a doorknob that'd be way, way over her head.. Behind her, Bunny was sorting through some of the boxes and pulling out doll's clothes.. "What are you going to do to me?" she asked.. "Well, you're going to help me cast a spell, then you're going to wake up in a nice, hot shower, get dressed, get a check and go home.. Or go eat.. Or whatever you and Beth want to do.. "
"You're… You're going to let me go?" She crossed her fingers, not daring to hope.. "Well, we'll wipe your memory, first, of course.. "
"Why are you casting a voodoo spell on me? To do what? Make me your slave?"
"Too much maintenance," he said.. "And your friends start to ask pointed questions about the time you spend worshiping me, or doing my laundry.. " He smiled as one reaching a punchline.. "A-heh," she lamely laughed.. "No, no, I'm not casting the spell ON you, I'm casting it WITH you.. You're my voodoo doll.. "
He made a gesture.. She thought he was saying to spin, so she turned around.. "No, no, the robe.. Take it off.. "
"No!"
"Oh, I love it when they resist," he said happily.. His hands shot out and grabbed her by the upper arm and one thigh.. He only had to poke his thumbs in to peel back the Velcro and she was bared before him.. Or should have been.. "Naughty, naughty," he said.. "You kept your panties on.. "
"Sorry," she said, struggling uselessly.. Bunny gripped her around the waist and slid the robe down her arms.. It got much colder in the room.. After he hung her robe on a hook, he stroked her breasts for a second.. Between the cold and the attention, her nipples hardened and he smiled.. His fingertip felt like someone was trying to molest her with a football.. Then he felt her upper arm.. Goosebumps, sorry!" He turned up the thermostat and air hissed into the room.. She started to feel a bit better while he started to sweat.. The panties took only a little longer the robe had but there was still nothing she could do to stop him from removing them.. Those went into his pocket.. "We're going to have to stain these," he said.. "So you'll learn your lesson.. "
"Yes, sir," she shrugged.. He started to dress her, then.. She saw what looked like a track uniform, school colors of black and green.. As he slid the silky garments onto her, she asked about the spell.. "Nothing deadly," he said.. "Just a little spell to give someone a little advantage.. "
"Why shrink me?" she asked.. "Voodoo is like a shaped charge, a little effort gets huge results.. " He tugged the shorts tight and cupped her ass for a second.. "See, if we stick a pin in a five-inch doll, someone gets a heart attack.. If I stick the pin in a five-foot-tall doll, the target's heart explodes.. "
She winced at the image.. "No," he said, shaking his head at the expression.. "Nothing remotely medical.. I mean, heart explodes as in tissue samples hit the far wall and stick.. "
"Eick!"
"Yeah.. Hard to convince cops or the insurance company that there was no foul play.. They'll never take anyone to court and say, 'It was a magic attack,' but they'll never say 'Ah, well, these things happen, here's your inheritance,' either.. "
He held her arms up and slid a sports bra down into place.. That took even longer to position than the shorts had.. "But they'll still investigate," she protested.. "And they'll find out that one of his heirs was collecting hair and fingernails.. "
"Don't need those," he said.. "Everyone thinks that's for the affinity.. But dressing the dolly like the target establishes the affinity.. "
She was trying to remember what 'affinity,' was.. For some reason she kept thinking of a white, creamy sort of candy.. He probably didn't mean that.. The jersey went on.. He lifted her up to lay her flat on her back, then slid long white athletic socks onto her legs.. "So….. So you don't need hair or, you know, samples?" she asked.. He started looking in boxes some more.. She guessed it was for shoes.. "No," he said absently.. "Those only ever granted the doll a connection to life.. You're alive, so that's established.. Then we only - AHA!"
She jumped at his shout, nearly rolling off the side of the table.. He pinned her in place and shoed her with big, cartoony shoes.. They were more like slippers decorated to resemble sneakers.. They were warm and comfortable.. "The final touch is a ribbon to tie your hair back," he said.. He pinched her hand between two fingers and lifted her up to stand.. A small black and gold ribbon was draped over a fingertip.. "Do you want me to do it?"
"I'll get it!" she said quickly.. He watched as she gathered her hair and tied it, then nodded.. "Perfect," he said.. "For what?" she asked.. Visions of cemeteries came back, crowding her head along with flying bats and slimy newts.. "To win a track meet, of course!" He picked her up gently, grasping her upper thighs and allowing her to sit easily on his hand.. The other hand steadied her back but didn't restrain her.. They left the prop room and continued down the hall.. She was a bit relaxed this time, and noticed people all over the place.. Big people carrying little ones.. Men and women had their little male and female living dolls.. The dolls were clearly in costumes.. A lot of sports uniforms, a few tuxedos, and one man in the hip waders of a fishermen passed by.. The women were also dressed for sports, or ballroom dancing, swimsuits.. "Who are all these people?" she asked.. "Models, like you," Bunny explained.. "Being used to cast critical spells for our paying customers.. In here.. "
She didn't understand why he invited her into the room, she was still being carried by him.. Inside there was a card table covered with green felt and a big tub of the sticks and hinges of a construction toy.. Bunny placed her down and started pulling toy parts out.. "Now what?" she whined.. "Just a minute," he said.. "I have to make a hurdle.. "
"I can't jump hurdles! I hated track.. "
"You'll be fine," he said.. The door opened behind him and Tony carried Beth in.. Beth was dressed like a ballerina.. Pink tights and a pink bodice and the most outrageously poofy tutu Eileen had ever seen.. She giggled at the sight, then at the expression.. Tony lowered Beth to the table where she stood with her arms crossed and her lip in a lethal pout.. Eileen couldn't stop laughing.. Great big gulps of air were required to keep her from passing out, she laughed so hard.. Beth just glared at her.. "You're so cute, Beth," she gasped at her friend.. "Laugh it up, track star," Beth snarled.. "I can't BELIEVE you did this to me.. "
"I…? I didn't do anything?"
"I've come here ten times and never once got shrunk.. You come with me and I'm Dream Dancer Barbie.. "
"Why blame me?" Eileen yelled..
"I had nothing to-" Both women stopped and turned at a tearing sound.. Tony had pulled off what looked like six feet of duct tape from a roll the size of a bale of hay.. "C'mere, Beth," he said.. He didn't wait to give her a chance to comply or refuse, but grabbed her and eased her to the felt.. Then he wrapped one of her legs with the tape.. While she was down he wrapped the other one, then turned to help Bunny.. Eileen scurried over to help Beth stand up.. "I can't bend my legs," she said.. She staggered around a bit, leaning heavily on the other woman.. "How can I dance with inflexible knees?"
"Exactly," Tony said.. He held up a cell phone and took her picture.. "Jump up for me.. "
"I can't!"
"That's the point.. Someone's paid us to cast a spell that keeps her competition from doing well in the audition.. Now jump!"
She struck a pose and hopped on her toes, swept her feet and mostly looked like she was about to fall on her face.. "Perfect!" Tony said.. He pressed some buttons on the phone.. "Now, when she gets this app, she can take a picture of the best dancer on stage with her…And she'll clump about like Frankenstein.. "
"Like Frankenstein's Monster," Bunny said.. He stepped up behind Tony holding an inflated balloon.. "What?"
"Frankenstein was the doctor.. He was physically fit.. Igor traditionally has a hump, and it's the Monster that Frankenstein made that - "
"Yeah, yeah, I watched Mel Brooks.. Do you need the harness?"
Bunny produced a set of straps.. Tony held the balloon while Bunny worked it onto Eileen.. With the balloon tied securely, she bounced rather easily on her feet.. "Now, jump the hurdle," he commanded, holding his phone.. He snapped her picture as she sailed easily over the plastic bar.. The app was sent and the day's work was done.. "We can put our clothes on, now?" Eileen asked.. "More importantly, we can take this ridiculous crap OFF?" Beth snarled.. "Sure," Tony replied.. Then he reached for Eileen.. Bunny grabbed Beth up and started working the tube of tape down her legs, dragging the tights down with them.. Eileen was stripped once more, finding Tony's touch a bit less gentle, but he did move quite a bit more slowly.. She breathed deeply and tried to ignore the intimate touches.. "So how do we get back to normal?" Beth asked.. She squeaked a bit at the end and Bunny stroked her bared breast.. "First," Tony said, folding Eileen over his hand and peeling her shorts down her ass cheeks, "there's one more little phase of the afternoon.. "
"What's that?" Eileen asked.. "The perks," Bunny said.. He lifted his naked doll up close to his face and stroked her bared skin.. Tony stared at Eileen's chest as he stripped off her shirt.. -----------
"Eileen!" Beth's shout drew Eileen's attention away from the shower.. It was wonderfully warm and gentle.. "What?" she asked.. "Well, I was asking if you found the nonsense syllables as hypnotic as I did, but I guess that's an answer.. " She smiled and wrapped herself in the big fluffy towel.. Eileen finished rinsing off and took the other towel.. She found her locker and took out her clothes.. She picked up her panties and shook her head.. "What happened to you?" Beth asked.. "I didn't listen," she shrugged.. The panties weren't ruined.. Bunny had managed to rinse and quickly dry them, so she could wear them home.. But she'd never be able to explain the stain across half the crotch and one hip.. "I'll save 'em for laundry day," she said as she slipped them on.. The receptionist had their checks.. Bunny had left a note on Eileen's envelope: It was great working with you.. Be sure we have your phone number!
"Well, isn't that encouraging!" Beth said, reading over her shoulder.. "It is, isn't it?" Eileen replied.. She glanced at the amount on the check.. "Whoa.. I could definitely get used to this.. "
"And that's one hurdle down on your path to being a professional model!" Beth said cheerfully.. Eileen never could figure out why that comment made her blood run cold, though.. . |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
Final Goodbye
Disclaimer: This work is mine. The characters are mine. The song "Final Goodbye" that inspired this belongs to Rihanna. The author is making no profit from this fanfic.
More disclaimer: Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, "you gotta read this" excerpts, the usual).
The elf King asked, "You can do this?" Beyond him, elves gathered around the campfire and examined Jeff and Dahlia's haul: the Book, the Sextant, and the Looking Glass.
After months of adventuring, the two had found almost everything needed to open the Hallway Between The Stars, to travel the Hallway, and find a suitable world on the far side of the Hallway. The Key remained guarded by a demon. That fact dampened the celebration of their success so far.
Dahlia returned from outside the cave, her entry marked by the whistling winds and another layer of ash deposited on everything inside. She shook the cinders off her leathers and crossed over to Jeff. Looking down at the knee-high woman raised a smile on Jeff's face. He knew how lucky he'd been that the first person he'd met after traveling to this scorched planet was the determined little elf maiden. He'd lost count of how often they'd saved each other's lives on the quest.
Most everyone else in the elf tribe had given up. The King was trying hard not to, but it was difficult. "Are you aware of the prophecies?" he asked. "Yes, milord," Dahlia said from Jeff's side. "We have discussed it much and well." "But, but... but it is written, no son of Man can hurt the demon! And no one working for the Elven King can defeat it!"
"Well, for one thing," Jeff replied, "I'm not doing it for you." The two fae followed his gaze across the cavern. A mother tried to get a shriveled baby to eat something. None of the living children in the tribe were completely healthy. The King hung his head in shame for the conditions of his people. Dahlia, instead, stroked Jeff's arm in gratitude for his efforts on her people's behalf.
"And for another," the human finally continued, "I have a feeling I can manage that other prophecy, too." The elves were stunned. "You cannot defeat prophecy!" "Hey, the Oracle never actually gave the demon any power or protection, did she?" His little listeners shook their heads slowly. "All she did was describe the conditions of his death in a manner that sounds impressive. After he dies, then people will see how the conditions are met."
The elven King looked dubious, but Dahlia smiled up at her quest partner in trust and faith.
The next day, elves circled the basin of the Hallway Between The Stars. Jeff flexed his grip on the battleaxe and stepped down the sides. The demon eased off its perch, flexing all three arms, and sizing up its new opponent. "No Son of Man can hurt me!" it shouted. Jeff ignored it and kept on walking. "No one working for the Elven King can defeat me!" As Jeff expected, the demon's trust in the prophecy made it arrogant. It stood there as he approached, laughing with a wheezing voice.
"I give you one chance to surrender the key," Jeff said. Gasps erupted from his audience. A louder wheeze came from the demon. "Okay," he finally said, swinging the axe. He lopped one arm off the demon cleanly. It staggered back, rage and terror in all four of its rheumy eyes. Then it charged.
Jeff hadn't been much of a melee fighter back in Seattle, but in wresting artifacts from the beasts that survived this wasteland, he picked up some skills. Right now, he merely kept the fiend at arm's length, fighting off the wicked claws with the axe. He wasn't really skilled with the weapon, and had only used it for maximum damage while the demon remained haughty.
Finally, he let the beast bat the weapon away. It sailed through the scouring winds. Jeff's opponent raised its remaining arms and smiled wickedly down. Jeff turned to one side and shouted: "No, don't! It'll kill you, too!" While played out in Earth cinema, the trick was quite new to the demon. It spun quickly around, leaving its back exposed as Jeff drew his rapier.
The guardian was fast, but not fast enough. It spun back around to face Jeff, but the blade was already spearing towards its torso. It scratched deep gouges out of the human's arms, but couldn't stop the sword's motion. Jeff stood for a moment in what he kinda thought was called an extended lunge, with his sword through the demon's chest.
Dahlia ran up his leg, his back, and down his sword arm. Leaping from his wrist, she landed dagger-first in two of the beast's eyes. It screeched and reached for her. She flipped back and away. Grasping after the elf, the demon impaled itself even further on the sword. Now it grabbed the steel and tried to remove the weapon. Dahlia repeated her attack for the remaining eyes. When she was clear, Jeff dropped the sword and drew the black-bladed dagger.
It slid easily through the gut of the demon, opening the belly and revealing the key. Jeff threw it towards the waiting elf crowd. As the voices rose in delight, the blinded beast sank to the ashes below it. Greenish-gray ichor dripped and sizzled on the ground. "No son of man," it whispered.
"Mom's partner was an experimental geneticist," Jeff said, not unkindly. "And a lesbian. I have, as a matter of actual fact, four mothers. But I'm not a son of any Man." The demon sank deeper, features melting. "No one working for the..." it hissed.
Jeff smiled down at Dahlia. "As Patton said, the guys in the trenches don't fight for king or country, nation or cause. They fight for their fellows on the line." Then he glanced down at the scratches the demon had made on his arm. They were blackened, already festering. He sank to his knees as the imp melted into a puddle.
Back in the cave, the elves propped their savior against the wall and ran off to pack. Only Dahlia stayed with the human. "Guess we won," he said, forcing a smile. "You saved my people," she replied. She climbed up on his chest to wipe a wet rag across his forehead. She held back a tear.
"Well, it's the most noble thing I've ever done." He wheezed a bit. Dahlia hated to see the color leak out of his face. "You and your people can find a new world now." "I'm not going," she said. She wasn't sure if he could hear her. "I shouldn't have waited to say this, but I can NOT leave you. Since the day you fell between the worlds, I knew we were destined to be together forever."
"Short destiny," he coughed. "Shhhh," she replied, hand to his lips. "As your philosopher Patton said, I have found new life in yours. It's you that I live for. For you I will die." His eyes were starting to glaze over. Dahlia hurried to get her message across. "The world goes on without us, but I can't go on without you." Grabbing his eyebrows, she looked deep into his eyes, trying to maintain contact. "I can die happy if you know this! I promise you our love will carry on!! Do you hear me, Jeff?" There was no recognition in the gaze. "We belong together," she cried. "Our love is eternal! At least," she said, dropping to a whisper, "mine is. Do you... Did you love me?"
Silence. She kissed the cold lips for the first and last time, and turned around. Her tribe was arrayed in a semi-circle around the dead human. She shook her head, all around her dropped their faces to the ground. After a moment of silence, they turned and filed out towards the Hallway and salvation. One young woman lingered at the human's boot. "We should... we must..." Dahlia skipped down to the floor and took the young mother's hand.
"What you must do is survive. It is what he risked his life for. It is you that he gave his life for. Live, remember him, and be grateful." With a final hug, the elf left and Dahlia was alone. She walked slowly to her love's corpse and curled up to sleep in the crook of his arm. Within moments, her skin adopted the ashy gray color of his. One last breath shuddered through the cavern, then it was silent.
A layer of reality away, she raised her head. All around her was the same, but different. The cave showed the debris of her departed tribesmen, the burned-out fires and the leftover scraps. But the light shining in from the opening was bright, yellow, alive. Green grass and flowers were visible. Dahlia stared at the world, the world her great-great-grandparents spoke of, the way it had been before the cataclysm.
She was dead, she knew, and in the afterlife of her people. It just wasn't possible to get any further from Jeff, she realized. "You couldn't mention undying affection BEFORE anyone was dying?" Jeff asked. She leapt from his arm to his chest. He smiled down, color restored. Then he crushed her into a hug that threatened her spine.
"Can't... breathe..." she forced out. "We're dead," he replied, "we don't breathe." Overwhelmed by his logic, she just lost herself to the loving embrace. After they'd hugged for a moment, a new voice sounded in the cave.
The demon's rasp sounded rough but not threatening. "Okay, I know why you're here, I can guess why HE'S here, but what in the name of the darkest Circle am I doing here?" |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: games
flow
Clubbed to Death
Chapter 1: Clubbed to Death
The quality of the air inside the Sugar Hole isn't much better than the sewer. The café itself is small, though surprisingly well-lit near the main counter. A lone customer sits drinking quietly in the corner, and the tender behind the counter looks the part, in a short gray dress and a dainty white apron—save for the heavy-looking gas mask. It's impossible to tell whether the tender is a man or a woman.
She reaches up, struggling to undo her own mask. Once freed, she discards the item and starts coughing wetly into her cupped hand. Eventually, she calms down, wheezing and grimacing, studying the dark fluid staining her palm with an unreadable expression. Sabitsuki grunts, wipes her hand on her shirt, and then notices the masked bartender; it's difficult to tell where it's looking behind the heavy gas mask and the hairnet.
"Coffee," the girl rasps. The maid-in-mask nods, retreating behind the plain black door. Upon returning, the girl has taken up a seat on one of the barstools, slumped partway over the countertop. Her eyes drift restlessly over the scars on the counter's tarnished surface. She looks up when a cup and saucer are set in front of her, trailing steam. It smells ordinary.
Leaning over the cup to let the steam invade her lungs, Sabitsuki hums vaguely. Making any noise will hurt, but the steam itself feels kind of nice. The maid is talking, but it's impossible to tell what's being said behind the mask. In an effort to be polite, Sabitsuki smiles thinly. Out of the corner of her eye, she's watching the other customer. White-haired, slumped over in the seat with its head down, humming to itself.
She's never seen a drunk kaibutsu before. But there's never a point in questioning their weird behavior; not if she wants to keep her head intact. She looks back over at the counter. The maid has gone. A shiver runs through her. Leaving some money and her coffee untouched on the counter, Sabitsuki slips out of her seat and walks slowly over to the other, poorly lit side of the café.
She figures that the kaibutsu will be sitting there no matter what she does, or where she goes. She starts to creep forward, gripping the lead pipe tighter, like that will help her relax, but it doesn't. By now, she's close enough to tap it on the shoulder. The kaibutsu still hasn't moved. Glancing up, she sees an empty counter. Good enough. Raising the pipe above her head and—hesitating mid-swing, she's still weak, not quick enough—her pipe is caught, then her wrists.
Sbitsuki's too shocked to vocalize her distress. The kaibutsu has one good, brown eye. Its face has a consistency similar to the figures in the classic 1953 American film House of Wax, just more grotesque; a near-indistinguishable mess of white and red, bloated flesh and coagulating blood, hair sticky with it around the edges. It makes a chuffing noise, pressing her brittle arms back, twisting until something snaps.
Sbitsuki's agonized screech is only met by the echoing clang of the pipe hitting the counter, then the floor. There's a blow to her chest; she's on the ground. Kicking the pipe out of reach, the kaibutsu looms over her. "That—was rude. Do you greet everyone new like that?" She's crying, maybe, clawing desperately at the floor with her good arm. Blood spills out of her mouth, and she chokes on her own disease, writhing around on the dirty café floor like a rabid animal.
The kaibutsu pushes down on her chest with the full weight of one foot. She feels something crack, and this time musters a hoarse scream. "Hurts, doesn't it? We don't usually have to deal with pests like you. They stay out there, and I stay here." It grins, gestures to its face. "I mean, how do you think I wound up like this?" Sabitsuki is too dazed to respond properly.
"There's always someone, though," the kaibutsu hisses. "You've done that before. Do you feel brave, killing other things?" It's not her fault they're both deteriorating. She's the one getting better, she's not defective, she's just doing what no one else— "Hey, stay with me. You got yourself into this mess, now you have to—what is it now?" The kaibutsu looks up sharply in the direction of the counter, and a hollow sense of relief floods her; maybe the maid has returned.
More importantly, the pressure on her chest lifts just enough. She immediately tries to roll away, in the direction of the pipe. "Hey!" Something connects with the side of her head, and she cries out. Trying to get up, another blow sends her reeling back down. "What?" the kaibutsu snaps. Sabitsuki realizes it must be the gas mask that's talking. "Shit, fine, fine, I get it. Can't have a mess."
She's hauled to her feet, half-dragged somewhere past the bar, not outside but to a separate, dark room. Due to the extent of her injuries, it's a little difficult to focus on what's going on around her. "You're lucky," the kaibutsu says. "There's no one around to hear you." It's the last thing anyone says to her before the door closes. Inhaling is painful, and the acrid smell of ash fills her nostrils. She winces and shuts her eyes again, but it makes no difference.
A low, mechanical groan fills the space around her. That's all she remembers. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: books
Chapter 1
I do not own The Bible, but it is a few centuries older than copyright law, making a disclaimer somewhat difficult. The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic. Some of the verses in Leviticus, which lay down the dietary laws for the Chosen of God, have some odd aspects and apparent contradictions. Then again, no contradiction is so clear that no apologist can someday, somehow, come up with a rationalization for the whole thing. Sort of. More proof supporting my belief that religion is like UFOs, ESP, White Supremacy, and the holes in Star Trek plots - you are more likely to believe the explanations if you already agree with the conclusions.
The Lord's voice comes from the tabernacle, and Moses and Aaron write frantically as the instructions continue:
"Lord: These are the beasts of the earth that are for you to eat: first, any beast that has a cloven hoof and chews its cud.
Moses: So, cows, deer, antelope, chamois, caribou, buffalo...
Aaron (helpfully): Reindeer, bison, camels -
Lord: NO! Not camels. They do not have split hooves."
Moses and Aaron glanced at each other, then bent their heads and wrote this.
"Lord: Now what?
Aaron: Well, my Lord, um, camels have a distinct split in their feet...
Lord: Those are toes, not hooves. Two toes aren't the same as a cloven hoof."
Moses, interrupting a comment by Aaron, said, "Important distinction, Lord, shall we go on?"
"Lord: Yea, verily. Okay, don't eat rabbits because they eat shit.
Moses: Um, Lord? Do you really want to put that in the scroll?
Lord: Wait until you read 2 Kings 18:27.
Moses: What?
Lord: Um, never mind. Anyway, we don't want people to eat rabbits, they're unclean."
Moses said, "Well, that will make sure, but do we really want 'poo' in the dietary laws? It's off-putting."
"Lord: Sigh... okay, how's this? They don't have cloven feet, but they do chew cud, so they're unclean."
Moses and Aaron made eye contact again.
"Lord: What? It isn't really a lie... really. Look, cud is grass that wasn't digested the first time through. Cows bring it back up from the stomach, chew it more finely, and pass it through again. Rabbits don't have as many stomachs. I thought about it, but they're really small. So, they pass the cuds through first, then eat the turds that have lots of grass, and pass it through again. So, when they eat the turd, it's bringing the cud back up, just like the cow does, but more gross."
Moses said, "Um, okay. Whatever you say, Lord."
"Lord: Okay, now, pigs are unclean because they do have cloven feet, and don't chew cud. Hands off. Now, of fish, you can have anything with fins and scales, fresh or salt water. Anything else, leave them alone.
Moses: Sir? Are oysters alive?
Lord: What?
Moses: Well, I've never been sure. Anyway, if they are, are they unclean?
Lord: Yes. They're alive. They're unclean."
Moses said, "Ah, darn, there used to be these boats that'd pull up at the piers each morning, with vases of oysters, and the guards would shuck a few for me... so they're alive, huh?"
"Lord: Yes. They're alive... They're unclean."
Moses said, "Oh, yeah. Of course, never again. Um, why are they unclean, sir?"
"Lord: Um, well, you live in a desert climate, and they go bad fast. You're far from the sea, in modern travel terms."
Aaron said, "But if sea-fish are okay to eat, why -"
"Lord: Look, they're off, okay?"
Moses said, "Yes, Lord. Off. Got it. Um... "
"Lord: What?"
Moses said, "Um, it's oysters, Lord, are their pearls okay?"
"Lord: Pearls?"
Moses said, "Yes, sir, back in Pharaoh's court, some of the courtiers used to dissolve pearls in vinegar and drink them."
Aaron said, "Ugh."
"Lord: They are an abomination to you, don't touch them, their carcass, their shells, their pearls..."
Aaron, interrupting a comment by Moses, said, "Important distinction, Lord, shall we go on?"
"Lord: Yes, okay, birds, don't eat the raptors: eagle, ossifrage, ospray; scavengers: vulture, kite and after his kind -"
Aaron said, "His 'kind' my Lord?"
"Lord: Yes, kind, it's a common enough word. It's a genetics term, I discussed it with Noah."
Moses said, "So, what would the kite's 'kind' be?"
"Lord: Well, any carrion eating bird, like the caracara or the buzzard."
Aaron said, "So, we don't eat birds that eat unclean animals?"
Moses said, "Shut up, Aaron."
"Lord: The raven, and kind; owl, night hawk, cuckow, hawks and their kind..."
Aaron said to Moses, "Wouldn't the night hawk be a 'kind' of hawk?"
Moses said to Aaron, "Shut up, or you'll have transcriber's errors."
"Lord:...little owl, cormorants, great owl, swan, pelican, gier eagle, stork, heron, lapwing, bats..."
Moses said, "Bats, my Lord?"
"Lord: Yeah, bats."
Moses said, "Oh, so we're through with birds?"
"Lord: No."
Moses said, "Well, I know, now, that my tutors in the palace were heathens, but they brought me a bat, once, and it doesn't have hollow bones, or feathers, or lay eggs, and it has teeth instead of a bill... well, sir, the only thing it has in common with birds is that they fly."
"Lord: One other thing... they're unclean."
Moses said, "Oh, yes sir."
"Lord: And all birds that have four legs, they're unclean."
Moses and Aaron glanced at each other but quickly looked back to their scrolls.
"Lord: Now, you can eat of some of the four-legged creepy insects: the locust and his kind, bald locust and his kind, beetles, grasshoppers. But any other flying insect that creeps about on four legs, them you cannot eat. Don't even touch them. Now for the other beasts, don't eat anything that walks on paws: weasel, mouse, tortoise and his kind, ferret,... "
Aaron said to Moses, "Isn't the ferret a 'kind' of weasel?"
The list continued, "... chameleon, lizard, snail and mole. Or anything that goes on its belly. Or has more feet than most things. For I am the LORD your God: ye shall therefore sanctify yourselves, and ye shall be holy; for I am holy: neither shall ye defile yourselves with any manner of creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. For I am the LORD that bringeth you up out of the land of Egypt, to be your God: ye shall therefore be holy, for I am holy. This is the law of the beasts, and of the fowl, and of every living creature that moveth in the waters, and of every creature that creepeth upon the earth."
After the tabernacle was silent for a while, Aaron and Moses finished their scrolls and gathered up their writing kits.
Aaron said, "Is He always like that?"
Moses said, glancing at the quiet tabernacle, "Well, let me tell you the story of the 500 commandments...."
Aaron said, "500? There's only 10."
Moses said, "Well, I thought about all those poor boys in Hebrew school, trying to memorize 500 commandments, and talked him down. We had to generalize a lot..." |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: This work is mine. The characters are mine. Gulliver's Travels and Thomas Dolby's song belong to their respective studios and estates. The author is making no profit from this fanfic.
"I dunno, Ray. A variety show?" Angel's agent continued to text away on his phone. As always, she marveled at his ability to carry on three conversations at once, usually involving at least four of his clients. "It's perfect," he assured her, not looking up, or in her case, down from his phone. "Trust me."
"I do, Ray," she replied. "But after all the trouble we went to, to position me as a serious action figure, to sing, dance, and frolic on stage..."
"First off," he pointed out, "it increases your exposure. That's always a good thing. Second, it opens doors for future projects. You can always choose to turn down an offer to do a musical comedy, but right now, you're not even being offered anything like that. Third," he said after a breath, "it's a favor for a favor. You go on Aleeta the Amazing's Variety Hour, she gets a guest shot on Force of Fury, and the two Lilliputians in LA with their own TV shows leverage each other up."
"I suppose," she sighed. She slid from the seat in the limo to jog over to the minifridge.
Marcus Thompson was Aleeta's comedy guest. The lights came on, and he was standing in a typical mad scientist lab. Mists rose and fell, colored liquids flowed through pipes, and Bunsen burners flamed. The human started singing "Blinded Me with Science" and danced from counter to counter. On the far right, Aleeta was dressed as a lab assistant, watching bubbling beakers and taking notes on a clipboard. He hovered over her shoulder and sang about her tender eyes. She kicked at a laser that was heating a test tube, and it swung to flash in his eyes. "She blinded me with science!" he screamed, staggering backwards. On stage left, Angel was dressed in a handkerchief, locked in a cage. She stretched a pole made from tape and paper clips towards a test tube of noxious fluids. As Marcus got close, she managed to hook it and tip it over. He sang "I can smell the chemicals" as the acid burned through the sleeve on his arm. The acid transferred to his face when he wiped his sweating brow. "Blinded me with science!" he screamed once more, staggering away. Back behind Aleeta's station, he sang of her eyes. She stepped to a human-scale remote control and hit the arm. A robot crawled out from under the table, heavy blades whirring around as it aimed for the human's feet. "I can hear machinery!" he sang, just before the blades chopped off the front of his shoe, throwing pieces into his face. Hands over his eyes, he limped away, singing: "Blinding me with science - science!"
Angel had broken out of her cage and danced seductively on the counter. Forgetting his hurts and pains, he moved towards her, hands out and grabby. She spun to cut a wire with a dissecting knife, and the model of Jupiter fell out of the artificial solar system in the overhead. "The spheres are in commotion," he sang, just as the Red Spot blackened his eye. He crashed around the room for a long while, the physical comedy that Thompson was famous for. Angel and Aleeta ran across the power strip along the wall to the middle table, taking cover in the small bookshelf. When he finally managed to get back in control, the room was pretty well destroyed. Cross-eyed, he looked at the two women in the shelf. The monitor switched to show two camera views, centered on each woman, overlapped and blurry. "Good heavens, Miss Saka- Stacka- Macka- Makisoto," he slurred, "you're beautiful." Taking a step back, he saw that all the tables had been swept clear. "I - I don't believe it! There she goes again! She's tidied up, and I can't find anything!" Following the outburst, he tipped over backwards and lay unconscious on the floor as the two women sang the refrain. Rather than the curtain dropping, though, another human scientist stepped into the room. The stately Shakespearean actor Nicolas Farmer looked around the room and at the two tiny women cowering at center stage. "Well," he said, drawing the word out to about ten syllables, "let us get the place cleaned up, chop-chop!"
A couple of human lab assistants swept into the room, clearing debris and the limp body of the blinded scientist. Lilliputian women, both in lab coats and rags, also swarmed through the area, helping restore order. After a while, the lab was cleaned up, whole new banks of piping and bubbling fluids were moved in on dollies, and the senior Mad was left to what looked like setting up an experiment of some sort. One of Aleeta's human magic assistants, Dorothy, walked in dressed as the French Maid that turns up in so many skits on the show. The males (and a few females) in the audience hooted and hollered as she sashayed in. She told the Mad that there was someone to see him. "Gott in Himmel!" he swore. "Yet again, the power of my superhuman intellect is frustrated in the act of creation by the hampering of little minds."
"Hey!" Aleeta shouted from the table. "My apologies, darling, of course I meant no slur upon your intellect by virtue of the size of your brain."
"Well, alright then."
Maid sashayed out, more hooting and hollering. In came the other assistant, Carol, dressed as a government functionary. "Sir," she said, "I am from the Occupational Safety & Health Administration, here to audit your laboratory."
"Oh, shit," he said. "No, sir, OSHA!" she corrected. "Well, this is not a government facility, so you have no authority here."
"But you have received government funding."
"No, I have not." Angel waved to him from the balance scale she stood on; he leaned down. She whispered in his ear. "You are kidding me!" he blurted. Turns to the auditor. "Because I extorted money from the US Government to NOT shrink the population of Terre Haute to the size of a tiny time capsule, you are counting that as receipt of government funds?"
"It was tax money, sir."
"Blast. Well, what is it going to take to get you out of my hair, today?"
She opened her briefcase to examine her files. "Well, with respect to your employees..."
"I have no employees!" he shouted. "These women are experiments!"
"Sir, I personally don't care if you hired them or kidnapped them. We're part of the Department of Labor, not the Justice Department. But if you count them as uncompensated employees, you have to deal with OSHA regulations. If you count them as test subjects, you'll have to deal with PETA." (Everyone on stage shudders at the thought.)
"Very well, I suppose..." He looked down at Aleeta in her lab coat. "What if I create an online unaccredited university and make them all grad students in my shrinking woman research?"
The Lilliputian women all booed and hissed, throwing things at him and stamping their feet. "Please, sir," said Carol, "there's no need to get THAT hostile."
Carol lifted the form to get back to the script. "Sir, are your employees always able to reach you?"
"Well," he shrugged, "they can if I am at the table they are on."
"I mean, sir, are they always able to communicate with you. Can you hear them?"
"No. Lord, if I wanted to be able to hear them, I would not have shrunk them. Believe me, women test subjects should be underfoot, not overheard. All day long they are going... Put me back. You monster. You are never getting away with this."
"Sir, I - " Carol couldn't interrupt his roll. Aleeta and Angel sat down and got comfortable as the rant continued. "People know I am here. You have no right. You are evil. God will punish you. You are going to a fiery hell."
"Sir?" Carol tried to interrupt.
"My friend, Gregor, he thought Shrinking Women experiments were clichéd. What does he do? He makes women telepathic. In his sleep, he hears their complaints. 'SIR!' " She shouted and stamped a foot. The little women woke up, and the Mad spun around. "What?"
"The women! If they cannot reach you, how can they communicate if there is a problem?"
"If I see the problem, I fix the problem. I do not need them to tell me."
"But sir, what if the problem is something small, that affects them, which you can't see?" Between the two humans, Aleeta waved signal flags as semaphore. Angel whipped out an Aldis lamp and flashed light. The Mad just stared at the OSHA rep. "If the problem is too tiny for me to notice, why would I go to extra effort to find out there are problems that are not problems? I do not understand?"
"Mr. Mad Scientist, you must make some sort of communication available to your women test subjects." Behind her, two women on the left workbench rolled two soup cans across the table. One was held in place while they dropped the other to the floor. String connected the two. The lowered can hung seven inches off of the floor. Another woman stepped from beneath the workbench, stuck her head in the can, and shouted, "Hellooooooooooooo?"
On the table, the women held the can and aimed their ears into it. They looked at each other and shook their heads. One walked to the edge and shouted: "Can't hear you!" to her comrade on the floor. She pulled out two signal flags and replied. "Gotcha!" said the table-top woman. "I will come up with something," the Mad assured the inspector.
"Very well, sir. Now, on the subject of communication, what sounds do you make while walking across the laboratory?"
"Oh, well, you must understand that my people eat a lot of cabbage..." Every tiny woman in sight pinched her nose shut and waved a hand in front of her face. "No, sir! Warning sounds!"
"Hey, if it is two hours after lunch and I am telling you to run out of the room..."
"Collision sounds, sir! Warning tones, that one may know if you're coming, where you're headed, if you intend to reverse, that sort of thing."
"Thursday!" he said, glad to have an actual answer. "What?"
"Dorothy waxes the floor on Thursday. My shoes always squeak on the floor on Thursday, part of Friday."
"Sir, how do you transfer your subjects?" Carol continued. "Transfer?" He looked around, confused. "Well, I have sold a blonde to an MIT frat...."
"No, sir, physical movement around the facility. Are there restraints?"
"I use a butterfly net when they escape. And I taped Experiment #7 to a cutting board..."
"Safety restraints! Do you ever lift them?"
He flexed his fingers in apparent glee. "Oh, yes, I am always lifting them up and carrying them around the places."
"Do you have a seat belt afforded them whenever you lift them between the tables or around the laboratory?"
"He surely does not safety belt them!" Aleeta shouted. "He just uses his thumb," Angel added, "like a great pork butt of an anchor."
"You were not complaining," the Mad told her, "when that great butt was the only thing between you and a four-foot drop!"
"I was complaining at the top of my lungs, jackass!"
"Oh, yeah..." He turned away from the Lilliputians with a dismissive gesture. "Very well. Only with the small pet carrier will I transport the shrunken women in the future."
"Is the small pet carrier fitted with approved airbags?"
He sagged, visibly, like a game animal taking a bullet. "Very well. I will seek a supplier of teeny, itsy airbags."
"Thank you." She consulted the file. "Speaking of safety devices, do you ever move heavy items around the lab?"
A large black Labrador ran across the stage, with a tiny woman riding his back like a mahout upon an elephant. The dog towed a very massive piece of machinery behind him on a little wagon. Carol held her hand to her forehead and counted to ten. "Speaking of safety devices, do you ever move heavy items around the LABORATORY?"
"Oh, yes. I take the machinery to where it is needed."
"And do you ever lift unsecured weights over the areas where shrunken women are collocated?"
"Straight damned he this action does!" Aleeta shouted, while the Mad mumbled 'collocated' in confusion. "And are hard hats afforded the test subject during these transfers?"
"What? If it is that I am moving the shrink ray around, and the chainfall breaks, a gram of plastic on their head is going to be useless except for identifying which end was their head!!"
"Nevertheless, sir, it is the position of OSHA that many cranial impact events of less than goo-crushing lethality could be averted with proper safety gear."
"Are you writing this down?" he asked Aleeta. She was writing on the clipboard, nodded. Beside her, Angel was counting heads. "That's twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two hard hats, size point zero zero zero zero zero zero one," she said. "Where am I going to find these devices," Mad grumbled. "I'm sure I don't know, sir," Carol replied. "But it is the position of OSHA to establish safety rules, not to provide safety equipment."
Aleeta was writing a shopping list on her clipboard. She handed the sheets up to the Mad, who reviewed them and groaned. He groaned more loudly each page. By page 20, everyone on stage was holding their ears. "That reminds me," Carol interrupted, "what about hearing protection?"
"What, to prevent the spread of aural diseases?"
"To protect hearing."
"This is why I stopped shrinking them to eighteen inches tall. All the time with the whining. You monster. I can pay you. You are never working in this town again. This is not what is meant by a 'small part.' I will fire my agent. No, no, six inches is much better. I can hardly never hear them."
Carol sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Sir, at their size, much smaller sounds will have a proportionately greater impact on their eardrums."
"Oh, come on," Mad replied. "They are getting hearing loss from a simple noise?" He leaned over and tapped a fingernail on the table. A close-up on the two girls showed them staggering around as the world shook. A closer zoom on Angel's face as she spoke. "Knock it OFF, you son of a-"
The view instantly changed to human scale, across the stage from Angel and Aleeta. She finished her sentence as a high-pitched squeal. The Mad stopped. The squeal went on and on and on. Finally, she stopped. The view restored to one close to the two humans, with the two Lilliputians between them. "It is she that you are forgiving," Aleeta offered. "Her first Mad the Navy in was..." The humans shrugged. Carol started again: "Well, sir, I believe that concludes our audit at this time. I need to research railing standards with my colleagues back at the Department. The rule is that every runway shall be guarded by a standard railing on all open sides 4 feet or more above floor or ground level."
Behind her, three tiny women on the table carried out a tape measure. Two held it at the edge of the table while one grabbed the tab and leaped over the side. She got it to the floor and stepped on it.
Above her, the other two read the result. The look at each other and shake their heads. "But under the circumstances..." Carol goes on, "I think that standard needs to be revisited."
"Visit, schmisit," Mad replies, "I proceed on the plan that your decision will be the worst one for me and my banking accounting."
"That's probably for the best," she agrees. She puts files and papers into her briefcase, packing to leave. Dorothy enters, leading Marcus Thompson back in. He is now dressed as a government stooge, the epitome of bureaucrat in a cheap suit. "Mr. Mad Scientist," he says with nasal authority, "I am from the Internal Revenue Service, with questions about your return."
"Oy gevalt," the Mad mumbles. "There's a lot of interest down at the Service, wondering exactly how you'll explain the rather high number of dependents you claim."
"Oh," Carol says, "that's easy. It may seem high for a single-scientist dwelling, but he has many women shrunk down."
"Many?" the IRS man asks. "Does he have five million shrunken women on the premises?"
"FIVE MILLION?" everyone shouts in alarm. Sheepishly, the Mad shuffles over to a filing cabinet and pulls out a snowglobe. He puts it on the table and everyone crowds around it. The view shifts to two women having a picnic in a city park. The park is full of women playing with dogs, playing games, walking or sunning themselves. As the women set out dishes, a large shadow covers the park. They look up and see the colossal face of Aleeta filling the entire sky. They scream. Back in the laboratory, everyone looks up towards the Mad, who shrugs. Except for the Labor department woman, who squints into the dome and says: "I don't see too many hard hats down there."
And the curtain falls.
A Lilliputian cameraman follows Aleeta and Angel out the back of the Mad Scientist set. Aleeta's dressing room is a large trunk mounted on very smooth wheels. They cross the drawbridge into it and an aide sweeps it to the next set. Inside, Aleeta hugs her guest. "Oh, such fun we are having."
"Yeah, it's a blast. Way more fun than I expected." Aleeta steers her towards a changing booth. "You will find coveralls inside. You will put them on, okay?"
"Um, okay." As they separate and change, their voices carry across the curtains to the camera. "Hey, Aleeta, what's this for? I thought that was my last set?"
"Last of the set is not finished, dear."
"Huh? What else is there?"
"The dance number remains."
"We did the dance, Aleeta. At the start of the skit. We didn't rehearse any other ones."
"Worry not, you should."
Angel steps out in a bright yellow set of coveralls, holding a black hardhat, wearing black boots. The coveralls are more tight-fitting than you'd typically see on a worker. Aleeta finally shows up, dressed the same. In the background, a disco-era beat starts to play. "What the hell is that?"
Aleeta waves away the question and directs her guest to a corner where wires dangle. "You are ready for special effects?"
Angel looks dubious but connects the cables to her boots and wrists. Then the roof is whisked away, and the cables yank her into the air. A masculine hand dips to collect Aleeta. On the dance floor, Aleeta's human male dancers are assembled in mock-safety worker costumes showing lots of skin. The female portion of the audience hoots and hollers. Safety cones dot the dance floor. To the side, the house band starts to speak. "S-s-s-s A-a-a-a F-f-f-f E-e-e-e T-t-t-t Y-y-y-y, Safety, dance!"
Aleeta assumes a position next to Angel, who dangles from a marionette's cross. The hand running it pokes through a hole in the curtains. Angel takes in the scene and wails. "I don't dance!"
The singer speaks again: "We can dance if we want to. We can leave your friends behind." The puppeteer causes Angel to dance in approximate step with Aleeta, who leads the male troupe from her place on the shelf. The unwillingness is a put-on, obviously. Angel only complains during brief pauses. During the dance sequences, she does a fair imitation of Aleeta's performance, much more precise than the string arrangement would support. She turns her dancer/complainer status back and forth as if throwing a switch. "Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance, well they're no friends of mine."
"Puppeteers," Angel points out, "are no friends of mine."
"I say, we can go where we want to. A place where they will never find. And we can act like we come from out of this world. Leave the real one far behind. And we can dance."
Aleeta is swept up by the Chippendales wannabes, passed from hand to hand, then returned to the shelf for just long enough to hear Angel's complaint. "I swear, Aleeta, when you come on my show, I'll get even."
"We can go when we want to. The night is young and so am I. And we can dress real neat from our hats to our feet. And surprise 'em with the victory cry."
"I'm gonna make you do all your own stunts! I don't even do all my own stunts!"
"Say, we can act if we want to. If we don't, nobody will. And you can act real rude and totally removed. And I can act like an imbecile."
"Imbecile? Speaking of my agent..."
"I say, we can dance, we can dance. Everything's under control. We can dance, we can dance. We're doing it pole to pole. We can dance, we can dance. Everybody look at your hands. We can dance, we can dance. Everybody taking the cha-a-a-ance."
And at the big finish, everyone rushes to the black and yellow safety rail at the edge of the stage. Aleeta is posed on the top of a safety cone, centered in the light and camera. They bow while the audience applauds. Over the shoulder of one 'safety inspector,' we see Angel shaking her cables. "Hellllllllllllloooooooooooooo?" |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: television
Chapter 1: Hollow Security
A Star Trek: The Next Generation Fanfic
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, settings, or props of the Star Trek universe. I make no profit from this fanfic. This is a kind of parody.
The door announced the visit request. "Come," Picard snapped. Riker entered. "Captain," he said without preamble, "there's a problem with the holodeck."
"The safeties have been disengaged, and it's become a hazard to all life on board?" Picard guessed. "No, sir."
"To the lives of everyone on Decks 8 through 10?"
"No, sir."
"Well, dammit, Number One, will you tell me who's threatened by the malfunction?" Picard asked, his patience wearing thin.
"If you're through interrupting?" Riker asked, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. Picard gave him a steely gaze. "Well, sir, it's not the safeties that have failed. It's a security matter."
"Security? Everyone on board has at least a Secret clearance. Even the children. What's been compromised?" Picard asked, his curiosity piqued.
"It's not that sort of security," Riker said, holding out a palm to forestall any further outburst. "It's the privacy protocols."
"Oh, dear," Picard muttered, leaning back in his chair. Instantly, he started to suspect. "Do we know what Ensign Crusher has been working on?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
"It's not him, sir. He's the one who discovered the problem," Riker replied.
"Convenient," Picard scoffed. "No, sir. See, it seems that Wesley and Doctor Crusher both have files saved under the same name."
"Ah, I see," Picard said, a look of understanding crossing his face. Everyone had one of those stories, one where they or someone close to them had walked in on someone's private holo. If someone left a professional holonovel open, and someone walked into a story already in progress, the program would try to identify the intruder. Then it would attempt to find a place to slot the new identity into the narrative. Private fantasies almost always assumed that the person who walked in was the one the holo was programmed for and acted accordingly.
The comedic cliché was of a teenage boy accidentally initiating his mother's Klingon Rape Fantasy, and desperately searching for the safe word, since 'End Program!' and 'Stop!' and 'Oh, the pain!' weren't working. As an on-again, off-again romantic interest for his Chief Medical Officer, Picard mused that it was very possible that young Mr. Crusher had been seduced by a replica of Picard himself. "What did he find?" Picard asked, trying to sound disinterested.
"He found Beverly," Riker said. "Beverly? What, was she already in the holodeck?" Picard asked, his eyebrows rising.
"Well, evidently Beverly has something of a clone fetish. So when Wesley said 'run Crusher Hottie 7,' his mother appeared," Riker explained.
"And he thought he'd interrupted his mother? That would be embarrassing," Picard said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Not as much as when the clone bent him over and stuck her tongue up his ass," Riker added, his face straight.
"Really?" Picard asked, making a notation sub-vocally: crshr htty 7. Then, out loud, he said, "Very well, Number One, let's go see if we can fix this."
They stepped out onto the bridge, where the tensions were high. Ensign Ro sat stiffly at Helm. "I only did one," she said, terse and quick. "And that was to pay to get my parents out of the refugee camps."
"Of course," Data said from his seat at Ops. "I made no comment about moral judgment, merely noting that your name appears in several of the now-public accounts."
"Drop it!" she snapped. The android shrugged and returned his attention to his panel. Picard was shaking his head as the turbo lift doors closed. "Why am I thinking I'd rather it had been a threat to all life on board?"
Worf stood at the door to Holodeck Number One, holding a phaser aimed at a large crowd of people gathered in the passageway. "I cannot counter-program whatever has happened," he said in his most gravelly voice. "But I can make the computer tell me whenever anyone searches the accounts for the terms 'Klingon' and 'Penis.' And the next person that does this will feel my wrath." His finger upped the setting on his phaser. "They just won't feel it for very long."
"Klingon Penis?" Picard asked as the two senior officers rounded the corner. "It is a myth that a Klingon's manhood is armored, sir," Worf said, coming to attention. "But they are prehensile, aren't they?" Riker asked.
"Well, I can't unbutton a fly with it," Worf said defensively. "But I can grip-" he began, before Picard cut him off.
"I didn't ask," Picard said quickly. He turned to the holodeck entry. "I assume Mr. La Forge is troubleshooting?"
"Um... sure," Worf said after a brief pause. Picard scowled and marched into the entertainment chamber. La Forge had commandeered a computer console in the middle of the room and was scanning what looked to be an empty directory. Picard and Riker paused, not wanting to interrupt the officer's flow in the middle of troubleshooting.
"Computer, recheck those figures. Are you sure that Geordi La Forge's image has not been used in any private fantasy?" La Forge asked.
"No holodeck files can be found under those parameters," the computer replied.
"Are there any files, under any parameters, with a Geordi La Forge character?" he persisted. Picard glanced up at Riker, who rolled his eyes.
"Seventeen files exist with a Geordi La Forge character," the computer said.
"Ah, now we're getting somewhere. List those files. No, list the roles assigned to Geordi La Forge in those fantasies," La Forge said.
Picard eased up to look over his junior officer's shoulder. The screen populated with descriptions like Member of Crowd, Onlooker, Sex Olympics Line Judge, Contestant Number 47 in Everyone Wins And Trophy Day, Eulogy Mime, and Spare.
"Bummer," Riker said from Geordi's other shoulder. "Commander!" Geordi shrieked. "How long have you been here?"
"Since when you asked 'Are you really, really, really, really sure no one's fucked me in their holofantasy?' Sorry," Riker replied, a grin spreading across his face.
"You know, for a blind man," Picard mused, "you're remarkably poor at hearing. So, how's the fault isolation going?"
"Um... still trying to get a handle on the exact size of the problem," La Forge said.
"Sure," Riker said. "Computer! List all files that contain a William Riker character. Just by the names."
Geordi covered his visor, afraid to look. The titles spooled across the screen: Shoulders 1-13, Naked Training 3, Orbital Orgy, Bachelor Contest, Love Slave, Love's Labor's Lassoed 4... 4... 3C, Sunken Voyage, Honey I Shrunk The XO, and Beam Me Up, Hottie. The screen filled and refilled three times.
"That's about the size of it," Riker said with a nod. "So what does that tell us?"
"I don't know," La Forge said. "Maybe a new mouthwash? I've heard great things about this Xindi Seaweed spray-"
"About the privacy protocols!" Picard snapped. "Oh! Sorry. Um... well?"
"Captain Picard," Troi's voice called from the CO's communicator, "please report to the shuttle bay!"
"Acknowledged," Picard replied. He turned to the exit. "She sounds upset!" Riker said.
"I don't know why," La Forge mumbled. "She's in, like, 700 files."
"You checked her status before checking your own?" Riker asked, amused.
"I asked the computer to rank the crew, she's in fourth place," La Forge said.
"Really?" Riker said with surprise in his voice. "Who the hell's in front of her?"
Geordi snorted. "Doctor Crusher, for one. But most of those are just fantasies about playing doctor with the real doctor."
"Ah... annual exam gets a little out of hand?" Riker asked.
"Yeah, she's in every one, although not always as a naked participant. Sometimes the 'main character,' as it were, is Doctor Selar or Doctor M'Benga," La Forge explained.
"Who else?" Riker asked.
"Data's a favorite. People imagine all sorts of accessories to plug into him or settings to put them to," La Forge replied.
"Makes sense," Riker nodded. "The ultimate Transformer."
"More of a voice-activated, self-directing, heat-seeking vibrator," Geordi said. "So... who is number one?" the ship's Number One asked without a trace of irony.
"Guinan, sir," Geordi reported. Riker's eyebrows rose. "Guinan?"
"Evidently, you can't choreograph a drunken orgy on this ship without her character. It's weird," La Forge said.
"Now that you mention it, she does tend to show up whether or not I detailed her...," Riker mused.
Down on the hangar deck, Picard approached a shuttlecraft. It had been removed from its bay and shoved to the very end of the hangar. The only way to get farther away from the bridge would be to go out an airlock and drift. He could see his Counselor sitting in the pilot's seat, her legs folded up to her chest, and her face resting on her knees.
"Deana?" he asked at the hatch. "You have to shut them up, Captain. Shut them all up. Please!" she pleaded.
"Yes, well, I imagine that the tensions among the crew are very taxing for your empathic abilities," Picard said, trying to placate her.
"NO!" she screamed. "I'm a trained therapeutic empath! I've experienced tension! I've walked this ship during battles and while lost beyond all landmarks, and when we were set to self-destruct. Hell, Captain, I was a teenager while my mother was dating the Gorn Ambassador! Do you know what TENSION is? Tension is when you realize the person in your mother's bed is equally attracted to eating her out as to eating her heart."
"Yes, well," Picard temporized, eyeing the exit. "No, sir, you need to get the crew to SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Troi shouted. "The main purpose of Betazed empathy is NOT to allow me to give the best blowjobs in known space!"
"Is that what they're saying?" Picard asked.
"They're comparing notes! On 'what do YOU make her do?' Then they laugh and pretend they're not looking at me!" Troi exclaimed.
"That should be fairly normal for you, then," Picard mused. "I imagine whenever you walk the ship in your space-geisha uniform-"
"Well, yes," Troi said, her voice even. "The interest is almost a relaxing... I time my steps to the pulses of the watchers." Then she slammed a fist onto the console. "But that damned GIGGLING!"
Picard ordered security to evacuate and reduce access to the ship sections within empathic range of the counselor's shuttle. Then he ordered Riker to set up a department heads meeting. On the way there, he was trying to phrase an announcement to the crew, encouraging them to grow up, act civilized, and shut the fuck up. Or perhaps he'd be the kindly father-figure? Nothing like a sixty-year-old man talking about sex to cool libidos on all decks.
The turbo shaft nearest the hangar was already turned off when he reached it. He had to hike across the rest of the section to the next shaft. He passed a weight room and nearly bumped into Lieutenant Robinson standing in the door. She didn't notice the Captain as she was shouting at Lieutenant Carver.
"I saw that houri costume you had me wear in your harem fantasy!" she exclaimed.
"I don't have a harem fantasy with you in it!" Carver put down the weight bar and turned off the magnetic field.
"That's my historically accurate representation of the Enterprise crew if we were operational in 2266," Carver said. "Not quite go-go boots, though," Picard added.
"Oh," Robinson said in a quiet voice. "Never mind." She walked quickly down the passage. Picard made brief eye contact with Carver, who shrugged.
"I knew I was innocent... There aren't any women in my harem," Carver said.
"I didn't ask," Picard said. He marched on, trying not to wonder if Carver was watching him walk away.
"Options, people," he barked as he entered the conference room. "We delete all the private files," Crusher suggested.
"It's a holographic memory," La Forge pointed out. "Nothing's ever really deleted from a holographic memory. Just covered up. We could never prevent someone from finding the stuff again."
"That's not entirely true," Worf said, waving his phaser over the table for emphasis. "We can send the files to Hell."
"They're part of everyone's mobile profile," Riker said with a shake of his head. "A thousand people on board, all moaning about how 'my whole LIFE was in that memory engram!' We need a solution that doesn't involve harming the people we're trying to save."
"Data," Picard called. The android was bent over a padd, apparently researching something. "What's your take on this?"
"I believe many people are grossly overestimating the capacity of my onboard battery," Data replied, paging down the script. "And I cannot quite parse the phrase 'penis breath.' Is that intended to indicate an air leak from my-?"
"I'll explain later!" La Forge said quickly. "Thank you, Geordi," Data said. "But you are not the source of the phrase. Where IS Counselor Troi? Should she not be at a department head meeting?"
"No," Picard said wearily. "Just be glad the shuttles do not have weaponry."
"Come on, we need to solve this," Picard said, trying to refocus the meeting. "For that, we need to know what happened," Riker said.
"Well, it's either an accident or an attack," Worf said.
"Not an accident," La Forge said with authority. "Every single personal file is unprotected, both crew and passenger-owned. But no operationally classified files have had one single layer of encryption reduced. Someone did this on purpose."
"Then why?" Picard asked. "To what effect?"
"Maybe to get you people over your sexual hang-ups," Guinan said, standing against one of the room's bay windows.
"This is the 26th century," Picard said. "We don't have sexual hang-ups! We've conquered poverty, indolence, economic disequality, telemarketing, racism, elitism, sexism, and that thing Texans did in the winter. We're an advanced culture!"
"The fist-fight down in Astrography says otherwise," Guinan said.
"Well, _I_, for one, have no sexual hang-ups," Worf said proudly.
Guinan turned to him and smiled. "There once was a Klingon from Kronos, whose girlfriend suffered from-"
Worf snapped to his feet, training his phaser between her soft, brown eyes. The weapon whined with the unmistakable tone of a phaser set to Make Baby Jesus Cry. "I will burn you, Temptress!" he shouted.
She gestured as one zipping her lip, but her smile didn't fade. It merely stopped showing teeth. "Guinan, you pulled the private files?" Picard asked, bringing the conversation back around to the topic, away from the death threats.
"Yes, sir," she admitted. "You guys need to talk more. Actually become as enlightened as you tell yourselves that you are."
"While I may not disagree with your thesis," Picard replied, "I have to say that your method strikes me as a little ham-fisted. Too much talking, all at once, without preparation or room to escape. The damage done is irreversible."
"Not entirely true," Data said. "We could drive the Enterprise into a gravity field to slingshot us backwards in time, use the hyper-secret encryption transmitter to send a discrete message to Guinan, telling her not to take this action."
"Then we'll have two Enterprises," Riker said.
"And two of me," Crusher said dreamily.
"Oh, stop," Picard told her. "Wesley is still whining in the Jeffries Tube."
"We will send an additional message," Data said, "telling then-Picard to perform the same maneuver and send the same message to Guinan. So the overlap will not be more than a day or two."
"Would you obey such a message?" Riker asked. "If it's from me," Guinan nodded. "And I'll write the orders, so they come from me," Picard said.
That afternoon, three days later, Picard stood on his bridge and watched Guinan record a message they'd send to Guinan. The "don't do it" was simple enough, but she refused to expand on the topic. After the transmission was sent, and the barkeep disappeared into the turboshaft, Picard looked around the room. "Well, I guess we go find someplace boring to hide for two days."
"Yes, sir," Wesley Crusher said, programming the helm for deep, empty space. "Jean-Luc, was there no hint about the purpose of this loop?"
"No," he said with a shake of his head. "Just clear orders to warp back in time, send her message, and hide."
"Huh," Riker grunted. "I wonder what's not going on, now?"
"Well, there might be a clue," Picard said. "There's a post-script."
"What's it say?" Riker asked. "Crusher Hottie Seven," Picard said. "Eep!" Everyone turned to see a very pale Chief Medical Officer sitting up very straight in her chair. "Crusher Hottie Seven?" Wesley asked, turning around in his seat. "Oh, Captain! You'll love it. I use that setting every day!"
Picard had turned halfway around to look at Wesley when he heard a thump. Doctor Crusher had fainted. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: books
Chapter 1: "Hunting Girl"
More Disclaimer: This work is my own. The characters are my own. The setting is inspired by Jethro Tull's song, which remains the property of, probably, Ian Anderson. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual). The author is making no profit from this fanfic.
Howard was carefully photographing the rustic gate on the backwoods lane when the hunt came by. Something blurry ran through the forest, down the lane, and through the gate. Behind it came a pack of dogs. He moved carefully off the road as they went by, following their quarry. Howard snapped pictures of the pack in chase, regretting that he'd missed the fox. Then he turned expectantly up the road.
Just in time, he caught pictures of the hunt rounding the bend. The master lead, hunters chased, all flowing majestically past to leap the gate. Men and women in riding clothes barely glanced at him as they went by, but he caught one girl winking into the camera. Following up the rear, though, was a horse that had lost its rider. It kept up with the rest of the hunt right up to the gate, then shied away.
In moments, the rest of the hunt had disappeared. Howard rushed forward to grab the reins. "Whoa, fella, where did your rider end up?" "Back away from my horse!" a voice shouted. The hiker stepped back, finally noticing that the horse did have a rider. A Lilliputian, or rather, a Blefuscan, sat on what looked like a tiny saddle mounted on the regular saddle. She was yanking on little reins. Wires ran from the base of her mini-saddle across the greater riding accessory.
Whatever she was doing was affecting the horse, but not in any controlled manner. "Uh, lady?" Howard called, "There's some cables dangling around his legs! Is that the problem?" "What?" She sawed back on the reins. The horse settled. Howard grabbed the bridle and stroked the head. "Yeah, some of the wires running out from your, uh, saddle are hanging free." "Great. Could you help me, please?"
With the horse quieted, he worked his way slowly to the hind legs, patting the flanks as he went. As he passed the woman, he got a better look at her. She looked youngish, but he'd never been good at guessing ages of the non-human races. She looked across at him, combing a sweaty hair back from her face. "Any time now?" she said, bitingly. "Oh, sorry. I've just never seen a Lilliputian before." "Blefuscan." "What?" "Never mind," she snorted.
He gently removed the cables from the horse's hocks and fetlocks. "No wonder it wouldn't do what I told it to," she said when she saw what he held. "Do you want me to put them back?" he asked. "No, they have to be very precisely placed," she said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Just wrap them around the saddle horn." "What are they?" Howard looped the cables carefully as she directed. "Little electrical panels. I tap the saddle," she struck the mini-saddle with her crop in demonstration, then pointed towards the animal's flanks. "Then the cable zaps the horse." "You electrocute the horse?" Howard asked in horror. "Mild shocks," she said. "Certainly less painful than a human's riding crop or spurs would be. Just enough to communicate commands to the horse."
"Oh," he said. "Well, um, if you need them to control the horse, can you get back to...?" He was interrupted by a distant sound of horns. They meant nothing to him, but she seemed to relax at the sound. "Well, the hunt's over," she said. The little woman leaned over the edge of her saddle to look him over. "American, eh?" He nodded. "Well, if you'll help me get the horse back to the Lodge, I'll see to it that someone takes you to wherever it is that you're staying." "Yeah, sure," he agreed. "I was hoping to make it to a B&B in town tonight, if someone at the Lodge could give me a lift..." "Splendid!" She pointed towards a small path leading into the woods. "Lead the horse down that way, if you would, please, Mr....?"
"Howard. Howard Drake, Miss...?" "Duchess Avelittiffoda of Vester Harbor, Blefuscu." She offered her hand, palm down. He placed a finger under it and air-kissed towards it from a few inches away. "Duchess," he mused, "that's like a Baron or Knight, huh?" She snorted again. "Yes, Howard. Much the way a nuclear bomb is like a grenade." She waved towards the path. "Can we get to the stable?" He took the bridle and led her steed as directed.
They talked a little bit as they went. Howard expressed his amazement that so tiny a woman could control such a beast. "It's something of a hobby," she admitted. "I really...like to control things. The bigger the thing, the more I...like controlling it." "Heck," he said over his shoulder, "it almost sounds like a fetish." He laughed at the joke, but the utter silence from behind seemed ominous. "Oh, I guess I went too far there, sorry." Embarrassment kept him from looking back to the little passenger.
Some distance later in the woods, her voice carried up to him. "Howard, do you...like fetishes?" He stopped in surprise, slowly turned around. She stood on the saddle. Her hat was gone, long brunette hair released and flowing over her shoulders. Her coat was open, the shirt beneath it missing. Her pants were gone as well. She wore the boots and the coat, with a lacy neck piece resting between her breasts. She idly stroked the riding crop as he stared.
Howard's eyes roamed over her body. He noted her thin smile, her trim bush, and her pale nipples. Their tint was so close to her skin's color that he could barely make out the areolas. Unconsciously, he stepped forward, trying to discern the details. Her smile grew bigger. "Like what you see?" Litti asked. He reached slowly towards her. When the hand approached, she slapped at it with her riding crop. "NO TOUCHING!" she shouted. "I hate being mauled by a biggie."
Howard sucked on his fingertip for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said, "I thought we were going to..." "Yes. But only by my rules." "Oh, yeah. Duchess like control," he said with a smile. She smiled back, then pointed to the saddle. "Put your chin there." When he had, she ordered him to stick his tongue out straight. "Now, don't move it. At all." "Eth 'am," he answered. She strode forward and straddled him. Balancing herself against his nose, the Duchess lowered herself to slide her pussy along his tongue.
Slowly at first, she began to move faster, squeezing him between her thighs. But when he curled his tongue up, to stroke her ass cheeks, Litti hit him with the crop across his nose. "No MOVING!" she shouted, stamping away from him. "I'm sorry," he apologized to her stiff back. "Can I try again?" After a moment, she pointed to a saddlebag on the horse's side. "Open that," she ordered.
Inside he found an elastic headband with two strings tied to it. "What's this?" "It's...something I had made. I've never had a chance to use it." Her voice and posture were both softening as she spoke. "I...well, I imagined a man wearing it, sort of like reins?" She turned to face him. "If I'm holding the reins, and you do what I tell you to, it'll..." "It'll help you feel that you're controlling a big beast," he finished. She smiled and nodded. His heart melted at that smile, and he quickly donned the band.
When he leaned forward, the leads dangled right before her. "Let's try again," he said, sticking out his tongue. She tugged the reins, smiled, and shook her head. "Let's try something else," she replied. There was a motion she made, then the world went away. It was dark, a darkness that filled his body and ate his soul. In the distance, a voice was screaming. When he could see again, he was on his hands and knees. The Duchess swung from the leads, a few inches above the ground. The horse had stepped a few paces away and stood watching him suspiciously.
There was a sort of echo effect to his vision that he knew he could never explain. But an odd part of his mind wondered if he could replicate it in a photograph... His first clear thought was that he'd been the one screaming. His second was that he'd been electrocuted. Finally, he realized that Litti had zapped him. "This, this, this headband..." He reached up to remove it when she stopped him. "Don't. Don't make me do that again, Howard." He stared at her. "The voltage in that device is much higher than the horse feels. But the idea was that a human, even an American, should be able to understand the consequences of disobedience.
"Do you understand, young man?" "Oh, yeah..." "First-rate! Now, do everything I say, and you won't have to feel that again." "Yes, Duchess." "By the Egg, I do love a fast learner," she said. "Now, move me to your shoulder and stand up. Then disrobe." He moved her without touching her, lifting the string like she was a puppet. Then he stripped. Naked but for the pair of shoes she allowed him, he strode back and forth through the trees at her direction.
She experimented with the reins, voice, and digging spurs into his skin. He did his best to follow and even anticipate her orders, to avoid another shock. She seemed to pleasure herself at least once on his shoulder, just from the knowledge she was ordering a giant around thusly. After a long time, she directed him to a large, flat rock, where he knelt on the ground beside it. She swung over to the rock, looking down on him. "Now," she said, "don't move this time." He stuck his chin on the rock at her order, and this time did a good imitation of a marble statue.
He did stare cross-eyed at the miniature woman making love to his tongue. She gripped his nose with both hands and ground herself against him. Eyes closed and head thrown back, she screeched her pleasure to the trees. Then Litti turned around. Leaning backwards against his lips, she brought herself off once more. Then she ordered him to lie flat, placing a hand on the stone. She used his arm as a gangplank, walking down to his chest and across to his cock. Her little boots felt odd against his skin, but the closer she got to his waist, the harder his erection got.
Finally, she sat across his balls and stroked him with her well-lubricated thighs. The ejaculation was so strong he thought she'd electrocuted him again. But eventually, colors and the power of speech returned. He sat carefully up to find Duchess Avelittiffoda sitting on the rock, smiling down at his face. The horse hadn't wandered far, so Howard collected it easily enough. Lowering the leads to the noble woman, he swung her up to the saddle, then went looking for his own clothing.
The horse was walking off past him as he dressed. "Duchess!" he called. She reined the horse back and looked over at him curiously. "Uh, don't you need me to lead him back?" "Howard, the horse knows it's the end of the day, and time to be in the stable, eating oats. Believe me, it can find the way home." "Oh." He pointed to the headband on his forehead. "Do you need this back?" "Do whatever you wish with it," she said with a dismissive gesture. "It only has one charge."
"What?! You mean, you weren't really controlling me?" She leaned slightly towards him, smiling much like he imagined a wolf would. "Darling, the threat may not have been real, but I was always, always controlling you. Ta-ta," she called, slapping the reins and starting the horse off towards the Lodge. Howard stood in the path for a long time, watching where she'd disappeared behind the trees. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: movies
Chapter 1
I hated seeing her like this. There had been a lot of women aboard this ship. The Boss used to try to convince his smuggling clients that having women on board would fool Imperial scrutiny. If we could pass as a family, or at least a more eclectic group, they wouldn't spot us as smugglers at first sight. That meant that Boss traveled with at least one prostitute on every trip, sometimes more. Once, the guys we were sneaking into Delgar were so evil that even they agreed that they looked like wretched, villainous scum. Boss talked fast, and we ended up with an entire troupe of strippers to balance out the supercargo. And any woman Boss wasn't using, or about to use, was available for his number one co-pilot. It was really a long string of hot (or at least exotic) babes, right up until she came along.
Odd, too. She went from being a passenger to an employer, to a superior officer, to friend, to... Oh, I don't know exactly what she was anymore. But even though the actual sex on the Falcon went to nearly nothing after her arrival, I generally didn't miss it. Except now. It was the most somber transit I could remember the Falcon ever making, and a good six-woman orgy would really be welcome.
The kid had some sort of hare-brained plan to rescue the Boss, which seemed overly complicated to me. But the little droid thought it had a good chance to work, so here we were. Well, some of us. The Kid was off arranging something or other with the droids. Lando was doing front work, which left me and the Princess alone on the ship. And I do mean I was alone.
She spent her on-shift in the cockpit staring out at the stars. She spent her off-shift in the lounge, staring at the bulkheads. She said please, thank you, and excuse me when appropriate. But that was all she said. I missed the Boss like nobody's business. I should have noticed that. I didn't think about it until she came into the cockpit to relieve me one day.
"I have the watch," she said, like always, but for once she didn't just fall into the pilot's seat. His seat. Instead, she leaned down close to me and sniffed my fur. "Chewie?" she said questioningly, hesitantly. "Do you smell... like Han?" Before I could answer, she pressed her face into my hairy shoulder and nuzzled against me. I froze until she finished. "Thanks," was all she said, then she sat down. I fled.
It was an uncomfortable topic. See, the greater number of animals on Kashyyyk communicate by scent. We used to, but evolved a complex language and lost most of that ability. We had one remnant. If we were separated from our mates, we started to exude their odor. It told others that we missed this person. That we were parted from our mate, not single, and he/she smelled this way. There was also a pheromone involved. It ensured that when our mate smelled herself on the wind, she'd be attracted back to us and willingly return.
It wasn't something we thought about, any more than you think about whichever evolutionary trait you've nearly forgotten, I guess. This was embarrassing, though. I missed The Boss so much I had started to release Boss scent?!?! Enough that even a human nose picked it up! But I swear, I never thought of the Boss that way! And I'll rip the appendages off anyone that says I did. It was just a freak situation. I was alone, she missed him, I missed him, she was miserable, her misery made me... well, you can see my dilemma.
I couldn't very well tell her that she smelled me because I missed The Boss, who I was NOT gay for. She'd just nod that nearly hairless head and tell me that she never judged another. But she'd think there was competition for his love, which she didn't need right now. So I sat in my room, trying to think of a way to reprogram the scrubbers. If the little droid were here, he could help me clear the air. Of course, if the little droid were here, the big droid would be here, and I'd have to smash the damned thing into pieces.
No ideas came to me before shift change. I wasn't the idea man anyway. Boss was. Or the kid, I guess. Or the little droid. So I schlepped back into the cockpit. Maybe my hours of worrying had dampened my Boss. No such luck. Her eyes went wide as I ducked through the hatch. It hurt. I seldom saw anyone look at me like that, not in 200 years kicking around the place. And now she was doing it, but only because my hormones were confused.
"I, uh, have the watch," I said. "You should... get a lot of sleep. You have to be ready to deal with the Hutt." I guess I spoke a little louder than usual. She reared back as I roared. But then she was right back, standing in front of me, leaning towards me, and sniffing my chest. "I miss him so, so much, Chewie." "I know you do," I growled as softly as I could. "I wish I could do something for you."
"Hold me?" she said. Asked. Begged. The Princess was about the size of a child, with child-wide eyes. What could I say? My defenses were useless, and I took her into my lap, comforting her like a treeling. But she wasn't seeking parental comfort. "Oh, Han," she sighed. She squirmed around in my lap, running her fingers through my hair. Too late, I realized that the Boss was not as much of a problem as the pheromones. Double targle!
As she twisted around to straddle my legs, I tried to make my escape. But I was afraid of hurting her, a real fear. Seriously, I didn't want to hurt her for her own sake, plus I knew what Han, Luke, and the R2 unit would do to me if I did. She wasn't as hesitant. The Princess knelt on the copilot seat and rubbed her belly against mine. My Little Wookie started to peep out from hiding. "Princess! NO!" I coughed, grabbing her wrists and pulling her back. That just gave her leverage to squeeze my legs with her own. She smiled at me, showing all those blunt teeth. "Not a good idea," I said, but I was losing ground quickly.
I squeezed too hard, and she winced, twisting her left arm. And the instant I relaxed that grip, she was out of it. Her free hand reached to my gut and grabbed my Wookiehood. I distinctly remember thinking, "Fine. Let's do it. The Boss'll understand." He wouldn't, but I remember that thought. Her shipboard uniform was a jumpsuit she'd found in the Boss' quarters. I shredded it off of her in two tugs. "Yes!" she cried, rocking backwards. She leaned against the control panel, and her feet walked up my chest. I tore her boots off with my teeth.
She reached up to her braids, incidentally arching her back and lifting her breasts. I very gently caressed them in spirals, ending at the simple, bare nipples. They reacted just like anyone's, poking up and begging for attention. As the strings of hair came free, I grabbed her rib cage and lifted her up. Her breasts tasted of Terriak wine, and I lapped at them for a while. She moaned and held my head.
Light as a feather, there was no great effort to lifting her higher. I licked my way down her chest, belly, lap, nicking her here and there with a fang. Her legs slid up past my ears and over my shoulder until she could go no higher. I worried at her pussy with my tongue, opening my mouth wide to cover her entire crotch. She quivered, grabbing cables in the overhead and pushing herself into my face. She heaved and twisted, spreading her juices over my face and matting my fur. I must have looked like a drowned bantha, but grooming would wait. I lowered her back down again, holding her ass just over my lap.
Leia smiled, reached between her legs, and grabbed me. My length seemed to give her a second of pause, but we were too far gone to worry about that. She positioned me, and I thrust up into her. Her scream was piercing in the confined space. I felt her scramble, pushing herself up, and thought I'd hurt her. But she was pulling herself back down an instant later, screaming again and showing all her teeth in a huge smile.
I grabbed her hips and started to pump her up and down on my cock, slowly at first. When I figured she was adjusted to my size, I sped up as fast as I dared. She shook her head, braids whipping around our faces. She was as tight as any woman I'd ever had. Except the insectoids I'd had to drill a new hole for, of course. But aside from them, she was hot, soft, and slick. I hadn't been inside a woman since we joined the rebellion, so I didn't last long.
After only a few strokes, I moved my hands to her waist and pulled her tight against me. She moaned and grabbed fistfuls of fur. I came, howling like a banshee. I let go and relaxed. The Princess wasn't done, though. She leaned back, bringing her knees together. That gripped my cock, trapping it when it wanted to soften and retract. I gazed across at her, her face lit by the stars outside the windows and the hyperdrive fuel cell status indicators.
She smiled back at me and started to wriggle, just a bit. The attention... well, it got my attention. Every time I softened, the skin slid along inside her, just as soft and slick as before. The feeling was like her pussy was kissing me where I impaled her. Gently sucking and squeezing, without the chafing that a hand would have inflicted just then. I hardened inside her, far sooner than I'd ever recovered before. She smiled knowingly as she felt me move within her. Where does a princess learn a performance like this? Then she shifted a bit and started pumping herself up and down.
This time it was all for her. I supported her as she used me. I let her move my hands to her breasts and squeezed. I wanted to nibble the nipples, but she was too short. Finally, she started hitting me on the shoulders with her fists, gritting her teeth. I held her to me once more, and we both came. I sank down in my seat, and we lay there for a minute or two. I was panting like I'd fought a gizzor beast again. I was hot, and the room was starting to smell of sweaty Wookie. That never comes out.
Well, she'd showed me her trick, I had one to show her. I gathered her into my arms and stalked through the Falcon. Inside Han's quarters was the only shower on board that fit more than one person. Boss'd paid extra to get that wedged in between the bulkheads. Now I just stalked in and stood there. Warm water covered us both. She giggled as I got a paw full of soap and washed her off from head to toe. Then it was her turn. You just haven't lived until you've body shampooed a Wookie. We used an entire bottle. The rinse cycle set us both to giggling again.
Then the water stopped, and the air dryers kicked on. The Princess started teasingly brushing out my hair in the breeze, then slowed. I sniffed. The Boss was gone. I guess the sex fixed it. Well, I certainly didn't miss him anymore. She looked up at me like she hadn't seen me before. With my scent back to normal, the smell of the soap had probably cleared her brain.
Leia stepped away from me and fumbled for a towel. She covered herself, and I mumbled an apology. Then I stalked back to my quarters. I was dry, and it was my watch, but I wasn't about to leave my room. Not if I had to look her in the eye again. So I sat on my bunk and concentrated on not smelling like anyone but me.
So imagine my surprise when the door opened. She stood in the passageway and offered a tentative smile. Her hair was done up again. And she looked to be wearing about three layers of clothes. But she was there, and looking me right in the eye. "Chewie..., I don't know what happened. I think I was going out of my mind over Han. I just... Well, I never planned to take advantage of you like that." I started to protest, to explain whose fault it was. She raised a hand. "Please. I don't... I didn't want to... Well. We shouldn't have done that. And we should never do it again."
She rushed into my room and leaned over to plant a quick, chaste kiss on my snout. "But it was just what I needed. And you were there for me. Thank you." She offered her hand for a shake. "Friends," I said, taking the hand and shaking. Then I started to stand and take the watch. She grabbed me around the waist for a hug. "Thanks," she said again. "We will get him back," I promised her. She nodded. "I know." |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: books
Chapter 1
I recall a story by Piers Anthony, an alternate-universe tale where all cattle, goats, and other domesticated animals died off. People replaced them with humans, altered at birth to be less intelligent, unable to walk erect, and unable to oppose their thumbs. These humans were bred to be enormous. I believe I had a dream set in the distant future of that planet. In this dream, I was a rodeo clown. The creatures that bucked the riders off their backs were women, gigantic in stature. If they had stood upright, I estimate they would have been around 20 feet tall.
After they had thrown the riders, clowns like myself would taunt or tease them, eventually leading them out to a giant jacuzzi. When it was my turn to perform, my act centered around a large bra stretched between poles. I would get the women-creatures to chase me through the goalposts, and they would end up restrained by the lingerie. Then, I would perform various acts: doing their hair, applying makeup, giving manicures, or pretending to be a dentist. I would play it up for the audience, getting roars of laughter. The cups of the bra had a sedative smeared on the inside, which would calm the women down, making them playful and smiling for the audience. This sedative would wear off by the time they were returned to their enclosures, and they would become violent again. I woke up wondering how they managed the hog-tying competition.
I was working on my routine in the backyard, stretching the bra between the posts and inspecting it for wear and tear. It looked like it would last another season. Then, I went to the props case and selected the makeup kit, having some ideas for a new scenario for the act. As I turned around, a man appeared out of thin air before my eyes. His back was to me, facing the brassiere. I could tell he wasn't local by the way he stopped and stared. First, he looked at the cup right in front of him, then his head turned to gaze over at the other one. "Giants," he whispered.
"Can I help you?" I asked as I stepped around him. He glanced from me to the bra and back. "Sexual dimorphism," he whispered. I saw a button on the lapel of his jacket; that's what he was talking to. "Hello!" he said in a much louder voice. "I am a traveler from, uh, far away, and I..." "Space travel or dimension travel?" I asked as I wheeled the case into position and opened it. He blinked. "Dimensions," I guessed. "You guys always think you'll travel to a new one, one that hasn't had experience with DTFs."
I shrugged and opened the lipstick case. It was about as long as my arm, way out of scale for the Lovelies, but part of the act. "I, uh... We didn't... The odds of..." "What's a DTF?" I asked. "Dimension Traveling Fool," I said, cleaning it up a bit. "You testing the equipment or do you want to explore the dimension?" I opened the step stool and counted the steps between the makeup kit and the top of the stool. "I like to keep the show going, you see," I told him. "Can't have too many pauses while they're waiting for me to do something." I waved the stick across an imaginary face. Then it was back to the kit for the powder puff.
"How... how tall are those women?" he asked. "What's your name, Traveler?" "John," he replied. "Weird," I said. "If you're going to spend time here, we need a more normal name. Say... Vespaggio. There, common as dirt." John automatically glanced down at the simple green dirt under our feet. "So anyway, Vespaggio, we get a lot of DTFs around here. They come for the scenery." I waved at the lingerie strung up between the two hitching posts. "Something about our cattle seems to fascinate them." I waved the powder puff through the air and then got a blowtorch. "If you're interested, I can offer you room and board and a place on the truck. It's my traveling season, so you'll be seeing more than a few cities over the summer, or however long you stay. You just have to help me." I pretended to scorch a beauty mark into the air. John stared.
"John, do you need to go ask someone?" "Um... no, I have the latitude to... I mean, as long as I'm getting good reports, I..." "Are all your women this... scale?" "My women?" I laughed. "No, Vespaggio, and you'd better get used to the name, those aren't for women. The Lovelies are a completely different species." I closed up the kit and gestured him towards the house. "I'm Tarrgle, by the way. Let's go have lunch, I'll catch you up."
Some time in the long, long ago, we used to have a whole varied biosphere. Archeologists have found creatures that some dimension travelers call cows, horses, goats, sheep, and chimerae. Then there seemed to be a die-off. Some biological agent wiped out all the life forms between frogs, humans, and cattle. The remains of the time indicate that the cattle were about the same size and shape as humans. We haven't changed; they grew. About two generations ago, DTFs started to pop up in farms and on ranches around the world. They were amazed at how big the humanoid cattle were. They were a bit put off by the fact that we use something so very much like humans for meat, dairy, and entertainment.
They've shipped in a number of meat animals over the year, expanded our ecology, replaced the big wide center of the food tetrahedron. We'd gradually phased cattle out of the food industry, but you just couldn't see replacing them with anything like cows or mastodons. The people would never go for it. So, the Lovelies were retained. A few choice bloodlines of cattle were carefully husbanded for the rodeos. I was a rodeo clown. "And you can travel as my assistant. We'll say you're a cousin." I finished my beer and got up to wash the dishes. "Tarrgle?"
"What?" "If Dimension Travelers are so common, why do I have to pretend I'm local?" he asked. "Good question," I admitted. "Trust me. When you see why, you'll probably thank me."
Our first gig was across the state. Vespaggio watched the scenery go by as I drove the camper. Sometimes he'd say something into his recorder. He was quite excited as we went past the market in town. "Those are women!" "Yes, Ves, we have women on this world." He turned to stare at me. "But that bra..." "The bra is for the Lovelies," I said. "It only looks like a woman's underwear for comedic effect." I drove on for a bit. "Did you think all of our women were that big?" He blushed but wouldn't answer.
We were late getting to the rodeo, but we were last on the sheet anyway. We got the rack off the roof, set the wheels, and checked the springs. Then we sat on the lower rails of the fence and watched the show. The first event was bucking. Ves nearly fell off the fence when the first gal rode out. The Lovelies look kinda like women, it's true. If you don't know what to look for, and the Travelers don't. I saw a large, naked blonde figure, crawling around the pen, trying to buck off the guy on her back. Her thumbs stayed at the side of her hand. She never spoke, even to complain about the man riding. And she never stood. If she had, I guess she'd have been about twenty, twenty-five feet tall. Her breasts were healthy, large even for her scale. They swung majestically back and forth as she staggered and hopped over the dirt. Ves stared at them like he'd never seen a teat in his life. "City boy?" Josshuh asked. I answered his smile with one of my own. "Kind of a protected upbringing," I said. "Nephew. I'm his one chance to see the world until he starts in the seminary."
My friend nodded and climbed through the rails. When the time was up, the clowns rushed out to distract the Lovely Lady while the cowboy made his escape. Josshuh's act was to rush out, slap her ass, then run and dive into a rubber barrel. The cow would typically chase him, batting at the barrel until his partner distracted her. They'd trade back and forth until the cowboy was clear. This time the competitor wasn't injured, so it was a short act. Then they opened the gate to the back, and she headed off for the jacuzzi. "The heated bubbling pool is something we got from offworld," I explained to my ward. "We used to just hose them down until they were calm. Now they can hardly wait for their turn to soak."
"Jack Koo Tze," he muttered into his mike. I tapped him on the shoulder and nodded my head towards the stands. There had been a couple of dozen people watching at the start of the show. Now every bench was packed with spectators. "Where'd they all come from?" he asked. After a second's thought, though, he figured it out. "Dimension traveling fuckers," he guessed. I slapped him on the back and laughed. "Got it in one!" The bucking competition went without a hitch. Then we were on. My act gives them a chance to shift things around without the audience having to wait. They were just hitting the buzzer on the last cowboy when we went through the fence. The rig dropped and automatically unfolded. The gag-sized bra snapped into position, and the audience cheered.
The Lovely in the ring was named Desire. She was a veteran of the circuit, same as me, and I think she recognized my rig. She came charging across the dirt in my direction. I stood between the cups, waving signal flags like I was bringing a blimp in to land. She centered on me and shoved both of her breasts into the two cups. The contact ointment lining the cups worked quickly, or at least the sedative in the ointment did. Her rage faded, and a large smile spread across her features. More cheering rose as I decorated the face. With my assistant handing me tools, I just stayed on the stool and decorated. I did her lips, cheeks, pretended to pluck a stray eyebrow with a pair of tongs. I kept the fake blowtorch out of her view, though the people in the stands saw it. It looked like the ink deposit was a burned-on beauty mark, but Desire never flinched. It was a good thing we'd rehearsed. Ves spent the whole act by the kit, back to the stands, face about two feet from a nipple the size of his head. I don't think he blinked until we were done.
Desire's smile got wider and wider, the makeup got weirder and wilder, and the hoots and hollers got louder and sillier. I guess there was a difficulty in the shifting. Well, that's what I was there for. They finally signaled that they were ready for the busting event, so I wrapped it up. Desire got led out of the ring, we took a bow, and skedaddled. We had nothing else to do for the evening, so we restowed the rig on top of the camper. When I finished tightening the straps, I climbed down to find Ves trying to start a conversation with a female contestant. "Oh, pook," I muttered and hurried over. I got him by the elbow and frog-marched him towards the pens in back. "Tar, what the hell?" I glanced back to make sure we were in the clear. "That's a cowgirl, Ves. You don't want to start chatting up a cowgirl. Even if she starts the conversation, there's nothing there you want."
"Why not?" "Because we were late, and you didn't see their event. Their competition involves gentling the bulls." He seemed confused. I cupped my hand and made a gesture around my crotch. "Ever had a girl calm you down? Gentle you? Land your tackle? Polish the prism? Whatever they call it in your world?" "Well, yeah, but..." I shifted my hand and used both of them to indicate what the cowgirls had to work with. "You remember that nipple you were staring at? Imagine the bull that's built on that scale." The image hit him all at once. He gagged so violently I thought his tongue would shoot out onto the ground. "That's it," I said. "So, there's absolutely nothing in your pants that'll impress her. And if she's not satisfied, you're not going to like how she throws you outta the trailer." He winced and twisted, trying to completely isolate his crotch.
So, now that he was educated on cowgirls, I took him to the stage manager to get paid. Just as we left the trailer, with the woman's thanks and some money, Devook showed up. She was part of a clown team that dressed as baby Lovelies. They made it look like the angry cow in the ring was trying to round up her babies. I nodded to her and introduced my nephew. She smiled and introduced a man at her shoulder. He had the glazed look of a rodeo virgin. Ves was still gagging, so he wasn't quite as obvious. The man beside her had a name with a lot of consonants, and he was rather obviously a DTF. "So, Targgle," Dev said with a perfectly straight face, "Delta's at that point in her cycle. Do you want to give Ves a chance at her? Because Awk'Kucht'Tok would like to, but if you're family...?" "No, that's fine," I said. "Vespaggio's spending the summer with me, he'll get plenty of chances to service one of the Lovelies."
"Great," she said, taking Awk's arm and steering him to one of the large pens. I leaned by Ves' ear long enough to say, "This is why." Then we followed. Delta was a bit smaller than Desire, but she was still a huge tract of land, as it were. She was calm in her pan, idly eating some chow nuggets. Dev gave her guest a whistle and let him through the gate. Delta glanced at him but didn't react. We took up a position in the shadow of a food trailer. A few other cowboys and clowns were there where Awk'Kitchy wouldn't see us. He stripped at Dev's direction and started walking towards Delta. When he was near her, he blew the whistle. "Mating whistle," I said to Ves. "It tells her to get ready to mate."
Delta perked up at the sound and started looking around. She was clearly excited. But there was no bull to be seen. "Gotta get her attention," Dev shouted. Awk blew the whistle again. I snorted, and a few men and women around us giggled. Now she was downright agitated. She churned up some dust as she went back and forth, glancing over and through the fence. Awk ran along behind her, finally catching up enough to slap her thigh. Delta spun around and stared at him. She cupped her hands around his legs and lifted him bodily into the air. One finger eased over to gently touch him. He groaned and leaned backwards in her grasp. Of course, she was expecting something a bit more heroic. The Lovely lowered him to the ground and pinched his cock between both forefingers. Then she squeezed and tugged, trying to get the erection up to the size she was used to.
He screamed and fought, but he was completely helpless under her attention. She gave a squeak of frustration and tugged harder. Awk called upon someone for help, probably a deity. "Don't appear that his god has access to this dimension," one of the cowboys muttered. Giggles sounded. "Serves the judgmental bastard right," someone else said. Delta lost interest about then, slapped Awk on the hip, and went back to her chow. Our group broke up. I led Ves back to the camper.
“So,” I said as we got ready to drive to the next site, “that’s why you don’t want people to know you’re not from this dimension.” “That was brutal!” he complained. “There’s no justification for that sort of thing.” I nodded and aimed for the highway. “You might think that,” I agreed. “Of course, time after time, we get a Traveler. He looks around, decides that we’re barbarians, or worse. Sometimes they’ve declared war on the whole dimension. At the very least, they start lecturing us on what’s right and what isn’t.”
John sat silently in his seat as the road disappeared under the hood. “Some time back,” I continued after a moment, “my ancestors, our ancestors, had a difficult choice to make. They made it. It may not have been the right choice, I don’t know. I wasn’t there. But this is the world they made. This is my world, our world. If you don’t want to live here, that’s fine. Just don’t spend a lot of time lecturing us on how evil we are, were. I expect that there aren’t too many dimensions out there that can stand up to the same sort of scrutiny. How about you?”
He was quiet for a long time. Finally, he shrugged. “I hear that Auschwitz is a name people recognize in many, many dimensions.” Then he jerked a thumb towards the rodeo behind us. “But how does that justify…?” “Guy comes to your dimension,” I said. “Lectures you about this, uh…” “Auschwitz,” he supplied. “Right, Auschwitz. This guy tells you how your heritage is evil. Then he wants to have sex with one of your food animals, or a child, or a coffee machine, anything that’s a taboo in your culture. What the hell would you do, hold his coat? |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: television
Chapter 1
More Disclaimer: This work is my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual).
Martha stormed into the team room and threw herself into a chair. The doctors barely looked up from the references they were searching. House came in a few steps behind the young medical student. "Someone, by which I mean a person with goal-oriented morals, not someone who filters necessary behavior by covering his or her metaphoric ass, needs to have a heart-to-heart with our patient."
"Got it," Foreman said. He slid his book in front of Masters and stood. "Take Taub," House said. "The patient always feels paranoid with a Jew in the room. Use that to your advantage."
"So what's my role, now?" Taub asked whimsically as he stood. "The Jew? The threat? The patient heart rate multiplier?" "Your role is to stand behind me and let me do the talking," Foreman said.
"Stand in profile so he can see that nose," House said as they exited. "Results?" he asked Chase. "None so far. All the recorded cases are discussed posthumously. The good news is, if he does have it, we'll be really well-placed to identify it during the autopsy."
"Keep looking," House growled and limped out. "He's only angry because that was his line," Chase confided to Masters. Then he went back to searching through the documentation.
After a few moments of silence, Chase stood. He drew a glass of water and placed it beside Masters. He also offered her a handkerchief. She nodded thanks and wiped her eyes. "Why are you here?" he finally asked.
"No, no, Martha," he said. "Why are you in this fellowship? Are you trying to prove something?" She stared at the other doctor for a quiet moment. "I did something to a friend of mine, and I have to learn how to fix it."
His first reaction was to smile. "What? What's so funny?" "Oh, well, when you start dealing directly with more patients, when you do clinic hours, you'll see. Every doctor, when they hear 'a friend,' assumes it means 'I did something to myself, and I'm afraid to admit it.'" "That's not-" Chase held up a hand.
"That's okay. It's just something doctors see. All the time. In everyone, except you. And one friend of mine..." She smiled despite her anger. "Anyway, if I can learn how House does... what he does, maybe I can do it. To help fix my friend. Who isn't me," she finished with another small smile.
"Hmmm. Maybe you should tell House," Chase said. "He thinks you're a moral tight-ass because you haven't lived in the real world yet." If he found out you're overcompensating for a real-world mistake you already made... He shrugged. "Well, he'd just find something else to torment you with."
Martha was a lot less upset by the time they finished diagnosing the patient. He was responding to the latest treatment, and House was even bragging about another victorious fight against the forces of informed consent. But her mood darkened on the way home. Chase was right. He was tormenting her for the sake of tormenting her. Push to see what happens, poke to see what breaks.
How dare he? He knew nothing about her, about her situation. When she pointed out that his behavior was errant or immoral... it was! She entered her apartment, dropping her bag on the chair by the door. A few steps down the hall, and she was in the bedroom.
The man she'd taken to calling Test Subject One looked up at her. "Get undressed," she snapped. She kicked off her shoes and crawled onto the bed. TSO stood naked by the door of his cage. She leaned over to the table, opened the cage, and lifted him over.
Flat on his back on the pillow, he looked up at her as she regarded him. One hand held her face up by the chin, the other traced one finger along his body. Tonight was bones. She recited each one as her touch passed it. "Fibula, tibia, patella, femur," she said. The tone was clinical, though the touch was intimate.
Unsure of her mood, Subject lay without protest. He flinched a bit as she fingered his ribs, but he couldn't help it. She speared her hand under his torso, lifting him bodily as she rolled onto her back. One hand dangled him over her bosom while the other pushed her panties down.
Martha finally lowered him to her belly, atop the skirt rucked up around her hips. He crouched on the folds of fabric and looked towards her legs. Other than her panties and shoes, she was fully dressed. Subject was never seduced, just ordered. Ever since the day he came into her possession, she'd used him as an ego crutch. When others dismissed her for age or her social awkwardness, she came home and dominated him.
Now she started once more. "Traverse my abdomen and approach my genitals." Her voice was flat and clinical, firm and unemotional. He obeyed quickly. She was not tolerant of delay. Her pubic hair scratched his hands and knees as he 'approached her genitals.' He hesitated at the top of the cleft, technical terms running through his mind.
She'd used him as a living flash-card to study in premed and med school. He gazed on her wet, slippery flesh, swelling and throbbing. Her pulse was visible to him from his tiny vantage point. He gazed and tried to see its natural reactions to stimulus. Orders started to come, slowly at first, rapidly increasing in frequency. The pace was slow, and her body lay still. He slithered over and against her, reaching and stroking as directed.
The proximity never failed to excite him. But he was never sure if she felt his erection, rubbing against and poking at her. Was it helping finish her off or distracting her? Or beneath her notice? He knelt sideways in her vagina, one arm plunged as deeply as it would go.
As she approached orgasm, she dropped the clinical terms for more basic orders. "Higher, higher... right there. Push. Harder. Rub that. Rub it. Make a fist. Push... lift it." He strived to make her happy. A disappointed Masters took the day's angry out on him. But if he satisfied...
There was a sharp intake of breath, the only reaction she'd allow herself. A finger came to rest on his shoulder, and he stopped pushing at her. Slowly and gently he removed himself from contact. She found her panties on the bed and lowered them over him. He used them to dry off with. While he was doing that, she lifted a leg over him and rolled out of bed.
He watched her take her hospital clothes off to change to a clean pair of panties and her slightly less formal study clothes. She assumed he was done, lifted him up, and lowered him gently to her lips. His penis was addressed by oral action and quickly brought him off. He lay limp in her hand as she slipped him into his cage.
She wiped her chin with the panties and dropped them in her hamper. "I think," she murmured as she walked out of the bedroom, "I think... virology tonight. Yes. Viruses." Test Subject One wished her well with her studies. She'd end up saving a lot of people. He'd lost hope that she'd ever restore him, but he still wished her well.
But was a wet-wipe completely out of the question? |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: This work is my own. The characters are my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, 'you gotta read this' excerpts, the usual). The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic. I tend to work with size-themed fiction, which includes overwhelming control issues and outrageous differences in scale. Such disparate sizes between partners are not for everyone, so be warned. There's some sex, but no graphic descriptions. Inspired by a fantasy painting: http://elephanticity.250x.com/size/illus1.jpg.
Three days of hard riding, and the problem was solved by the time I reached the castle. The slayer was outside the gate, showing off her trophy, a giant's head on a military wagon. It was an elegant job; the guy only showed one injury: the bolt through his forehead. Well, two, with the cut to sever his head, I guess. Serfs, craftsmen, merchants, and clerks came by to gape at the skull, the bow that 'did him in,' and the bloody wound she sported on her shoulder. I skirted the press of flesh and headed for the traveler's inn nearest the gate. I watched the usual program parade past. The lord came out, made a speech, took a nominal amount of credit, gave some to God almighty, tossed the woman a bag of coins, and declared a holiday. Eventually, she worked her way clear of well-wishers. She came over to the nearest inn. With the holiday, most seats were taken except at my table. She wasn't afraid of me on sight, unlike the rest of the patrons, so she sat down with me. As more of the parade, the innkeeper brought her a flagon and a meal on the house. I waited until her mouth was full to start talking. The whole while we talked, people came up to thank her or show their kids what a giant slayer looked like. It's always like that, and it's all the same, so I'll leave it out of the narrative.
"Good presentation of your trophy, there, and excellent dramatic props," I said. She tried to swallow, to respond, but I just kept talking. "Of course, most of the hicks around here won't recognize that wagon his skull's on as part of an Imperial ballista. That explains how you got an arrow through the thickest bone in a giant's body. It's certainly not from a hand-drawn bow, however shiny it may be. And the blood dripping artistically down your arm, next to the bared breast, is a master stroke. Hard to look away from the boob to see that the wound is pretty superficial, isn't it?" Her mouth was clear, but she just waited for me to finish talking. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not going to suggest that any hick with the right equipment could have done it, nor marginalize your bravery, skill, or tactics. I assume you set up the artillery, lured him in, put a spear through his heart or something, then arranged a more artistic display for the crowd? Should do you wonders for a reputation." I raised my mug towards her. "I toast your efforts, like the rest of the Blackridge Riding is tonight. I'm just a little more impressed by your showmanship than most of the others, I suspect."
"What do you want?" she asked, low and terse. "Ah, found your voice. What I wanted, three days ago, when I learned about a giant menacing this valley, was that purse of gold you have on your belt." I raised my hands, palms out and empty, as she gripped her sword. "Now, now, I'm not holding you up. I'm a professional giant slayer myself. John Rod. Last thing I want to do is take what you've earned. I do wish I'd earned it first, but these things happen."
"John Rod," she nodded. "I've heard of you. 'Rod of Justice' they call you. You're pretty good. What do you want?" she asked again, but a little less threateningly. "I just don't want to do this again. Ride hard, tire the horses, and end up with less in pocket than when I started out." I sipped from the mug, waved for a refill. "You asking me to stop slaying giants?"
"You're so cute when your eyes go all flinty like that. No. Just thought we could have a talk. Now, there's a belligerent giant somewhere to the north of here, and there's a rumor of a giant breaking The Peace near a village to the south. We could both race to be the heroic rescuer in one direction or the other, or we could go in opposite directions, or we could join forces."
"I work alone," she said flatly. "Just listing the options, that's all I'm doing, my dear...uh, hmm. In all the speechmaking, I never heard your name. Unless your mother named you 'our heaven sent savior?' I hope not. That's a mouthful. Can I call you 'Our Heaven' for short?"
She sighed. "Rheedal."
"That's an odd name. Where are you from?"
"North. My family's from the north."
"Excellent. I have relatives to the south. Shall we depart amiably without fear of rivalry?" She considered for a second, then nodded her head. She went back to wolfing down her food. I leaned closer to her. "Looks like it's been a while between meals, and I've never heard of you. I'd say you're just starting out as a giant-slayer, so here's some advice: leave town soon." She glanced around the room and looked back to me with a question in her eyes. "Sure, they're fond of you right now. And the innkeeper's got more custom than he usually gets outside of market day. But no matter how good the hero worship feels, you want to leave soon. Not all the citizens of the Empire are particularly happy with their life. Sooner or later, someone's going to figure that anyone who can take the head off of a fifty-foot man can take a five-foot man off of a throne. Or the local lord will worry that someone's going to hire you to do it. Or the size of that bag of gold will eventually convince someone that you're not as scary as you were when that head outside was still fresh. Leave tomorrow, and then if you pass through here later, you can spend a happy night from time to time. It's better for everyone. Trust me." She thanked me for my advice and said she'd think about it. I wished her luck; she nodded it back to me, and I rode off into the sunset.
A week later, I was on the ridge above the giant's camp. The big guy sat on the shore of a lake, driving spikes into a tree to make a new club. He had three cattle roasting over his fire, a clear violation of The Peace. It was enough evidence for me to kill him, even without the testimony of the Duke's people. I stole closer to the camp. I was about halfway down the slope when another giant entered the clearing. Rather, a giantess showed up. I could almost hear my old partner, Fred, cheerfully report that our bounties had just doubled. That willingness to face two giants at once had a lot to do with why he was remembered as 'Flat Fred' where slayers gathered. I ducked into deeper brush to see if this new threat was going to stick around. She strode across the beach as the first giant stood to greet her. She got up next to him and, without a word, pulled out her sword and swung on him. Her first blow took him in the arm and knocked his half-finished club to the ground. He roared and charged her. She kept her head, sidestepped his lunge, and sliced through his neck in a sweeping cut. The body fell to the ground, shaking trees in all directions, while the head flew into the lake. I moved even closer to the camp as she fished around in the water for her trophy. As she turned back to the shore, I finally recognized her. It was Rheedal. She had grown giant-sized somehow. She took the head back to the place she'd come into view. There, she placed the head on the artillery wagon I'd seen her use before. She pulled a bolt out of a pouch and jammed it into the guy's forehead. It made sense, I figured; get all the hard work done while she was still big. I usually built a travois around the trophy, and that took hours: separate the head, lower it onto the poles, tie it down, get the horses to drag it to the nearest road. I had to admire her methods, even if she'd aced me out of another bounty. Just before I stepped out of the woods to congratulate her, we were both surprised by yet another giant. He came out of the woods near the camp, screamed some profanity at her, and charged. From the look on her face, she realized about the same time I did that she'd left her sword by the first giant's body. She had nothing to defend herself with but a wagon and a skull. I already had my weapon at the ready. As the newest giant ran past me, I shot a bolt from my crossbow into his knee. Usually, I aim for a vital organ, or even the throat, but I was caught by surprise. The elfglass point burst on impact and released the fireball spell inside. It blew his joint apart, and he toppled, screaming fit to wake the gods. I readied a second bolt as I ran up the beach towards his head to finish him off. Just as I got there, Rheedal arrived. She ended his screams with her signature beheading. Then the big, brave giant slayer reacted to escaping certain death by falling to her knees to throw up. I stayed on my side of the dead giant until she was done. What blood spatters had hit my clothes would add to my giant-slaying appearance. Giant vomit wouldn't. Finally, she rinsed her mouth out with a handful of lake water and turned back to me. I wasn't sure I liked the look on her face, so I rushed to reassure her. "Hey, that first head? All yours. But I think I should get half of the reward for the second one, here, eh?" She still didn't speak as she walked over to stand next to, and above, me. She glared down at me for a long moment, then shrank. When she was back to my size, she stepped up to kiss me on the cheek. "Thanks. I thought I was done for."
"Anything for another giant-slayer," I replied. "Although I'd hope Howard wouldn't kiss me afterwards. He's not nearly as pretty as you." She smiled and shook her head. "I thought you were going to the North?"
"Gunther got that one. A herald rode up an hour after you left. I took your advice and left town the next day."
"Ah, good for Gunther. The herald had a big story about the horrendous battle?" I asked. "Yes. Why? And why are you smiling?"
"Gunther uses poison to take out his targets. Paints toxins on the skins of cattle in the area. Sneaks up when they're helpless and opens a jugular."
"What? Isn't that a risk to the people in the area?" She seemed quite angry. "Oh, no. It's only the outsides. Anyone that chews cattle whole gets sick, anyone that milks it, eats the meat only, or observes the law isn't going to get poisoned." It seemed okay to me, but she still looked upset. I changed the subject. "So, do you have another wagon, or are we going to have to build a sledge?"
An hour later, she just lifted the head onto the framework and held it in place while I tied it down. Definite advantages to being 50 feet tall, even if it did make my horses a bit skittish. She also took the carcasses off the fire before returning to normal size, and we shared a meal. She was wolfing down a significant amount of steer when I asked if her sword was magic. "What?" she asked through a mouthful. "Your sword. It keeps size with you. Does it do that itself, or does the same spell that makes you big make it big?"
"It's...it's the spell. This is just my father's sword." She turned away, so I didn't follow that line any more. On to more important things. "This lake is between the Duke's lands and the Contessa's. We can try to get one of them to pay a double bounty on the two giants we have, or we can split up. Take a head to each and get two bounties."
"Is that all you care about," she asked, turning back to face me. "Bounties? Rewards?" She waved a hand over towards the two bodies. "We killed two people over there. Or are they just monsters to you?"
"They rejected The Emperor's Peace, Rhee." No one usually questioned the morality of my job. Just the sanity. "I've never killed a giant just for the sake of killing a giant." I stopped before pointing out that technically, 'we' hadn't killed anyone, she had. I hadn't killed anyone all week. She tore a leg off one cow and stalked off. I was amazed at her appetite, but figured that the growth spell took a lot out of her. After dinner, it was too late to make it to any roads before dark, even with her schlepping the heads by hand, so we took advantage of the giants' camp that night. Some time after the moon set, I heard her approach my sleeping spot. The fire was dying down to a deep red heat source, so the shadows were deep and dark. "John?"
"What, Rhee?"
"Today...I've never...I've never been so sure I was going to die as when he came out of the woods. I just froze. Now, every time I close my eyes...Well, what do you normally do when...when you nearly get killed?"
"I take extra pleasure in sawing the head off the bastard." She stole a little closer. "Rhee, do you need...?" I was going to ask if she needed a hug, but big tough giant killers react poorly to such suggestions. I just sat up and said, "Come here."
She swarmed onto my blankets. For a while, I did my best to give her something else to think about besides looming menace. I'd say that it worked because suddenly I was alone on the beach. I felt around in the dark but couldn't find her. Then I noticed that the beach texture was different, leathery instead of sandy. As I groped around to find my bedroll, the ground moved, rising and falling like I was on water. "That TICKLES!" Rhee said, some distance away. I realized that she'd gone gigantic again, and I was adrift on her belly. "What did you do THAT for?" With my bearings regained, I started crawling up towards her face. "Sorry, the spell wears off if I stop concentrating."
"Oh...Well, I'll take that as a compliment for my efforts." I smiled and patted her...rib cage or thereabouts. Her hand came around from somewhere and scooped me up. Then it hit me. "Wait, the spell wears OFF when you...So this is your NATURAL state?" She stoked the fire up a bit with a tree, then held me up before her face. Her eyes were sad as she looked down on me in her palm. "I suppose you hate me now? Now that you know what I really am?"
"Why would I do that, Rhee? I don't often sleep with people I hate."
"But, you're a giant slayer. Now you know I'm a giant."
"Like I said, I only kill giants that violate the law. You're not one of those. Are you?"
"No, I...a giant slayer killed my father."
"Oh...I'm, uh...sorry. Was there a warrant?" She lowered me to her lap and stared into the fire. "We had a neighbor, a valley over. HE had stolen a few cattle, knocked over a church. The slayer met Father first. He used the ballistae trap you thought of, that's where I got the wagon. Anyway, I found him, and Father...
I snatched him up before he could reload, and found out what he thought he was doing. I didn't ask about that pause. I'd guess she squeezed the truth out of him, or something like it, and in that situation, I could hardly blame her. But if she didn't kill him, she was still barely inside the boundaries of The Peace.
"He went off the next day to kill Jazophal," she said. Not killed, not even too hurt to travel. I mentally wiped my brow in relief. "That was the giant next door. He showed up at our cave a few days later, asking me to help him pull a bolt out of his shoulder." She was quiet for a long time. Naked in her grip, I was in no position to hurry her along. Finally, she finished. "I realized that Father was dead merely because he was too lazy to trap elk, and just took cows from someone's field. I took out the bolt, then while he rested, I took Father's sword and killed him."
Another long silence followed. "I'd probably have done the same thing, Rhee. Most people would. And you were even inside human law. Giant law, I don't know about."
"Oh, I could convince any jarl that Father's blood was on Jazophal's hands. That's no problem. Anyway, I found what was left of the slayer, his wagon, oxen, gear. Took that, took his head into town. I only wanted the people to know that justice had been done. I used a medallion my grandmother left me to shrink; I didn't want anyone to panic at the sight of me. I wasn't trying to be sneaky, but I was still kind of in shock, I guess. Next thing I knew, they gave me a hero's welcome. And among all those people telling me what horrible beasts all the giants are, there you come and point out the evils of short people." She lifted me up and kissed my face gently. After that, we talked until sunup.
I got to the crossroads about a day before Rhee did. We compared the Duke's reward to the Contessa's and split the difference. After stowing our coin pouches, we stood looking at each other for a second. "Well," I started, "I've picked up a rumor of a giant in Festerhall, and another in South Reach. If you still want to work alone, I'll let you pick." She thought it over for a second, stroking my horse's head. He was getting used to her, as long as she didn't block the sun. "You know," she finally replied, "there's more than a dozen giant slayers in the Empire. But there's a lot of bandits in Giantland."
"You want to hunt giant bandits?" I'd broken one gang of human thieves in Rorpen, but only out of desperate necessity. Two giants at a time was my limit. But she was shaking her head. "No, no. Humans steal from giants. And they're so small, they're hard to track down. Or if they do, the giants can't distinguish the guilty from the innocent in the human communities."
"Human bandits," I said.
"Yep. With really big bounties."
"Well, yeah, they'd be giant bounties, wouldn't they?" She smiled at my small joke. "Hell, sure. At least it'll be easier to carry the trophies." |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
It occurred to me that mainstream literature often shifts the focus of a scene to convey sex without showing sex. Trains going into tunnels, for example. And even if the scene is not exactly used as a metaphor, our language is peppered with euphemisms that draw on a particular aspect to convey intimacy. This scene came to me and was too powerful a plot bunny to ignore.
Penny had no memory. Duration didn’t matter to her, just change did. The biggest change was her creation. She was still trying to figure out what happened, what was going on, where she’d come from. Then she was inspected. “Hmm. Good one,” a voice said. Well, damn, she realized, I am.
Several others like her were gathered together. She was piled near the top. A few others talked about the softish material of the box they were in. Penny couldn’t reach it, but she was satisfied. She was the best in the box. Looking around, she saw that a few others were as perfectly straight as she was. A few were longer, two were sharper. None, though, held all the perfect aspects summed up in the perfection that was Penny.
Shipping was boring. Once the crate closed, there were no changes. It passed quickly. Or maybe it didn’t. They couldn’t tell the difference. They got to the hardware store and were moved to a shelf. The box in front of them changed a time or two and briefly roused them. Finally, they were purchased. The panorama of the trip out of the aisle, out to the car, and to the garage was overwhelming. Crated since they were forged, they’d never been exposed to such changing colors and sounds.
The purchaser moved them from the box to a plastic storage container. Some other nails were in there. The older implements were quiet as they tried to evaluate the newcomers. The new girls waited to see how Penny reacted. Penny tried to figure out who was the leader of the old timers. That would be Stella. Stella was bigger than anyone else in the bin. A quarter of an inch longer, as wide as any two of her neighbors, and her head stretched out like a top hat. She was probably miss-sorted, but no matter why she was here, she clearly ruled the roost.
She made a few pointed remarks about rank being related to depth in the bin. And something about decreasing quality control in the industry. Penny noticed something about Stella during the snide. There were a few marks around her head that didn’t come from the forge. Looking further, she saw a few marks circling the point. Stella had been sharpened. It didn’t matter, Penny told everyone else. Straightness, sharpness, firmness counted more than appearances. Penny wouldn’t think less of someone who had some work done. Experience counted, she said a few times. She carefully avoided uttering the word ‘used.’ But she was so careful to avoid it that everyone heard it. Stella quieted.
With that, the rousing effect of the travel faded. No one really noticed much of the world until the bin was opened again. Penny and six others were spilled across a wooden surface. Penny found herself strangely drawn to the material below her. She felt a sense of purpose she’d never known before. Then she saw him. He was huge. He lay a short distance to the side. Her attention was drawn from his rubberized handle up to his large steel head. She found the flat of his face fascinating. Just looking at it seemed to make her own flat head throb.
She finally noticed that his name was written on the side. “Stanley,” she sighed. She had to get closer to Stanley. One by one, her fellows were taken up. Moved to someplace just too far for Penny to be sure what was happening. But she couldn’t miss Stanley. He moved and flexed, light glinting off his steely bits. There was a banging sound with his movement. Penny found it thrilling. Each impact set her on an edge of excitement, raising her up until she almost thought she could stand upright.
He would hit her, she imagined. Flat metal to metal contact, his face and her head. She wasn’t sure what it would be like, really, but she knew that it was what she wanted. Needed. She desperately needed to be hammered by Stanley. Then, in a complete surprise, she was picked up by soft fleshy bits. Pink and round, they were nothing next to her. She imagined poking into either lump, feeling the fluids within leaking out.
Then she noticed that they were already leaking. Some sort of oil oozed out of the things, coating her lightly. Oh, god, she was going to rust. This would never do. Stanley wouldn’t be interested if she was in the company of such losers as held her now. But she was wrong. Even as she cursed the pinkness, they lifted her vertical and held her below Stanley himself. He descended towards her. Oh, she felt giddy! He had noticed her, selected her, isolated her from the crowd. What could she do? What should she say?
“Hello,” she called up. His face, his beautiful face laid gently against her own. She could stay there all day. But he couldn’t. He lifted up, not even as far away as her own length, then dropped. The impact was gentle, really. She didn’t bend or break. The force hit, she felt it, but it transmitted all the way down her body to the very tip of her point. And that point penetrated the wood below it. Oh, god, this was why she was created, she thought. Being perfect was only so that she could function this way.
She felt the wood part before her as she penetrated. Each millimeter sunk below the surface was a millimeter of pleasure. Waves of contentment seemed to float across her entire form, starting at the deepest point. The material held her, bound her, made her feel safe and empowered at the same time. She was so amazed at the sensations at her bottom that she didn’t notice Stanley rising again. Another tap sent her further into the wood. She cried out in glee.
Penny thought that the taps would drive her mad. After three, though, Stanley rose up and almost out of sight. “Call me?” she shouted. But she shouldn’t have doubted their special connection. He returned. Falling as one from the stars, he struck. Again, the contact was perfect, but this time the penetration was a third of her own length. The love taps before were as foreplay. She not only penetrated further into the surface she saw, the point found another layer of wood hidden below. Two completely discrete objects were holding her tight, tight as a girdle. Their grasp forced another shout of pleasure, along with the sensation of giddy release as the pink blobs retreated from her.
But just as she thought nothing could feel better than she did right then, Stanley struck again. This time was different, though. The timing was off, the angle was bad. Penny went further down, but not straight down. She scratched through the hidden wood, angled oddly across the surface material. Her point actually thrust itself out into the air! She felt naked, exposed, and very, very wrong. Her ends shouldn’t both be unrestrained when her waist was so tightly bound. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this misused.
Stanley came to her rescue. He was suddenly there, beside her, reaching for her. Two long curving arms flowed past her head, joining to cradle her in their grip. The V of their grasp fit her head perfectly. Then one expert twist of Stanley’s and she was free. Still straight, none the worse for wear, Penny easily thrust the whole mistaken blow from her mind. A voice, somewhere, sounded confused. “Must be a knot or something,” it babbled. She didn’t care.
The lumps took her out of Stanley’s embrace. “NO, NO!” she cried. “They tear us apart, love! Hurt them for this! We were made for each other!!” She was lowered and repositioned. The mistaken site was just to the side. Two more love taps were applied. She forgot her anger at the soft things as the pleasure reasserted itself. But Stanley didn’t forget. To punish the audacity of the fleshy bags, he struck one. It snatched itself away from her, lesson learned. Odd words peppered the air. She didn’t notice, she was smiling at the dots of red adorning her on one side, leaked from the offending lump.
I wonder if this is how pink things rust, she thought to herself. The next two blows were hard, harder than Stanley had ever hit her. If noise was any gauge, they were harder than he’d hit any of the others as well. Obviously, he had a special trust in Penny. He knew she could take it. And she did. Down, down, down she went, forcing her way through the first then the second layer. They gripped at her tightly while she returned her own pressure against the compacted material around her shaft.
The sensations of penetration, of satisfaction, of being hammered into the wood, were glorious. She was clutched by the two boards with a firmness that she’d never dreamed of experiencing, or imagined enjoying. The fact that her resistance to the pressure bound the three of them together was an added spice to the experience, too. All but a little of her neck was sunk out of sight. Her exposed surface cried out for relief. She was so near to completion, she could hardly stand it.
Above her, Stanley, who had spent more time with her than with any two of the others, came back for her yet again. The blow sunk her entire body into the wood, her head was left flush with the surface. The pressure holding her from top to bottom was complete. She screamed in the release of frustration as she was finally held as she was meant to be held. Penny was complete, sated, and happy. She knew her purpose in life and she was fulfilling it. No one could possibly be more satisfied than she was right then.
Stanley had felt it, too, she realized. A short distance away, he lay flat and still. The curves of his arms were barely visible from her position. “Was it glorious for you?” she whispered. Back to her, he didn’t respond. She smiled to herself, her attention span already starting to fade. A final wiggle to prove that she was completely motionless and she purred with contentment. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: This work is my own. The characters are my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, "you gotta read this" excerpts, the usual). The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic. I tend to work with size-themed fiction, which includes overwhelming control issues and outrageous differences in scale. Such disparate sizes between partners are not for everyone, so be warned.
The station manager shook Bob's hand and held the studio door for him. "We really appreciate this," he repeated as Bob walked ahead. The studio had one table/bench in the center, shaped like a 'T'. Two pairs of seats faced each other across the vertical part, the engineer's console crossed the top of the 'T'. The woman seated there nodded as Bob came in, the two male hosts stood up to shake his hand. After the welcomes, they invited him to sit. He made a joke about all the fun buttons being on their side, while privately noting that his seat was the closest to the door. A brief discussion of the show was all they had time for during the public announcement. The manager made sure everyone was ready, then returned to his office to listen to the show.
ANDY: Hi, folks, you're back on KEYE Radio, with Andy and Sandy. And as promised, we have a very unique guest today.
SANDY: Yes, we do, Andy. Our regulars may remember Sex Site week last month, where we considered and discussed a different 'alternative' sex fetish on the air each day, and invited our listeners to interact with such people on the various forums they organize.
ANDY: And boy, did you. We're still getting feedback on the feedback. You can check out links to the boards and forums our people have infiltrated on the KEYE.com website. Just click on the banner that says 'You're into WHAT?' (sound effect of a crowd gasping)
SANDY: Anyway, today a regular of one of those forums is here with us for an on-air interview. He's the only person to respond to our invitation so far, so let's give an EYE welcome to...Bob.
ANDY: Hi, Bob, welcome to the show.
BOB: Hi, Andy. Hi, Sandy.
SANDY: Bob, is 'Bob' your real name?
BOB: No, of course not. You guys encourage your audience to tease those you target as 'different.' I'm not going to give you more ammunition than I have to.
ANDY: Then why come on the show at all, Bob?
BOB: For the chance to get my side across, to answer the teasers, to show that we're not anywhere near as creepy or odd as you make us out to be.
ANDY: Fair enough, Bob. Well, let's get started. We contacted you on the Shrinking Woman Forum, is that right?
BOB: Yes.
ANDY: So, you like, I mean like-like, shrunken women, or at least the idea of a shrunken woman, as a sexual partner?
BOB: Yes.
ANDY: So I have to ask, why?
BOB: Andy, I'm guessing that between legs, ass, and breasts, you're a boob man.
ANDY: Yeah, how'd you know?
BOB: All radio talk hosts are. There're more funny euphemisms to talk about on the air: bodacious tatas, gazongas, fun bags... Anyway, why do you like boobs more than butts?
ANDY: I, uh, I dunno. I just find them more attractive.
BOB: Well, I find SWs attractive.
SANDY: Did you have a dominant mother?
BOB: Not especially.
SANDY: Do you play with Barbie dolls?
BOB: Barbie's a toy, Sandy. When the subject of sexual interest comes up, do you normally think of cold vinyl? Do your dates come with patch kits?
SANDY: WHA'?! Well, I...
ANDY: Whoa! (slide whistle sound effect) We've had our first 'blink' on the EYE this morning. And it wasn't our guest! Ha!
SANDY: Smart (bleep)er.
ANDY: Yeah, so, do you ever imagine shrunken men?
BOB: I know some gay men that have shrunken partner fantasies, but I don't.
SANDY: Do you know if they play with GI Joe?
BOB: Aha! That's your problem.
SANDY: Oh, what's that?
BOB: When you think of sex, you think of 11 inches of hard plastic.
ANDY: MAN! (slide whistle sound effect) Again! Okay, let's go to the phones. First up, we have 'Garvin' on the Southside.
GARVIN: So, Bob, you realize you're a pervert?
BOB: I don't really think so, Garvin. My interests are different than the mainstream, but-
GARVIN: Well, your fantasy isn't normal. It can never come true, can it?
BOB: Garvin, do you read Playboy?
GARVIN: Yeah.
BOB: Do you fantasize about the centerfold?
GARVIN: No!
BOB: Really? No fantasies, no conversations with coworkers about what you'd like to do with those headlights?
GARVIN: No.
BOB: Okay, I'm going to ask my hosts if they believe you.
SANDY: NOPE!
ANDY: Uh-uh. Just admit to being a Real Man, Garvin.
GARVIN: Uh, maybe a little. A daydream, you know.
BOB: Every month, 10 million men and women open Playboy and have fantasies about the centerfold. Would you agree to that?
GARVIN: I'm not sure what the circulation numbers are...
BOB: Well, would you accept 10 million readers as a round figure, for the purpose of discussion?
GARVIN: Okay.
BOB: Okay, so you think your fantasy is any more likely to come true than mine?
GARVIN: Well, it COULD.
BOB: Yeah. She's going to sleep with one fan, and your 1 chance in 10 million is significantly better than my chance of 0 in 10 million of MY fantasy coming true.
SANDY: Woohoo! (whistle) Another Blink! Okay, we're going to go to a Wonder Wanda for Traffic.
(sound of 'It's a Small World After All' playing, fades)
SANDY: AND we're back. You're listening to WEYE's morning madness. We have 'Bob', an admitted size fetishist, on the show. Next caller, you're on the EYE.
SUSAN: Hi, Andy & Sandy. This is Susan.
ANDY: Hi, Susan, how are you this morning?
SUSAN: I'm fine, I just want to ask the visitor a question.
SANDY: He can hear you, Susan, go ahead.
SUSAN: Oh. Well, I want to know, if he's not gay, why he's involved in an all-male fetish?
BOB: I'm not. My fantasies are about male and female relationships, but where one is far smaller than the other, more than humanly possible. It's not all male.
SUSAN: Oh, I'm sure it must be. What woman would subject herself, or even imagine subjecting herself, to being that much in a man's control? What would SHE get out of YOUR fetish?
BOB: Susan, do you know anyone who's had a boob job?
SUSAN: Yes.
BOB: Were they all lesbians?
SUSAN: No!
BOB: So, and I'm not trying to say this is the only reason a woman would be attracted to a shrinking woman fantasy, but your analysis is off. So, these women, who do not actually have an interest in big breasts, do it because of the men, right?
SUSAN: Well...yeah, I guess.
BOB: So, at the very least, they enjoy the attention they get from a man by catering to the man's fantasy?
SUSAN: Yes, but that's normal attention. Not weirdo stuff.
BOB: Susan, have you ever heard of a married couple acting out a rape fantasy?...... Susan?
SANDY: Susan, are you there?
SUSAN: There's nothing wrong with ACTING out the fantasy. It's ACTING.
BOB: Exactly, Susan. And sometimes women enjoy fantasizing about being the victim of rape, right? Purely hypothetically, of course. And if women can get excited about being handcuffed to bed, is it such a stretch that others could enjoy the idea of being kept in a birdcage?
ANDY: I think Susan's gone.
SANDY: I think I know more about Susan's weekend than I wanted to.
ANDY: I think that qualifies as a wink?
SANDY: I think we must indeed (whistle) count that as a wink.
ANDY: I gotta say, Bob, you're making a good case for the idea that y'all aren't so far from normal.
SANDY: No, he isn't. They're weird. Weird is weird.
ANDY: Okay, we'll get back to that later. Let's take a third caller. Hello, John from 'out by the airport, I guess,' you're on the air!
JOHN: Hey, about what that first guy said. You are a pervert. Your interests don't contribute to the survival of the species.
BOB: What's your favorite team, John?
JOHN: The Bears.
BOB: Ever watch their games?
JOHN: I watch EVERY Bears game.
BOB: Ever go to the stadium?
JOHN: I'm a season ticket holder.
BOB: Oh, wow. So, you're a virgin?
JOHN: What? (bleep) you. I'm with women all the (bleep) time.
BOB: Oh. Have sex with any of them?
JOHN: Sure as (BLEEP), I do.
BOB: So, you have an interest that takes up some amount of your time, but doesn't interfere with your ability to meet women? And I hope you use protection, but if it was your choice, you have had the opportunity to procreate? Despite having an interest in something that doesn't really contribute to the survival of the species?
JOHN: Uh, yeah.
BOB: Well, me too. I have a wife and two children. And I bowl. Golf. Take the kids to Scouting. And I spend time online at a Shrinking Woman site.
JOHN: Why you –
ANDY: Oh, I'm sorry. I went to hit the bleep button and I hung up on him. Sorry. Technical difficulties. Can't be helped.
SANDY: Let's go to commercial for a minute or two.
SANDY: Well, it's time to introduce another studio guest. Welcome back, Elsa.
ELSA: Hello.
ANDY: Bob, Elsa's a dominatrix we've had on the show a few times. Could you do us a favor and describe her to the listeners?
BOB: Okay. She's a blonde. Platinum blonde, long straight hair. She stands about 6 foot 5 if I'm any judge, and that's in 7 or 8 inch heels. Her legs are long, and show off well against her short black skirt. Her blouse does a wonderful job highlighting her bountiful womanly endowments, and her... Yes, she's turning around. Oh, my, a behind you could line up two shot glasses on and not spill a drop.
SANDY: What do you think of Elsa, Bob?
BOB: She's beautiful.
ANDY: Are you scared of her?
BOB: Why would I be?
SANDY: Well...you...small women...she's not...Oh, kiss him, Elsa.
BOB: Mmmmmm. Oh, she's a good kisser.
ANDY: Are you feeling okay, Bob?
BOB: I feel fine. Oh, was I supposed to freak? You think a fetish for small women means a phobia about tall women? You guys make a lot of assumptions. I like small women TOO, not ONLY.
SANDY: Okay. But we're going to have Elsa-
BOB: Elsa, are you a professional dominatrix?
ELSA: Yes.
BOB: Do you acknowledge safety words?
ELSA: When I give men permission to use safety words, I do.
BOB: Okay. "Safety Word."
SANDY: What?
BOB: I don't wish to play.
ANDY: You can't do that.
BOB: I just did.
SANDY: Are you wimping out?
BOB: No, I just refuse to perform on radio. I just don't want to waste air time on this. I'm not going to have an anxiety attack because a tall woman is standing next to me, which is what you expected, right? So, why waste time? Elsa, you still get charged for the whole hour. (door slams)
ANDY: Dammit.
SANDY: Okay, I've been thinking about it for an hour, and I have to say that this guy, Bob, and all his friends online, are gay.
ANDY: Oh, here we go.
BOB: What do you mean gay? I just kissed Elsa. I got hard.
SANDY: What I mean by 'gay' is that it's a jargon term. It means anyone who can't handle a real relationship with a real woman, so they invent excuses, they come up with these perversions that hide the fact they just can't handle women.
BOB: I can handle a so-called 'normal' woman. I just like tiny women, too.
SANDY: Bull(bleep). Fags can't handle women, so they hang out together and pretend they really like it. You guys can't handle the thought of a woman unless she's small enough you can be sure you'd win a fight with her.
BOB: And what about the women on the board?
SANDY: Get REAL! They're all guys, pretending, just like in the lesbian chat rooms. They're even in more denial than you are.
ANDY: (whistle) Yeah, that's finally a blink for the home team!
BOB: What? You call his being a blind bigot with sex issues a blink against me?
ANDY: I gotta call them as I see them.
SANDY: Oh, what's this?
ANDY: Is that supposed to be a shrink ray?
BOB: What are you talking about?
SANDY: Ladies and gentlemen, our guest has pulled out a ray gun-
ANDY: A pistol.
SANDY: Yeah, a hand-held ray gun, presumably a shrink ray, and is pointing it at us.
BOB: Guys, if you're going to role-play, you need to tell me beforehand. (BZZT! BZZT! BZZT!)
(Rustling sounds, microphones rubbed against cloth, collisions)
BOB: Now, what?
SANDY (tiny, high-pitched voice): Help!
ANDY (tiny, high-pitched voice): He shrank us!
BOB: You're kidding, right? I'm here to talk about shrinking WOMEN. If I were going to do anything, I'd have done it when Elsa was here. But that's a cool effect on your voices. Tiny.
SANDY (tiny, high-pitched voice): Someone! Call the cops!
BOB: Okay, I'll go along, I guess. Let's see. I guess I'd shrink the engineer, too. Not that I have anything against her, but I can't have her calling security before I get out of here, right? Okay, darling….. hey, you're kind of cute, all naked like that. But you guys… ugh. Ladies and gentlemen, if you're still on the roads, and you see the billboards for the Sandy Andy Morning Madness, please do NOT try to imagine these guys naked. Okay, I'll make a deal with you, darling. Show me how to operate your panel, and I won't take you home as a souvenir when I leave. What do I push?
(Wonder Wanda does Traffic)
tinySANDY: Help! Someone!
tinyANDY: Help! He's put us in a wastebasket! And put a microphone down by us!
BOB: Yeah, that makes sense. I'm committing what could be counted as an assault, and I want to make sure everyone hears you. You never played much D&D, did you? Your role-play has to make sense. Okay, I have three socks I've taken up off the floor. (snipping sounds) and am cutting holes in them for necks and arms. There's one for the engineer, now she's dressed, and one each for the talk hosts. Now I don't have to look at their tally whackers. Okay, if we're going to role-play, let's role-play. What am I going to do with you now?
tinyANDY: Let us go?
tinySANDY: Make us normal, THEN let us go?
BOB: You were never normal, guys. You're on AM radio. No, you've seen the site. What's a good fantasy for shrunken people?
tinyANDY: I….. I don't know.
BOB: Sure you do. But be glad I'm not into vore. Or crush. But I am into irony.
tinySANDY: What does that mean?
BOB: Well, I have a friend in town that's into being a giantess. She's into shrunken men. You never asked if I hung out on giantess forums.
tinyANDY: You're going to give us to a giantess?
BOB: I'm going to give YOU to a giantess. Who knows, you may learn to like it. See a side of yourself that you never knew about because 99.99% of your body mass was in the way.
tinySANDY: What about me?
BOB: Well, I have another friend in town, Sandy.
Remember what I said about men who are into shrunken men fantasies? How's your kung fu grip?
TinySandy: NOOOO!
The sound cut off, followed by the sound of a microphone bumping against something.
Bob: Okay, I'm going to pick up my three victims here, and shoot the room with the shrink ray a few times. It'll permanently reduce any organic matter to a tenth of a tenth of a tenth of its normal size. Good luck to the CSI types looking for DNA evidence. And I've wiped all fingerprints except on Elsa's shoulder. The engineer will grow back to her standard size in about half an hour. I'm going to leave her on the end of the table; by the time she makes it to the microphone, I'll be well out of here.
After a brief interruption for a Dunkin' Donuts commercial, the show resumed.
The manager was quite pleased with the show that morning. He'd never been entirely comfortable with the plans for using Elsa, but the guest had stood up on his own, and all of them had worked well together to ad-lib something when that segment fell through. After the commercial, there was a forbidding silence from the speaker. He smiled as he realized how "into" the role everyone was getting. Then the silence went on too long - far too long. Just as he started to stand up, a tiny, tinny voice came across. It was the engineer, Pearl, who never spoke on the microphone. She was saying, "It's real! It's for real! Help!"
He started to run for the studio, then turned to run to the lobby. The security guard's uniform was sprawled across the floor, and a tiny little man looked up from a sleeve. Outside, a car was just visible, rounding the corner towards the freeway on-ramp. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1: Pitching
Angel Little was in her carrier, waiting, when her agent arrived at the hotel. Not much of one for pleasantries, he merely made sure she was ready, then grabbed the handle and walked out.
In the car, he settled her on the seat beside him. "Okay, Angel, you're in the driver's seat for this meeting," he said with a more carnivorous smile than he usually displayed.
"How do you mean, Ray?" she asked.
"The lawsuit," he replied. "Lilliput lawyers announced this morning that they're suing most of Hollywood."
"What for?" she asked in surprise.
"Because almost every shrinking movie ever made is listed as a 'horror' movie," he explained, his smile growing wider.
"But... they are," she said slowly. "Losing size, losing control over yourself or your situation, being at someone's mercy, otherwise benign animals and situations becoming threatening – that's the essence of the horror genre."
"And a very good point that is," he replied. "If you're stopping to think about it. But on the surface, it seems to say that smaller people are just victims."
"Ah," she said, understanding.
"And Lilliputians are demanding that 'little people' be shown as 'the dynamic, contributing, positive role models that they could be' in more movies and TV shows."
"So today..." she started.
"Is your chance," he finished. Her smile grew to match his.
In the studio lot, the driver quickly found the building with the executive's offices. Ray lifted the carrier gently and walked carefully through, holding her with both hands and walking as one carrying sweaty explosives. Every single person in the offices and halls noticed his act, then noticed her. Even for an experienced movie star, the encounter was a heady one. Hordes of fans couldn't quite match the sight of a biggie doing a double-take as she floated past.
Seven men and women sat at the conference room table. Ray put the carrier down and whipped out his PDA. Angel opened the door and stepped out. There was a collective gasp as the studio people got their first direct view of a Lilliputian. She smiled and waved.
Terry Brooks, the VP for new projects, welcomed her and introduced his six producers. Ray had guessed who'd be at this meeting and was right about five of them, which raised her confidence in her agent even higher.
"So, Angel," Mr. Brooks said, "let's get started. We are very excited to be welcoming you to the network, Angel."
"That's still under discussion," Angel pointed out, as her agent grunted behind her.
"Yes, yes," Brooks agreed. "And that's what this meeting is for – to convince you we can come up with something that satisfies everyone." He made a gesture that Angel couldn't quite understand.
But then one of the producers leaned forward to pitch his idea. "Okay, it's the basic 'Odd Couple' formula. You're a business partner to this guy; you're importers. A lot of lines about shipments headed for or from Maldonado. But mostly you hang out in the office, trading quips..."
"Is this a comedy?" Angel asked. "It sounds like a comedy."
"Um, yeah," he agreed, looking around the other producers for support.
"It's just, well, I'm an action-movie star back home," she explained. "If I do a comedy, and people go looking up my backlist, they're not going to find any more comedies."
"Okay," Brooks said, gesturing to another man. He looked down to a stack of paper in front of him.
"We have this wonderful venue for you. It's a posh hotel's kitchen. You've been hired to provide authentic Lilliputian dishes for the customers. You're the Chef; you've got a sous-chef who's a midget; your garde-manger is a wacky..."
"Wacky?" she asked.
"Yeah," he replied, quietly moving the sheet of paper to the bottom of his stack. "Okay, based on the Friends formula..." He paused, flicked through the stack of papers, then shrugged and sat back.
A woman at Brooks' left leaned forward. "How are you on cop shows?"
"I've been a cop a few times," Angel allowed.
"Okay, you're a CSI investigator. In addition to being the lead inspector of an ensemble team, your special insight helps bring home the convictions."
Angel ignored Ray's subtle snort behind her. "Tell me, is my 'special insight' because evidence looks different at my size? I can see things at the crime scene that others would have to wait for the lab results for?"
"Um, yeah, you..." the woman wrote quickly in the margins.
"Or," Angel continued, "is my 'special insight' because I can see evidence that's rolled under the sofa?"
"Uh..." As her silence stretched, Brooks nodded to the next woman. He repeated that odd gesture, too.
"We have this idea of a super-hero show. Super-heroine, really. It's more of a kid's show, but it'll get you on the map. You have a headquarters in a birdhouse..."
"I can fly?" Angel asked.
"Yes, of course," the woman said, with a blink.
"What other superpowers?"
"Um, flight, super-strength – enough to slug a human onto his butt – and you can project a hologram of yourself that's human-sized, so you can have meaningful face-to-face conversations with..."
"So," Angel interrupted again, "I'm not human, but my powers are tailored to making me 'as good as' a human?"
"Um, yeah?"
"Well, don't take this wrong, but small isn't crippled. I want to take full advantage of the size difference, not explain it away or bypass it. I shouldn't have to be as strong as a human to defeat him, if I can think ahead. What if I was more like Batgirl? Lots of cool tech, but no more powerful than I already am? And maybe defeat bone-headed criminals by outsmarting them, thinking ahead, planning, preparing – that sort of thing?"
"Unfortunately, Angel," Brooks said, "that's pretty much the description of Miss Childe's vehicle we're premiering this season. Good idea, though, isn't it?" All the writers agreed that Mr. Brooks had identified a good idea when he heard it.
Someone, Angel wasn't sure if he'd gone yet or not, raised a sheet of paper for attention. "You ride an ambulance. You're mostly there for any Lilliputian casualties outside of Elf Town, but the team comes to depend on you for other things."
"Like what," she asked, interested.
"Oh," he looked down at the paper, "we have an episode where you have to rescue a Lilliputian girl from a rat trap, one where you have to drive the ambulance for a wounded colleague, holding a piece of shrapnel in place so it won't make a bigger hole or fall out, one..."
"How many where I end up covered in blood?" she asked. He glanced through.
"A few." He wouldn't look her in the eye as he said it, though. She applied a shame multiplier to the estimate.
"I'm... not sure I want to walk through or swim in puddles of blood on a weekly basis."
"Fair enough," Brooks said. "It was mainly written for a man, anyway." He pointed out another producer. Angel finally realized his gesture was twiddling a cigar. Problem was, he wasn't holding one. Either he was giving them up, or he wasn't going to subject little Miss Little to the smoke of the thing for this meeting. Whichever, she was grateful.
"Okay," the new guy said, "you're a human mom who's been shrunk by a magic spell. You have to deal with all the housewife tasks from your new, lower perspective."
"So," she said slowly, "changing a diaper, decorating a room for a birthday party, buying a baby turtle to replace one that died while the kids were at camp?"
"Hey, yeah, that's the third episode!" he said. She counted slowly under her breath.
"Look, I respect the work going on in here," she said, "but really, what I'm looking for is to capitalize on my work to date, so..."
"Frankly, Miss Little," Brooks interrupted. Angel wondered if the shift from first name to last name was as bad a sign in Hollywood as it had been back in Silrevous Harbor. "I understand your concerns, really, but it's not part of our job to sell you backlist. If that's..."
"What if it was?" Ray asked, speaking for the first time in the meeting.
"What?" Brooks asked softly.
"What if it was?" Ray tapped on his PDA and gestured towards his client. "We have the American rights to every movie Angel's ever made. We do need a distribution partner. And if Angel can find a series that builds on her career, then whoever that partner is stands to make quite a bit of profit, nu?"
Brooks stared at Ray for quite a long moment. Then he stabbed an intercom button.
"Get me Frakes and Burton," he commanded, just as Ray had predicted in the car.
Angel met with the Starlog interviewer while the next special effect was staged. The two women sat on an alien ground effect vehicle and talked about the series.
"Oh, I love it," Angel enthused. "It's a sci-fi show. I'm a captain of the Space Marines, taking a class of midshipmen on a survival exercise on a pretty rough planet. Then there's an alien invasion. So, with my experience and know-how, I have to keep the group together, dealing with the invaders, the resistance, internal strife, and the dangers of the planet itself. All the while trying to contact the Space Navy to get my class to safety. My sarge has a lot of experience, too; he's my right-hand man. We argue sometimes, but it's always clear I'm the authority."
"Do you ever need rescuing?" the human asked. Behind them, the sergeant screamed for makeup as his antenna started to droop.
"Oh, sure," Angel laughed. "My character's not perfect, but she's also not an idiot. The show's really about teamwork, about being able to depend on people for what they're good at."
"And blowing things up," the reporter added, pointing to the wires being set up for the special effect. Angel laughed in agreement.
"Does your size matter?" the reporter asked.
"Of course it matters," Angel said, with a smile. "We're hoping our viewers are smart enough to notice I'm the size of an action figure." Across the sound stage, a technician picked a Star Wars action figure out of a Tupperware tub full of the things. He fixed it in place next to the explosive and turned to the director.
"Angel's stand-in is ready!" he called out.
"But the point," Angel went on, "is that my character's noticed it, too. She doesn't demand equality. She's not equal to characters that can throw her..." A bang in the background covered the rest of her comment. Little bits of plastic hailed out of the sky. The woman from Starlog held her hand over the actress, protecting her from the debris.
"See! You're not worried about the bits of Princess Leia hitting you. Sarge sucks up damage that would destroy me. But I also get to rescue him from time to time. And I fight, I lead, I wire explosives, I settle arguments, I establish priorities, negotiate... And I trust others to do their jobs as I set them."
"Sounds like fun," the woman said. Just then, the director called for Angel. With a smile and a wave, she hopped to the ground and ran towards the scene. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1: Probability
More Disclaimer: This work is my own. The characters are my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual). The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic. I tend to work with size-themed fiction, which includes overwhelming control issues and outrageous differences in scale. Such disparate sizes between partners are not for everyone, so be warned.
Dear Diary,
Today, I was getting high while T-Bone was doing his physics homework. He talked about probability waves. I've never understood him before, but this stuff Gozer came up with is like really mind-expanding. I gotta get some more before I retake English. I think with a little work, I could really understand Shakespeare, even with all the thees and thous and everything. But T-Bone says that we're all of us, down to the atoms and Adam's ants in our hands, not real. Not the way we think of hard enough to stub your toe reality. It's like chaos is leaning towards something being real. It's just a statistical chance that I have blonde hair instead of blonde scales. You know?
And the more I sucked on the bong, the clearer it got. Like The Matrix. I could see this huge spreadsheet, Excel, Office 97. And every single particle in the whole freaking universe has a cell. And if you knew the place to enter the numbers, you could change the probability of anything. Everything. Like... wow. So I was just contemplating the numbers, you know? I wasn't going to change anything. That's not my style. Live and let headstand, man, that's me.
Then his girlfriend came in. I was minding my own business, watching the colors of the cells drift through the rainbow, when she's suddenly in my face, screaming. Mad about how her boyfriend's giggling because of all the grass smoke in the room. He's not smoking, but he could still pop positive on a urine test. "Urine trouble now!" I said. I think I laughed. I didn't want to, but it was so appropriate. Then she... I did say she was a bitch, right? Well, now you'll see that she is. The bitch slapped me. Hard. And she's an athlete! Her volleyball scholarship is twice my math one. It hurt. Lucky for me, whatever else Gozer put into the mix, it's like bulletproof painkillers. My head spun around three times and bounced off the wall, and I pulled it back in place and laughed at Betty Bitch. Actually, her name is Frieda, and she's about as much fun as an attack dog. But Betty Bitch just rolls off the tongue. Betty Bitch... Betty Bitch... see?
And that's when I saw it. Her cell. The spot on the spreadsheet that was her number was right over her big bruiser's shoulder. I tweaked it. Knock her down a notch, I thought. If she wasn't so big, maybe she'd be more friendly. Maybe her size? Maybe her mass makes it harder to get high. She'd appreciate it if she could get really high on only a little bit. T-Bone laughed at my laughter, which made me laugh, and she stormed out of the room. So we went to Mickey D's. Now it's 3 AM. I'm writing all this down so when we sober up, we'll know what I did and why Frieda's smaller and friendlier and more approachable with weed. And more friendly. Also, memo to me, high me shouldn't go back to the Mickey D's on Campus for a while. I'd tell you why, but I think you'll figure it out when Mom calls about the hooker on the credit card bill. Oops.
Dear Diary,
Frieda is a bit nicer, but that's probably a coincidence. She's still a long drink of water, and she still breezes into the room like she lives here. But she just sympathized with T-Bone, who woke up wearing a toilet seat as a horse collar. And she only giggled when she saw me. I dropped T's reins and walked to the bathroom with some shreds of dignity. Of course, everyone in the lounge cheered and congratulated me for five minutes before telling me I was wearing a bra and nothing else. I checked yesterday to see if drunk me left sober me a note. Found out I wasn't drunk. High. Very high. But maybe I was so high I had access to a higher power? I asked Frieda how tall she was. "Why?" "Just... I had a dream last night that you had dropped to exactly six feet tall." "I'm only six feet tall, moron." Okay, only a bit nicer bitch. She wasn't hitting me, anyway. "No... No, you used to be six feet, three-quarters of an inch. T-Bone's locker combination. Six and seven five. The 'point' is silent." "Dude," T groaned from his bed. "My combination's six oh oh. Because she's exactly six point zero zero zero feet tall." "Huh," I said. I dropped down onto my bed and looked at her. Really, really looked at her. Well, past her, over her shoulder for the cell. She watched me try to focus, turned her head, and walked out. I was still looking for the cell.
Dear Diary,
It's a week later, and Frieda insists she's only ever been five eleven. She said that "I need to measure you" is about the creepiest come-on she's ever heard, especially since her boyfriend was in the room. I mumbled something about a running dream and went to look for Gozer. Gozer's gone. Gone, gone, gone. Gone, Gozer, gone. Gozer sold some weed to a customer within 100 yards of a high school the customer was playing hooky from. And he copped a feel. On the Sheriff's juvie daughter. In front of a 60 Minutes camera crew. I tried to ask him what all went into the special bag he sold me, but he didn't want to talk about drugs on the phone. He did ask me to tape the 60 Minutes episode when it's on. I'll recognize him because he signed the release. "I'll be on TV, bro!"
So... no more magically enhanced weed. No more access to the great spreadsheet in the sky. No super mystical CNTL-Z button on the menu. I'm starting to worry.
Dear Diary,
Frieda is five foot four. I asked how someone five four got a volleyball scholarship. She thought I was attacking women's sports. And T-Bone pointed out that she's way, way super tall... for a woman. For a woman... Oh-oh, I thought. I remember thinking exactly that. And I was right. I checked out the campus. Every woman's shorter. I only see my English prof's boobs when she's not standing behind her lectern. She used to jiggle them ever so slightly to get the guys to wake up. Now she nonchalantly steps out into the clear, and shakes. Pretty, but they're no longer as awesome as they used to be. More depressing news at cheerleader practice. The cheerleaders' jumps only go over the mascot's head if he ducks. And he always ducks. He's trained to it, part of the routine. He agrees with me, that it would be cool if they could get girls more than four feet tall to try out. "But where you gonna get them, man? Genetics lab?" I am so screwed. We all are, man.
Dear Diary,
I was assigned a woman today. Marcia. Seems that the front office 'finally' noticed that I didn't have a woman to sponsor. Marcia's last sponsor kept dropping things on her head, so she asked for a transfer. "I don't know why you're still available," the counselor told me. She jumped down from her chair to scurry over to the file cabinet and climbed a ladder to get my file and then did everything in reverse. It was weird. I mean, she's not a midget. Or dwarf or whatever you're supposed to call people that small. Her proportions are the same as they ever were. She just stands about three feet tall. And all the ladders come with the file cabinets, they're intrinsic. Part of the design. And these ARE the same old file cabinets that the school administration has been using for the last seventy hundred years. They've just been rigged for tiny women for seventy hundred years. That's why there are sponsors. Marcia's a teeny bit under three feet tall. She can reach stuff in the women's dorm fine, but she needs a protector to help her with the rest of the world. The handicap act that puts ramps everywhere also puts redundant doorknobs down where women can reach them. Extra buttons on the elevators and stuff. But the textbooks are still the same size. Marcia can barely manhandle her laptop to class; she needs help with her books and folders and projects. They have to be big because the faculty is about 99% male. My English prof is a Brit poof. I don't know where Mrs. McShake went. Marcia says she wants to be a math teacher when she graduates. She can go on for hours about how exciting a time this is, when men are starting to allow women into the men-dominated fields. "Like what?" I asked the first time I carried her home from class. I put her books in my bag, and let her ride on my shoulders. "What? Like, like EVERYTHING!" she squeaked. "It's a man's world, and everything in it!" She got... excited. I could feel it, her little panties bunching up against my neck, getting moist. She's something of a woman's rights activist, I found out. The whole idea of 'augmented equality' as they call it gets her hot like nothing else. She ground herself against my spine as she went on and on about women doctors and women drivers and women owning property and women picking their own mates instead of it being arranged, and women nurses and women bakers and... and all that. Hotter and hotter, stronger and stronger. Oh, man. It was as close as I'd gotten to a woman's snatch since the Change, and I couldn't touch it. Not in any way. The paperwork for being a sponsor spent two pages on my duties and seven pages on what they would cut off of me if I so much as hinted that I wanted to sit at a bench, lift her into my lap, and strip her down to good intentions and a smile. But even then, I'd probably hurt her. She's a little slip of a thing. Hot, though. Damn, I wish I'd sponsored her before the Augmentation Act. Wait, what am I saying? There was no BEFORE the Augmentation Act. Just... sort of an 'instead.'
So, so very screwed. Oh, and Frieda's gone. I don't know where. T-Bone has no idea who I'm talking about.
Dear Diary,
I woke up this morning with something squirming in bed beside me. Little hands snaked under the covers to find my morning wood. Oh, that felt good. She got a double-fisted grip and started to pump me off. All before I opened my eyes. Then I realized who had to be doing this to me. And what they'd do if they found Marcia in my room, much less in bed, and far, far less committing acts of sexual congress! I yelled and pulled away. The covers flew, and Marcia looked up at me in shock and dismay. Hurt, I'd really hurt her. She thought she was doing what I had told her to do. "What's wrong?" T asked from the other bed. His voice wasn't normal, though. I looked and saw why. Right then, Frieda was sucking on the end of T's boner. She was going a mile a minute, working both hands on him. And she clearly had no gag reflex. And a bright golden collar sparkled on her neck. So, Frieda's back. She's two feet tall. Same as Marcia. They share a playpen during the day. At night... Well, things are different. Way different. There's no Augmentation Act. No Augmentation. Women aren't teachers. Anywhere. And they don't play professional sports. They're pets. Marcia's collar is silver. They don't wear clothes. They don't have any ambitions. They're quite content to wait for us to pay attention to them or give them something to do. I, uh... Diary, I miss the bitch. I really do. But Marcia made a whimpering sound and tugged at my leg hairs. I lay down and let her onto my lap. She's... well, she's accomplished at getting me off. I came right in her face. She giggled, but it sounded forced. She asked why I hadn't sounded the code word. I took her to the bathroom to wash off. She seemed pleasantly surprised I took her into the shower stall with me. Apparently, she usually idles in the deep sink while I shower. And she was so happy I let her under the hot water... Well, she remains accomplished.
Dear Diary,
The bitch is back! Sort of. Not all the way. But she's not too obedient. T still owns her. But she's his prize tabletop volleyball champion. These days, women's athletics are something like a cross between handicapped Olympics and a pet show. They have scaled-down tracks and tiny basketball courts and little arenas... All for women about ten inches tall. Frieda's a giant at eleven point seven. T's spent years getting Frieda into top form. And he indulges her. I don't think he's ever punished her, either for disobedience or insolence or defiance. So she tends to swagger a bit. And she's not about to take any shit from nobody. I was glad to see her. It was like maybe there's hope to get things back to normal on the other side of wherever we're headed. The universe hasn't forgotten what Frieda's really like. So I was treating her like a touchstone, a talisman. A good luck charm. I kept petting her and poking her. And she'd snap at me, and I'd giggle, and I'd poke at her again. Marcia thought I was displeased with her, though. I was paying attention to T's woman, not mine. In fact, Frieda even pointed that out to me. That made me sad again, but I picked up Marcia and made it up to her. Turns out I'd promised to take her out for ice cream, so we went. The world, in any sense that matters, is one hundred percent male. Male workers, male leaders, male sports, male... Well, you get the idea. ESPN23 was on when we got to the parlor. The racing, automotive, gas-powered channel. I watched as Marcia scooped away at our bowl of ice cream. Women showed up from time to time. When a guy got a trophy, something cute would be riding the champagne bottle before he opened it. They delivered straight lines on the commercials. They all played it as dumb tiny blondes. Almost ventriloquist dummies. I did know that the only thing I'd changed was scale. I hadn't made half the human race idiots. So the only thing I can think of is that we've just trained them to act stupid. Or like we did so many blondes back on my home world, we just made sure they never had to think, so they never learned how. Oh... Oh, God! I just realized. HALF the human race! Where do little boys come from?
Dear Diary,
It's a little later. I haven't doomed the race to extinction. There are still babies made and 'mostly' in the same old way. Men's... well, men's plumbing hasn't changed. Our seed is accepted by the tiny tiny women. They conceive. Inside. But almost immediately, the 'egg' comes out. Then you have to scoop it up and put it in something to protect it. Like an aquarium.
Some people swear by pure water, some think a child's development is better in a saline solution, some have family recipes. Well, if it's a girl, it turns into a tiny egg that hatches a tiny girl. If it's a boy, it grows as big as a goose and hatches into a baby boy. And you deliver him to the orphanage. Well, no, they call it something else - a crèche. Same thing. Lots of boys growing up in a horde, barely housebroken, lightly civilized. Like me. I mean, I remember Mom and Dad, but I only have pictures of my graduating class at the crèche, and some of my favorite facilitators.
Marcia rode on my shoulder as I was doing all this research. "Did you get an assignment that I didn't notice you getting assigned to?" she asked. "I mean, even dumb bunny Marcia knows where babies come from." "No! No, Marcia! You're not dumb! You're smart enough to go to college! You were going to teach math!" "Ooooooh, right!" she said. "I can see that. One," she counted, poking my cheek. I think she was counting freckles. "Two. More. Many. Lots!" She smiled proudly. "I did good?" she asked. I sighed. "Yes, Marcia. Yes, you did good. You did great. Let's go get some ice cream." "Again?! YAY!"
Dear Diary,
Today I looked at my blood in a microscope. I saw Marcia. Well, I saw lots of tiny women swimming through the plasma. They all resembled my former pet. We live in a symbiotic relationship. They course through our veins, eating infections, fighting cancer with little bone knives (their bones, not mine - generations of tiny women provide the raw materials for future generations), fixing what's broken, generally. The ones that cycle through my testicles come away pregnant. More symbiotes, all genetically similar to what they refer to as my 'wife.' That's Marcia. The template of my life partner. And one pregnancy in about a billion, they say, is a boy. I'll wake up one morning with a tiny thing, a little cell like a fish egg, lodged in my underwear. If I notice it, I can save it and contribute offspring to the crèche. There are special briefs you can wear to improve your chances of catching a kid.
There's no way to communicate with Marcia, though. And her... their world is so different from ours, what would the point even be? T-Bone was surprised that I named my 'wife' Marcia. He thought about his partner. "Betty," he said. "I'll call her Betty." "How about Frieda?" I asked. "No. That's a name you give a mare. Betty," he insisted. "Like my first gerbil." I... I don't remember a lot after that. I started to get drunk. Then I realized that I was going to be hurting Marcia with that in my system. So I stopped. Then I thought that the Marcia I'd known would rather die than live as my immunity system. So I drank again. I went... I went blitzo gobangi, I think. I recall running through a Chinese New Year parade. But that only happens in movies, so maybe I ran through a movie. There was a moose. And... Aw, what the hell. That world's gone, now.
I reached a state - mental or emotional or hallucinatory, I don't know. I found the spreadsheet. But I didn't have Frieda. I didn't have her shoulder, no way to tell which cell was hers! I wandered around for a while, looking at the numbers, trying to remember which one I'd changed. It was hopeless. Then I tripped over something and fell. I fell all the way down to the taskbar and hit my chin on the UNDO button. I cried, then. Cried about all the lost Friedas and Marcias and Moms and even Dad. I had a dad, but I'd never... Oh, sure, Diary. You know what happened next. You're not as depressed as I was. Or as drunk.
I would like to say I spun around in sudden surmise. But no. I started punching my fists on the walls. I remember thinking that the Marcias in my fists were getting hurt, but by then they were probably subnuclear. So I cried out and hit harder. I hit the UNDO by accident. Then I woke up. I was in the drunk tank. Again. I stood up, and sat back down quickly. Then it was either too quickly or not quickly enough, as I had to barf. Once that was done, I went and found my brick. There were four scratches on my brick. I used my fingernail to cross those four with a flat, making a five. Then there was nothing to do but not throw up on the tough guys.
Frieda came to bail me out. "Oh, Johnny, we've been looking everywhere for you!" she cried as they let me out. She even hugged me. I remember reaching up to hug her back. Then raising a hand higher. She was taller than I was. Yay. "Why are you bailing me out?" I asked. "Well, I'd be pretty ungrateful if I didn't!" she said, surprised. Then she focused on my eyes. "You don't remember." "I think I'd remember if I forgot something," I said. It got a laugh. "You got Thomas drunk." "And you're... happy?" "Well, you were both blitzed." She turned me around and started walking me out of the police station. "Then he decided to drive somewhere. You stopped him. You swallowed the car keys to keep him from driving drunk."
Frieda put her head briefly on my shoulder. She had to crouch to do that, and she was still holding me vertical. But she's an athlete, and she never gives up when she wants to do something. T-Bone's car was out front. T-Bone was curled up in the back, looking half dead. Frieda eased me into the back seat, then started driving. I waited for my eyes to stop spinning. That's when Frieda introduced the woman in the passenger seat. Her new roommate. Oh, of course you know who it was, don't you? Don't act superior, diary. It's easy because I set it up for you. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: books
Chapter 1: Rules for Attending Professora Lestafaedil's Lilliputian Literature Lessons in Lecture
The Professora has been teaching in a human university for several years. Each year, she has had a list of rules and expectations printed as handouts for students. The handout grows with each year and lessons she has learned from trying to teach biggies about the writing of her homeland. This year, she has acquired tenure. The tone of the handout has changed dramatically.
1. Be prepared for the lecture. Lists of upcoming topics are available in the classroom and online. Read ahead.
2. With the Lilliputian attention span being what it is, our novels read like comic books to you. There is no reason not to be fully prepared.
3. Bring note-taking materials with you.
4. Do not whisper in class, as your quietest voice actually competes with my lecture.
5. Refrain from tossing paper airplanes at the podium, especially if they weigh more than the Professora.
6. While most human foundation garments resemble emergency igloos rather than underclothes to me, do not refer to me as a member of the "ittie bittie tittie committee".
7. Do not address me as "little one", and I will not refer to you as "failing one".
8. No matter how well you did on the exam, there will be no victory dances within twenty feet of the podium.
9. Do not use Candy Land playing pieces as stand-ins for missing students. I am able to tell the difference.
10. Do not drink carbonated beverages for up to 20 minutes prior to a private meeting with me. If I wanted to know the conditions inside your digestive tract, I would rent diving equipment.
11. I will not participate in a puppet or marionette show for a fundraiser. Do not ask. Really.
12. The person who staged a Barbie with her hand out, holding a sign saying "you must be this tall to teach literature", had better be sure they are never identified.
13. Do not search the podium for hidden tunnels.
14. Do not ask to date after the class, semester, or your graduation. You are not my type.
15. Neither is your GI Joe.
16. Athletic scholarship students cannot flex their pecs to impress me out of a failing grade. Imagine a side of beef in a bikini undulating sensuously over your head...
17. Similarly, students showing enough cleavage for me to inhabit are not going to raise my opinion of them.
18. Good hygiene is mandatory in my class. Just imagine sniffing Lady Liberty's armpit and shower accordingly.
19. I have an open door policy. It is located in the department staff room, in the back, beneath the stairs, under the water fountain, cut into the wainscoting, looking like a cartoon mouse door.
20. Hard copy papers will be submitted in folders or paper-clipped together. Points will be taken off for papers marred by the acetylene torch I use as a staple remover.
21. Lilliputians are small, but that doesn't mean we have a "shallow gene pool".
22. The "Chipmunk Song" is to be used in moderation.
23. Ditto the "Hamster Dance". If you think my voice is annoyingly high, remember that I have access to helium and I'm willing to use it.
24. The microphone and speakers in the lecture hall are among the most advanced sound systems on the planet. Bringing in baby monitors is an insult to the sound engineers and the height-challenged, and to your grade point average, smartass.
25. There is no new short joke under the sun. Trust me.
26. Do not use the term "elf" to refer to Lilliputians. We don't work for Santa, and our ears aren't pointed. It is a bit of a racist term.
27. And before you ask, "biggie" isn't a racist term for humans. It's descriptive; you guys are freaking huge. We do have racist terms for you, but they won't be part of my instruction.
28. Do not tick me off to learn Lilliputian swear words.
29. It won't work; ladies do not swear.
30. Besides, I swear in Fuscan, and you'll never catch the words.
31. There will be no food in my lecture hall. I know the university policy allows it, but I do not.
32. For one thing, people are always offering me scraps, as if I just live for food wiped off your lips or crumbs shaken from your sweater.
33. For another, when you chew, you look like a washing machine processing a restaurant dumpster.
34. I have never had to dial 911 for a child-proofed cap. This rumor appears every semester and is completely wrong.
35. Campus Security was more than adequate to the task.
36. I don't care what your explanation is; if I hear "pull my finger" in the lecture hall, you will be summarily dismissed from the class.
37. It's not a matter of vulgarity. Consider my size with respect to a mine canary.
38. Be advised that leaving copies of "The Incredible Shrinking Woman" on my podium qualifies as dispersal of Hate Literature.
39. Well, I haven't convinced Campus Security of that yet, but I am working on it. It will make me very cross, though.
40. The following is a list of things that absolutely cannot be brought into or discussed during class hours. This list should not be considered complete.
The list includes:
1. Shrunken Heads
2. Shrinking Violets
3. Tiny Toons
4. My Little Pony
5. Bonsai trees (with or without matching gardening tools)
6. Small Claims Court
7. "It's a Small World"
8. Anything from Brobdingnag
9. Microscopes
10. Magnifying glass
11. Anything "travel-sized"
12. My ex-husband (unless delivered in a bird cage, thank you)
13. And that would be the only acceptable reason to bring such a cage into the classroom. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: television
Chapter 1
She cried, the first time I bathed her.. I told her to lay back, relax, leave everything to me.. I tried to be reassuring.. She covered her face with those ghastly hands and quivered, trembled in the pot.. The lightest touch, gentlest stroke caused more tears.. But it's not like I could just let her alone.. I'm the last person in the world you'd expect to find an Earthling.. I'm SID, and Little People are a big part of our mission statement, but I'm not a field agent, I'm an accountant.. Yeah, I do the accounts for the archives.. I can't get extra cash by claiming we've found a terrorist cell, a grass roots movement or a scientific breakthrough.. Just records, trend analysis, mad scientist lairs and uncovered caches.. Other agents actually ferret out the criminals, the treason, the Little People.. Agents like my brother.. He called me one night.. There had been a sighting, a spaceship falling to Earth.. "I need you to look around the north side of Forrest Mountain," he said.. "Why the north side?"
"That's the only side that hasn't been searched.. "
"Why ME?" I pressed.. "I'm not a field agent.. "
"No, but the agents have another priority.. This is just a follow-up.. I need your help, Asertanley.. "
"You only call me Asertanley when you're cheating at something," I said.. "Okay, TANLEY," he growled.. "I'm on a stakeout that could be a major bust against 3rdNation Radicals.. Just wander around out there and keep track of where you're at.. "
"This stakeout...does it involve liquor, women or gambling?" I asked.. "I don't drink on duty," he said primly.. Leaving the other two possibilities untouched.. I snorted and agreed.. I'm just down the road from Forrest Mountain, so I drove over after breakfast, while lunch cooked in the longpot.. The first thing I saw was two foxes slinking through the woods.. I knew if there were Little People in the area, they'd be very lucky to live long enough to be taken into custody.. So I wasn't expecting to find anything, anyone, one way or another.. My main concern that day was being able to accurately map my search area.. I followed a handy trail that paralleled a ridge, eyes scanning left to right.. Another fox was startled by my walk and a snake or two.. Really not good recovery conditions.. So it was with low expectations that I tripped and fell over a spaceship.. I was stepping over a rotting log when my foot slipped.. My heel whanged off of something metal and then I fell.. Face-down on the ground, my eyes were about six inches away from an open hatch on the side of one of the Earthling's luxury transports.. And a woman was staring out at me.. She didn't look happy, but she didn't run away.. I lifted myself up on my elbows.. "You have to come with me," I said.. She raised her hands and I noticed they were covered with bloody bandages.. "Please," she said.. "Please take me.. "
Karen Nora Price was taken into SID custody at 10:93 a.. m.. The agent in charge of the search reported that she was fully cooperative.. ----------
I put her in my pocket and the spaceship in my truck.. She was the only living Earthling on or around the ship.. I marked the location carefully on my map, for a followup to my followup.. I didn't think they'd survive long without their shelter, but SID rules are very clear.. The tech was going back.. Karen was another story.. I got home just as the longpot finished the stew.. I fished a bit of meat out and separated the softened fibers.. She watched patiently.. Both of her hands had been burned in the crash, so I had to feed her.. I teased a morsel clear and dangled it in front of her face.. Tears welled in her eyes, but she ate ravenously.. "Thanks," she said between bites.. "I've, uh.. I haven't been able to... Well, the guys were taking care of me.. But they went out to find food and.... "They were probably caught by some of the other searching agents," I assured her.. She smiled slightly.. I don't think she believed me, but she accepted the story.. When she was fed she lay back while I ate.. Then I found a little dish to make a potty out of and teased her pants off.. It was a little humiliating for both of us, but she was pretty desperate by then.. Wiping her off after made her burst into tears.. The other Earthlings had dressed her in a set of sweats that were too big for her by a couple of sizes.. That made it easier for them to help her.. And it made it really easy for me.. Just, you know, humiliating as I said.. I tried to talk to her, to distract her.. But she only gave terse answers.. I guess getting your ass wiped with fingers bigger than your leg is more distracting than your name, your profession and what technology you can offer SID engineers.. She wasn't able to talk at all while I replaced her bandages.. I had grandpa's jeweler's loupe and great-grandmother's dental tools but it was slow work.. She cooperated, sitting as still as possible, but it clearly hurt.. And having a doctor bigger than a house pick at your wounds with steel spikes can't be relaxing.. I didn't have any Earth made bandages, and the first aid kits were in a cabinet on the spaceship that neither of us could reach.. I looked around and found that the caps from tubes of disinfectant crème cupped her hands almost perfectly.. I filled them with liquid skin and taped them to her wrists.. She gave one gasp and looked, really looked at me for the first time.. She'd been staring at my hands like they were individuals.. I suspect it's easier for Earthlings to look on our hands as big pink crabs than to try to contemplate just how gigantic we are.. Anyway, the skin started to bubble on contact, foaming before I applied the medical tape.. I know it itched for a second or two, but then cooled the nerves.. Karen looked up as the pain subsided.. "Thank you, Stan.. "
I ran water for a bath after that.. She'd been alone in the ship for a long, long time.. Even she agreed she needed a bath, and that she needed to be bathed.. But getting undressed again, before a big menacing stranger, that was difficult.. She wasn't allowed to pause, though.. Her clothes were peeled off and set aside in soapy water.. And only part of her stink went with them.. I found her coloring curious.. I'd expected to find tan lines where her skin was more natural, but there weren't any.. She really was the color of tea poured onto Valley City porcelain.. She was shaved of body hair, in the Earthling fashion, which made a close examination much easier.. Her tears broke off as she opened her eyes for a quick peek then shrieked.. "Sorry," I said.. "Before I wash you, I wanted to be sure I wasn't going to rip out any odd piercings.. "
"Nothing like that," she said.. Her hands had started to cover herself, floated aimlessly, then lifted up out of my way.. "I do..." She swallowed.. "I do appreciate this.. But it's still... Like rape.. "
"I understand," I said.. "So.. What does a personal shopper do?" She explained and it seemed quite an odd profession.. I didn't know anyone that would avail themselves of the help.. But Earthlings, huh? Who knows why they do half of what they are reported to do.. "What's going to happen to me?" she finally asked.. I had rinsed her off and was drying her off.. "Well, you're half-starved and helpless.. Disoriented, afraid and pretty pitiful.. Just the sort of person SID likes to interrogate.. "
"But I don't know anything!" she protested.. "I know," I said.. "But maybe you just don't know what we'd find interesting that you DO know.. " SID always had a use for Little People.. If only to threaten them and get other Earthlings to cooperate.. But I didn't tell her that.. ---------
They were happy enough with the spaceship.. There was no weaponry, but some of the engine profiles seemed updated past anything in the files.. Karen.... My brother, Eechentsy, glanced over her and nodded.. We went to see his supervisor.. I described how I found her, and how I'd treated her hands.. And we explained just how shallow her knowledge of Earthtech was.. "Earthtech?" Supervisor asked.. (I wasn't introduced.. Agents at certain levels of authority stopped having names until they advanced or were demoted to less sensitive positions.. )
"That's how she put it.. "
"So it's an Earthism," he asked, firing a suspicious glance at me.. "Yes, sir.. Sorry, sir.. It'll never happen again.. "
"Sorry," Karen said.. He ignored her, though my brother gave her a nod.. "Well, if what you say is true," Supervisor said.. to me, "she's not worth much hassle.. I suppose if we left her with you, she'd still technically be in SID custody.. "
"If what she says is true," I gently corrected.. He nodded and lifted something out of his desk drawer.. "Place her on the desk.. " He tapped a spot and put a box down next to it.. I was just about to offer Karen a reassuring nod, but then I remembered where I was.. SID was not interested in reassuring the Little People.. I put her down and watched as Supervisor put a glass dome over her.. It looked like it was off a cheese tray.. There was one hole drilled into it.. She looked at that with anxiety.. Her face glanced up at mine.. I tried not to give her a look, anything that might bother Supervisor.. He pulled a powder puffer out of the box and put the mouth in the hole.. He squeezed it and a greenish-pink cloud filled the area under the dome.. Karen coughed a bit, then suddenly stopped.. She stood still, loose but still awake.. "She can't lie, now," Eech said.. I watched as he put in a different puffer and sucked the smoke out.. Karen never moved, even after he lifted the dome and replaced it in his box.. "What is your name?" he asked Karen.. "Karen Nora Price," she said in a monotone.. "And what is your profession?"
"I'm a personal shopper.. " She had to explain that to him.. It took a while.. He finally nodded.. "Earth decadence," he said dismissively.. He asked a few questions about her education and her job.. "She's cute," he finally judged.. "But she's not terribly smart.. "
"I'm the best personal shopper Hugg and Florence has ever had.. " It sounded like a boast, or it might have, without the monotone delivery.. But she was still under the influence.. .. He made a dismissive gesture, then leaned back.. "Yes, well, there's nothing there that'll help the Directorate.. Supervisor gestured, dismissing Karen.. "Take her.. " He assumed a formal tone.. "SID places this Earthling in your custody, charging you with her.. You will produce her if and when requested.. " More brushing movements.. I pocketed Karen and acknowledged my orders.. ------------
I took her everywhere with me.. I had to.. She could do nothing without me, not with her hands soaking in a new layer of skin.. And I couldn't... I couldn't stand to leave her alone for even a second.. First thing, she wanted to improve my wardrobe.. I took her out to the shops and she took over.. At first the sales ladies thought it was cute how she ordered me around.. But the first time I came out of the changing room, they nodded at the suit.. The selection fit me, they said.. And they started listening to Karen.. It was odd, kinda.. No one had ever complimented my clothing before.. Now they noticed what I chose and how I wore it.. It got so where I couldn't get to work in the morning without her verbally laying out my suit for the day.. Work changed.. She lived on my desk as I worked numbers each day.. Guys teased as I asked THEM to leave the room so Karen could use the potty.. But she quickly charmed them and they stopped resenting my protecting a Little Person's privacy.. As much as I could, that is.. The guys even went out and bought a screen I could close around my desk as necessary.. And we watched TV and I explained jokes and she described movies and shows from Earth.. All decadent, of course, but long and involved narratives.. I saw that she was becoming very dependent on me.. Even beyond the physical restraints of her condition.. We term it the 'grooming leash.. ' A man can own a horse, the stable it lives, the track it runs on and the jockey it carries.. But it's the lowly stablehand that gives the horse oats each day and mucks the stable and brushes his sides.. When you do that much for people, they stop treating your relationship as it should be and... They take emotional shortcuts.. The information sources in the jails come to depend on the torturer.. Sure, he hurts them, but he's also the one that decides when to stop.. And when they eat.. Sleep.. He runs their whole life.. The day came that I untaped Karen's covers and she didn't think her hands looked 'gross to the max.. ' She went potty by herself that day.. And she fed herself.. But she didn't want to bathe herself.. "I kinda like just laying back and letting you have your hygiene way with me," she said.. "Ah.. That's not really.... healthy.. "
"Yeah," she sighed.. "But Stockholm's only a problem when you return to your...real life.. " She waved her hand, indicating the entire planet.. "That's not much of a risk, is it? So? Please? Make me clean, Stan?"
"How can I refuse such a plea," I said.. And picked her up to lower her into the water.. She took up sculpture about then.. Something she'd always wanted to do.. Metal and plastics, wires and other media.. I made her a little portable studio.. She'd work on designs and build stuff.. Mostly rather ugly paperweights, but I and the guys always accepted them graciously and put them somewhere prominent on our desks.. It kept her quite occupied if I was busy, but didn't take her out of my reach if I needed her.. I mean, if she needed me.. I couldn't get any power tools in her size, of course, but I did teach her how to use the cutting pen.. She didn't believe me at first.. I used a pencil and a ruler to draw a line across a little plate of scrap metal.. Then etched the cutter stylus down the line.. We sat and watched the metal start to glow then shine.. "The chemicals in the pen react with air to.. .. Oh, I don't understand what all it does," I told her.. Her eyes were bright as she stared at the line.. "What matters is..."
When the glow faded, I picked it up and easily snapped the metal into two pieces.. "Ooooh, BABY!" she whispered.. Soon after she started making sculptures, she started exploring ways to make her own paints, glazes and decorations.. There was no chemical she wouldn’t take into her studio to see 'what could come of it.. '
And that was our life.. For about a year.. Very pleasant custody of an enemy to the state.. In fact, one of the guys teased her by saying I should try to capture a Little Man to join her in her little studio.. Karen drew herself up into a haughty, straight line.. "Two's custody," she said primly.. "Three's a crowd.. "
As time went on, her little studio got more and more cozy..
Eventually she made herself an icebox, a bathroom, a firmer bed... I realized she had everything she needed for a night and decided she didn't need to sleep within arm's reach.. So as bedtime I asked where she wanted the studio left for the night.. She stared, her eyebrows trying to hide somewhere in her hair.. I explained my realization.. And how she didn't have to sleep next to my bed.. Not really.. "And where would you like it?"
"Where it fucking belongs," she finally said.. "Right where I can keep an eye on you.. "
"Okay, you're forgetting who's protecting whom,but I understand.. Let's go to bed, okay?"
"Damn straight.. " Then we laughed together as I carried her to the bedroom.. --------
About six months after she came into my custody, my brother stopped by.. He showed up about dinner time and sat down with me.. I scooped a bowl for him and we ate.. "What is this?"
"Chili!" Karen said in a chipper voice.. She likes Eech.. He's rather indulgent of my custody of her and he was part of the effort to keep her out of the Earthling kennels.. She started telling him what was in the food, and what substitutions she had to make.. "...and of course you don't really have chilis on the plant, not real ones, or at least not that Stan can find, so we experimented with lots of different flavorants.. Some were pretty gross, but the others..."
"That's a fine grasp on the scientific method for an airhead," he said in a dangerous tone.. She shut up and covered her mouth with both hands.. He smiled, sudden and forced.. "Sorry.. SID.. We're naturally suspicious.. "
"My dad said the scientific method is throwing stuff on the wall to see what sticks," she said quietly.. "Even I can do that.. "
"Yes, you can," he said.. "But I'd recommend changing it to luck.. Lots of luck.. 'We tried the cadedda root and got lucky.. ' That sort of thing.. Just to avoid suspicious bastards like me.. "
"Yes, Icky.. Thanks, Icky.. " She was quiet after that.. It was a pleasant visit, after that little bit of drama.. When he was leaving, he dropped something into my kitchen junk drawer.. I didn't notice, but it's hard to slip stuff like that past Karen.. What's a surreptitious drop of a tiny case to us is a 50-gallon drum bouncing out of a pickup to her.. "What's that?" she asked.. Her voice oozed innocence, alerting me to her interest.. "Oh, uh..." I reached for it and he snatched it back up.. "It's part of an investigation I'm working on.. Evidence.. I don't want to turn it in just yet, but I can't leave it at home.. "
"Are bad people going to look for it here?" she asked.. I was still playing catch-up, wondering who Eech was worried about in his chain of command.. "They've... I think people have been in my place," he admitted.. "But their searches are going to be restricted to my car, my office, my home, not an accountant's.. "
"Okay," I said with a shrug.. Karen opened her little mouth to argue with me.. I spoke a little more forcefully, not quite ordering her to obey my decision.. "Whatever we can do to help SID interests.. " Her mouth clapped shut in an instant.. He nodded, handing the small metal cylinder over.. After he left I moved it to one of my little hiding places.. Karen didn't know where to start.. "Why do you have a pooka?"
"Everyone does," I said.. "Everyone's got something they hide from everyone else.. "
"From SID?"
"Or enemies of SID.. " I shrugged.. It was life on my planet.. OUR planet, now.. "Well, what is it? Is it dangerous? I mean, not only from the targets of his investigation, but is it dangerous just to be in the house with it?"
"He didn't tell me, I didn't ask.. "
"You should have!" She seemed very riled.. "He'd have said it was classified.. "
"All the more reason to know what it is!"
"Karen, I don't have a need to know.. "
"STAN! You're going to be HOLDING it! That's a need!"
"All I need," I insisted, "is that my brother asked me for a favor.. "
"Only when you caught him! What if you'd just found that in the junk drawer?"
I laughed.. "Karen, no one ever finds anything in that drawer.. "
"That's true," she said with a quiet tone.. After a moment, she threw her hands up in the air.. "Okay, FINE! BE that way.. I can't protect you from yourself, after all.. "
"Sweetheart, you can't protect me from anything.. "
"Did... " She twisted in my hand, staring up at my face.. "Did you call me your sweetheart?"
"I, uh... I guess I did.. "
"Does that mean the same thing on this planet?"
"I don't know what it means on your planet," I hesitated.. She forgot about the canister entirely.. We spent the evening discussing why I'd absently called her by an intimate term.. And how I felt, and how it made her feel, and how her declaration of feelings made me feel...
Somewhere around hour twenty six, I finally put her down on the dresser.. "Karen, dear, if you ask me 'how does that make you feel' one more time, I'm going to put you in the chili.. "
"Sorry," she said.. "I'll shut up.. But tomorrow, we're going to ask Icky some pointed questions about this responsibility.. "
Okay, so she didn't quite forget about the canister.. Not entirely.. But at least she shut up about it before midnight.. ---------
I woke to violence.. I felt the attack before I was even fully awake.. When I knew what was happening, I was pinned to the bed.. A large man knelt atop me, a great shadow in the darkness.. A long bar pinned my throat down, and his weight rested on my chest and my upper arms.. Knees and ass pressed painfully into me.. "Where's the box?" he asked.. The voice was just above my head.. My SID training wasn't as deeply programmed as the field agents got, but I was primed to resist.. "What box?" I asked.. "Your brother doesn't have it any more, he must have given it to you.. Where is it?"
"Oh, that box! We call it a canister.. Or I did.. He called it a case.. Although that might mean that it was something to do WITH a case he's working on.. He may call it-"
The bar drove down harder, cutting off my air.. "Enough cute shit.. You wanna find out what your Little Friend calls it? Maybe she'll tell us what we want to know as we grind her in the food press into-"
There was a loud popping sound and the bar pressure eased.. Just as the weight of the body on top of me collapsed over my face.. It was a dead weight, and I was in no position to lift it.. I did manage to shift and slither and come out from under it on one side.. That dumped me to the floor.. I stood and turned on the room light.. A man I didn't recognize was sprawled awkwardly across my bed.. Part of his skull looked cracked, bone sticking out of torn skin.. There was a baseball bat under him.. And Karen was armed.. "Are you okay?" she asked.. I dropped to my knees beside her.. "Are you okay?" I glanced from the...weapon, I guess...that she held to the dead body.. The blood was oozing, not bleeding out of him.. "Um, thanks?" I pointed at her weapon.. It was metal, about as long as she was.. It sort of looked like a rifle.. There was a wire frame for the stock and trigger.. The barrel was a finger's length of metal rods held by triangular plates.. "Hit him with the bat," she said.. "What?"
"The gun fires a sort of force-field bullet.. If there's no blood on the bat, no one will know how you overpowered him.. If there is, it'll match the story we're going to tell them.. "
"Ah.. " I stood and tampered with the evidence to her satisfaction.. We made sure some blood spattered on the t-shirt I was wearing.. "Okay.. CSI would find holes, but I don't think your people are even going to look closely.. Now, take the bat and let's go find Icky.. "
"Yeah, sure.. " I looked at the bat.. "Do we need the bat for your plan?"
"What? Well, you need a weapon.. " She shrugged.. I reached over her head to open a hidey-hole in the bedroom wall.. I pulled out my service pistol.. "I AM SID," I explained.. "Accountant, true, but an SID accountant.. "
"Oh! Good, because I don't know for sure how many rounds I have.. " She smiled up at me, then gestured towards my PJ bottoms.. "Let's go! Get dressed.. "
"I have questions.... "
"On the way to Icky's!"
As we coursed through town, I was watching the roads ahead and behind.. We hadn't found the car of my assailant, so they might be following.. But that was my training.. My mind was on Karen.. "Okay.. Okay, who and what are you, and how did you resist the truth gas?"
"I didn't," she said.. She sat in the cupholder on the dashboard.. "You guys just suck at interrogation.. "
"He asked..."
"He asked about my current job.. He did NOT ask me if I had been a weapons developer for the CIA.. He did not ask if had lost my job due to budget cuts and an asshole director offering to save my weapons job for a hand job and something we'll call anger management issues.. "And he most certainly did not ask if the CIA had sort of a witness protection program, and set me up in a brand new nonviolent career.. New name, new job, no security clearance.. "
She stroked the rods of her weapon.. I almost drove off the road, watching her do this.. "So...the art... That was materials for your gun.. The chemicals... That's your power supply.. And I'm.... "
"Not my target," she promised.. "Never my target.. You're fine sweetheart.. "
-------
Eech's place was dark.. No cars in front or in the driveway.. I walked up the drive to the back door.. I leaned against the wall next to the door and held Karen up to the top.. "I hear breathing-" she started to report.. Gunshots fired through the door somewhere around where my chest would have been if I was stupid.. Karen screamed, high and shrill.. I yanked her back.. More bullets crashed through the door.. Then there was silence.. I waited for the shooter to either come out and finish me off or to run out the front door.. She whimpered, shivering in my hands.. "Scared?" I whispered.. I lifted her to my ear and tried to hold her reassuringly.. "It's usually been theoretical!" she snapped at me.. "Me, too," I replied.. There was movement inside.. Footsteps crunching on little bits of the door, glass.. I readied my weapon, aiming for about waist high.. He might come out low.. There was a low whine by me ear as the blunt-force gun powered up.. The door flew open.. Something flew out but it was too high.. I waited for a real target, my training throbbing in my head.. Karen went ahead and fired at the first thing that scared her.. --------
Supervisor stood by the body.. Eech and I stood in his kitchen a few feet away.. Karen crouched in my shirt pocket, peering through the button hole.. "So let me get this straight," he said, rubbing his forehead.. "You got the jump on a trained assassin who tried to kill you in your sleep.. "
"Karen screamed," I said.. "I woke up primed to protect her.. "
"By wresting the bat away from him and killing him with one blow to the head.. "
"He really likes Karen," Eech said.. "Everybody does," I added.. "I know," he said, shaking his head.. "So then, you assume your brother is in trouble and come straight here.. "
"Someone nearly killed me," I explained.. "I naturally blame my brother.. " Eech nodded.. "So you arm yourself, grab your protected Earthling-"
Karen popped up into view.. "I told him I would be scared if he left me home alone with a killer's body!" She shouted and ducked back down.. "Well, who wouldn't be?" Eech asked.. "Right.. So you don't call for backup, you charge towards danger with the Earthling you're supposed to protect and draw the bad guy's fire.. "
"It seemed logical at the time," I told him.. I glanced at Eech.. He nodded, accepting my comment.. "And with a gun in your hand, a Little Person in your pocket, when the bad guy comes out to shoot you dead, you wrap your fist in a throw rug and punch it so far up his mouth that he chokes to death.. Well, that and the blood flow from the tonsils that were torn out from the strength of your punch.. "
"He really feels protective about me, too," Eech said.. We stared at each other for a while.. The silence stretched.. "Oh, hey, Chief!" Eech suddenly added, "I've got that data pod from the Deposit Investigation!"
Supervisor's eyes went from face to face, even dipping down to where Karen hid.. "Go home," he told her.. They flickered up to me.. "Take her home.. " Then to Eech.. "Start talking, Icky.. "
"Well, sir, you asked me to keep track of-"
He was talking quickly, but not as fast as I was walking.. We were halfway home before I remembered to breathe.. I sat in the car for a minute after I got into my driveway.. "Witness protection?" I finally asked.. "Uh huh," she said.. I lifted her out of my pocket and held her in front of my face.. "What's your real name, Karen?"
"Whatever you want it to be," she shrugged.. "We'll stick with Karen, then," I nodded.. She smiled.. I lifted her to my cheek for a hug.. She nuzzled her face against mine.. Too late, we remembered how long it had been since I shaved.. "Ow!" she cried.. "Good thing your gun's still under the driver's seat," I muttered.. "Again, I could never target you, Stan.. No matter how big and stupid you get.. "
"I'm a giant!" I pointed out.. "I can't help but be big.. To you, anyway.. "
"And it's not like stupid is your fault, either," she noted.. I carried her back into my house.. Our house.. "Spoken like someone who's tired of warm baths," I said.. "You wouldn't dare.. ". |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: television
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: This work is the author's own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual).
The author is not making any kind of profit from this story.
This story contributes to the Featherstone cycle, which includes Therapy I and II, Reno 9.1, Pygmy and Pygmies, Reversal and Re-Reversal, Dolly and Dolled.
Roll Call: Squad room
Dangle: Okay, people, let's get started. You all remember Agent Leiter, of the CIA. He was with us a while back, part of the inter-agency effort to locate and arrest the very real ‘mad scientist’ (he does the Eagle Claw gesture with his hands) Doctor Featherstone.
Johnson: Which we did.
Williams: Which I did.
Dangle: That's very true, Raineesha. Your can of mace was the weapon that brought him down.
Junior: So, what, he's shrinking people again?
Jones: When we were at OSI, getting unshrunk, I heard that –
Garcia: Why do you say unshrunk? Is that a word?
Jones: We were eight inches tall. They made us big again. What word would you use?
Garcia: Well, Featherstone shrunk us. You could say they restored us, or grew us, or something like that.
Wiegel: Yeah, unshrunk seems like an inelegant wording of a simple event.
Jones: Hey, Wiegel? Shut up.
Johnson: Yeah, anyone that wasn’t small enough to fit in a shoe box? No opinion on how simple the process was to ‘restore’ (makes the Eagle Claw gesture) us to our ‘unshrunk’ (makes the Eagle Claw gesture) status.
Dangle: People, people, people! Let's get back on track here. Now. Agent Leiter is here to brief us on the status of Featherstone.
Williams: If it was up to me, you'd have shrunk him down to the size of a grasshopper and thrown him on an anthill.
Johnson: Red ants.
Williams: Nice. Nice touch.
Leiter: Well, that was a thought, actually. The director of the NSA wanted to have him kept in an ant farm in maximum security.
Junior: What kind of ants?
Leiter: I'm not sure if actual ants were envisioned in the plan.
Jones: What if he'd gotten out? Does the ACLU object to using Raid on escaped felons? ‘Cause that's what I was saying earlier, I heard he keeps escaping.
Leiter: Exactly. Various contacts and clients of his contribute to his escapes. So the actual internment plan utilized was something different.
Johnson: Give him a scuba suit and throw him in with sea monkeys?
Leiter: No, we ended up using an idea from a former victim of his, and blew him up to thirty feet tall.
Garcia: Now that is a big anthill.
Leiter: The plan was that he'd be confined to a Titan missile silo, and if he escaped, he'd be easy to find.
Williams: Kind of hard to disappear into a crowd when you outweigh the crowd, isn't it?
Wiegel: So, you locked a giant man in a Titan tube? Isn't that a little ironic, even for the government?
Leiter: Uh, maybe. A little.
Dangle: So, how come you're here, Agent Leiter? Did this plan work, or not?
Leiter: Well, the Doc has managed to escape again. He's somewhere in the area, and we wanted your people to be aware of it. And prepared in case he showed up in your jurisdiction.
Dangle: How long has he been loose?
Leiter: Uh, um, well, three days.
Jones: You've had a man the size of a first down on the loose for three days and haven't found him?
Dangle: Surely you're using satellites? Infra-red?
Leiter: Yeah, but unless he's standing next to another person, or something to provide the scale, then on the screen it just looks like a person in the desert. We're checking out every hit, but we're just turning up a lot of lost tourists, hermits, prospectors, extreme hikers, and a man scouting locations for the next ‘Survivor’ series.
Garcia: What, tropical islands getting too easy? Now they want a Nevada Desert?
Dangle: Okay, okay, let's not go down that road again. We have a threat to the area, a possible felon on the loose in the county. Let's get out there, find him, then we – (turns to Leiter) What the hell would we do next?
Leiter: Well, once he's in the city, we can find him on the screen.
Johnson: So, again, what do we do?
Leiter: I, uh... well, uh... keep... the area clear?
Williams: I'm going to need some more mace.
Squad Car, Garcia Driving, Jones Riding
Garcia: So, thirty feet tall, huh?
Jones: Yeah.
Garcia: That makes him, what, ten times the size of a normal man?
Jones: Um, no. No, thirty divided by six is five. He's five times the size of a normal man.
Garcia: Five?
Jones: Yeah. Yeah.
Garcia: So, that would make his... (pauses)
Squad Car, Wiegel Driving, Johnson Riding
Johnson: Thirty inches?
Wiegel: Let's see, um, the average man in America is four inches...
Johnson: Not in my experience.
Wiegel: Well, I was talking the national average, which would be about 150 million men.
Johnson: So what are you saying?
Wiegel: Oh, I just figure your sample rate is going to have more data. The more measurements taken, the more accurate the conclusion.
Johnson: Are you saying...?
Wiegel: I'm just saying that on this topic, you really know what you're talking about.
Johnson: Are you calling me a slut?
Wiegel: Noooooooooo.
Johnson: Good.
Wiegel: Not without a qualifier, anyway. Super slut, or macro-slut, or ‘god-damn that woman is a slut.’ You know, far and above a simple ‘slut.’
In the squad room, Junior and Williams being interviewed
Junior: Yeah, I was shrunk down to eight inches before.
Williams: And I faced the Doc down when he was nine or ten times my normal size. So now, when he's only six times normal size...
Junior: Five. Leiter says he's five times normal.
Williams: Five? You sure?
Junior: Yeah. Yeah, he's normally six feet tall.
Williams: Oh. He's five times his normal size.
Junior: Yeah. And you know what they say, a man's size isn't important.
Williams: Travis, shut up before you embarrass yourself.
Squad Car, Garcia and Jones
Garcia: What's that?
Jones: Looks like an accident. (Takes radio as Garcia pulls over) Central, this is Jones. We have an accident on Fourth and... Hey, it's one of our cars!
Johnson, Garcia, and Jones are standing beside a sheriff's department car that's wrapped around a telephone pole. Trudy crouches at the sidewalk, holding her head.
Johnson: Well, she was talking, you know how she gets.
Garcia: Yeah.
Johnson: And I was about this close to pulling out my gun.
Jones: Yeah. Yeah.
Johnson: Then, suddenly, she realizes she said something really stupid and offensive.
Garcia: She realized it?
Johnson: Yeah, and she felt guilty about it and started beating her head against the steering wheel.
Jones: So, overcome by a fit of remorse, she tried to punish herself.
Johnson: Yeah. I was just so surprised about it.
Garcia: You know, your knuckles are bloody.
Johnson: Well, before she wrecked us, I tried to stop her from hurting herself.
Jones: By placing your fist between her face and the steering wheel?
Johnson: Exactly. And then she hit the telephone pole.
Garcia: You know, Wiegel has done this exact same thing before.
Jones: Really? When?
Garcia: The very last time she rode with me.
Jones: The last time.
Garcia: The very last time.
In a Home Depot, Williams wheels in a dolly with a barrel on it, calling for some help.
Clerk: Yes? Can I help you?
Williams: I hope so. I have this barrel, and need a method of distributing the contents.
Clerk: You mean, like a seed broadcaster?
Williams: Raineesha does NOT want to get in trouble with the FCC.
Clerk: Oh, no, no, it's for spreading seeds around. Casting. Casting them broadly, as it were.
Williams: Oh. Like casting bread upon the waters?
Clerk: Why would you want to do that?
Williams: Never mind. I want to spray this fluid.
Clerk: What is it?
Williams: Mace.
Clerk: And, uh, how much do you want to come out at once?
Williams: I'm thinking somewhere in the range between 99 and 100 percent. And I need to get it at least thirty feet up.
Clerk: Oh. Well, let's check the riot control aisle.
Williams: That sounds good.
Wiegel (with a neck brace) is riding, and Dangle driving.
Wiegel: We were having a talk, and then I was bleeding on the sidewalk.
Dangle: And as usual, you don't remember what you or Clementine was saying right before you had the accident.
Wiegel: No, not at all. OH! There he is!
Dangle: Where?
Wiegel: In front of that gas station! Doctor Featherstone, big as life!
Dangle: Trudy, that's a fiberglass statue. He's a muffler man. They're all over the country.
Wiegel: NO, look, he's just standing really, really still!
Dangle: (leans over to point) No, see, his skin is exactly as shiny as his shirt? And up there, his...
Wiegel: (pointing ahead) Watch out for the... (view lost in ballooning safety bags)
Wiegel: (somewhere out of sight) Okay, now this I remember.
Jones and Garcia stand on a sidewalk in front of a Muffler Man statue.
Garcia: (into radio) Agent Leiter, we're at the Tire and Auto.
Leiter (in squad room): Well, we were getting about three calls an hour, after the news leak about the giant man on the loose, all connected to either a billboard, or a statue or something like that. So I ordered a survey of anything that could be confused for our convict. (points to map of city with little flags sticking out of it)
Back to Jones and Garcia at the Tire and Auto shop.
Garcia: Sir?
Mechanic: What?
Garcia: Sir, we're having a bit of a state of emergency right now. We were wondering if we could talk you into taking your advertising down for a day or two.
Mechanic: What? Why? (he steps inside, they follow, new angle shows the fiberglass giant outside the window)
Jones: Just so people don't get confused.
Mechanic: Did Dobbs ask you to do this?
Garcia: We, no, we don't know any Dobbs, sir. We just want your big display taken down.
Mechanic: Do you have any idea how much of my business is from walk-ins? If I don't advertise, I don't eat. And Dobbs gets all my business.
Jones: No, sir, we don't want you to take all your signs down, just the giant man.
Mechanic: What giant man?
(Behind them, the figure kicks the squad car and takes off running down the street.)
Garcia: The big muffler man... (points, sees the felon)...Holy Bleep! It's him!
Leiter in squad room
Jones (on radio): …last seen running south on Beechwood, from the corner of Beechwood and Ellis.
Leiter (runs finger on map, finds a flag): Deputy, be advised you're in pursuit of an advertising gimmick.
Jones (on radio): Bleep! Bleep! Bleep! You Bleep! Bleep! the time! Bleep! Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
Junior and Williams approach a delivery van laying on its side in the road, back door torn off.
Junior: Sir, can you tell me what happened?
Driver: I don't know, really. I was driving along and I saw this giant foot out of the corner of my eye.
Williams: A giant foot? How giant? Like, do you mean a size thirteen? Or a thirty?
Driver: I'd estimate that the limb was, in all respects, approximately six times the normal size of a six-foot tall man.
Junior: Sure it wasn't five times normal? ‘Cause we may have two suspects, then.
Williams: What, you mean the OTHER giant escaped felon?
Junior: Well, if he's right, and THIS guy was six times normal, that's 36 feet.
Driver: Can you take prints?
Williams: Off of what?
Driver: The doors. He ripped them off and stole all my load!
Williams: What were you hauling?
Driver: Beef.
Junior: So, now the question is?
Williams: Don't you say it!
Junior: Where's the beef?
Leiter in squad room with Dangle
Leiter: I suppose we should have expected this.
Dangle: Yes. There just aren't many places a man that large can get decent service. Not in Reno, anyway.
Leiter: I wonder if we can use this? Set up a trap, some way?
Dangle: That's not really necessary, Agent Leiter. If he keeps this up, he's going to pick a truck that's hauling something that isn't exactly what the sign on the side would indicate.
Leiter: Like what?
Dangle: Like, he's going to end up with a handful of migrant workers, or fireworks or...
Jones and Garcia approach a delivery van ripped in half and on both sides of the road. Two hippy-looking individuals lean against one half.
Garcia: How did you two manage to do this?
Hippy1: Man, I know how it looks, but I did NOT do this. I was straight, man. And this man, this giant man?
Hippy2: A giant, man.
Hippy1: Yeah, a giant man, man. He grabbed the car and ripped it open and ate our whole load in like two bites, man.
Garcia: Your whole load.
Jones (climbing up on wreckage to read the side of the truck): Your whole load of... herbs?
Hippy2: Herb products, man. For cooking.
Hippy1: And glaucoma.
Garcia: Basil helps with your glaucoma?
Hippy2: Some highly promising experiments suggest?
Jones: Look, we want the giant man more than we want you guys. Just tell us what he got. And ate.
Hippy1: Uh... about six kilos of weed.
Garcia (on radio): Hey, dispatch? We got a probable giant case of the munchies. Can you tell me the nearest candy store to my location?
Junior and Williams walk into a Krispy Kreme. Shattered glass covers the floor.
Williams: Where is he?
Counterman: He came busting in here, I mean literally busting in here! (waves to gesture at all the glass)
Junior: Yes, sir. Then what?
Counterman: Well, he ate every single donut in the place. Then he wanted more.
Williams: What happened then?
Counterman: I said the dough had to rise. He said he'd wait.
Junior: Wait?
Counterman: Yeah, he's out back.
Curled up in the parking lot, Featherstone sleeps it off. He has a Frederick's of Hollywood mannequin cuddled close as a doll.
Counterman: He's been snoring back here for half an hour.
Junior: He looks so... so peaceful.
Williams: Yep. (turns away) I'm going to get my mace.
Junior: Mace? What about all those water balloons in the trunk.
Williams: Those aren't water. Those are full of mace.
Junior: Really? How many you think we can get in his mouth before he wakes up?
Outside Sheriff's office, Leiter and Dangle shake hands.
Leiter: Well, Lieutenant, Uncle Sam thanks you and your people for more outstanding work.
Dangle: And we thank you for another outstanding chapter for our memoirs.
(Leiter turns to a flatbed truck, climbs up into cab. A large tarp covers a humanoid figure on the truck.)
Leiter: Okay, let's move it out.
(Truck pulls out, cop cars as escort in front and behind. Behind last car, a fire truck follows. Williams stands on top of the truck, manning a large hose. She waves at Dangle as they pass.)
Dangle: Raineesha! Don't mace anyone! That stuff's for escape attempts, ONLY!
(Johnson steps up beside Dangle as the convoy drives out of sight)
Johnson: She's gonna spray hitchhikers, isn't she?
Dangle: Yeah. Wouldn't you?
Johnson: I think I'd be spraying motorcyclists that pass on the right.
Dangle: Well, that'd be good, too... |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: books
Chapter 1
More disclaimer: Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual).. the author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic.. -------
After I saved the life of the princess, they didn't quite know what to do with me.. Obviously I couldn't go back in the petting zoo.. Or whatever they called the cage on the table.. But I couldn't physically live in one of the guest apartments.. Togkreff, the senior butler, seemed to mentally upgrade me from 'the weird creature that fell out of the sky' to 'honored guest.. 'He had maids find an old dollhouse in storage and had it installed in a guest room.. He carried me in on a platter and set it by the front door.. "I'm sorry if the room offends, sir," he apologized.. "It's the smallest guest room in the Royal Wing.. But I feared you would look ridiculous in the Grand Suite.. "I stepped carefully down from the platter's brim and looked around.. The bed was 120 feet away and a good 70 feet across.. That was next to a fireplace that could have served as a hangar.. Doors opened off two walls, each 80 feet tall, the doorknobs 30 feet up.. The rug would have been difficult to cross in a 4x4.. Behind me was a wooden structure painted to resemble granite.. The gargoyles on the garrets were the size of Dobermans.. The front door didn't hinge, it had nails top and bottom and swung on a central axis like a secret passageway.. "Put the candle back," I muttered.. "Sir?""Sorry, Jeeves, old memories.. Yes, well, this will be fine.. " He nodded and took a half a step back.. "I, uh, I realize I present a difficulty, finding me quarters.. I appreciate your efforts.. "He gave me the first sincere smile I'd ever seen on that craggy face and nodded once more.. Then he left.. I slung my flight bag on my shoulder and went to see the new digs.. They were, well, historically accurate, let's say.. In Victorian England, dollhouses weren't really made to resemble scale models of real houses.. They were replica containers to fill to the brim with miniature furniture.. This one was crammed with seats and sofas and stoves and shelves and cabinets...All brightly shining and smelling of some citrus.. It was an effort to clamber around, through and over the mess to find the stairs.. First item on the to-do list, get a maid to clear the room out.. Politely, of course, not to sound ungrateful.. These people were touchy about protocol.. "Heh," I muttered as a grabbed the banister.. "I'm comfortable enough with giants to call them people.. "And of course, the top of the stairs ran smack into the ceiling.. I kept going down the hall towards the back of the house.. Maybe there was a servants' stairway? I was in the dining hall before I realized there was no back of the house.. Just an opening ot the building and the wall next to the table.. And hanging on that wall was a portrait of a rather judgmental giant woman.. I felt that I'd failed her, somehow.. Her disappointment seemed to follow me around the room.. Or, table, anyway.. I looked up at the second floor.. Then I shrugged and started stacking furniture to reach it.. I was just about high enough to touch the upper floor's carpet when the princess came to visit.. Her nanny knocked and made sure I was dressed.. Her head hovered over mine as she inspected me closely.. Then she nodded and went to stand in the corner.. Devoo came in.. I looked her over quickly.. She'd been cleaned up, and looked a lot better than she had in the cave-in.. All the gravel was washed off.. Or, probably, sand to her.. And she'd stopped crying.. "Hello, sir!" she said.. "I heard you got moved into the Princess Room!""This is your room?" I asked.. "No, it's the one closest to my suite.. " She giggled.. "You can't be moved into my room! You're a male!""Thanks for noticing," I said.. I put the ottoman down rather than heft it onto the pile.. I figured that would be impolite.. "You look better.. ""Much, thanks," she said.. "What are you doing to your furniture?"I explained the problem, how the stairs didn't really have openings between floors.. "I was going to pile furniture for now, and then get someone to make me a ladder...""Meircool!" Deyoo snapped.. "Summon the royal carpenter.. Mister Pierce needs his room adjusted on the instant.. This is poor hospitality for one who saved our life.. "I keep forgetting she's heir to the throne.. She seems like a typical pre-teen until she explodes into majesty.. The nanny hopped to her feet, then paused before leaving.. "Meircool, do you think I'm in danger of being ravaged by a mand the size of my compact?"Miercool nodded and stepped out.. The princess offered me her hand "We'll leave the workers to their work.. Tea?"----------In a couple days, I had the house set up the way I liked.. Half the furniture was gone, the rest was distributed comfortably.. And I'd been measured for several sets of clothing.. Dayoo had even had someone make me a ceramic fireplace.. And the cutest little pile of twigs to burn in it.. A grounds keeper was cutting branches up in a way that resembled chopped logs.. I had tea with Deyoo every day, and dinner with the royal family once a week.. But I started to wonder why there were no sycophants.. --------About a month after I got movied into the new room, the King came into my room with a bottle of liquor, a glass, an eyedropper and a thimble.. He pulled a chair up to the dollhouse table and poured us drinks.. We toasted and drank the health of the princess.. Then the Queen.. The Realm.. His favorite horse.. Some time around the toast to the sergeant of the guard that manned the Market Gate, he asked what I really wanted.. "Out of life?" I asked.. "From me," he replied.. "I've, uh... I've never really thanked you for saving Devoo's life in that cave.. ""I like Devoo," I said.. "I couldn't really have NOT saved her life.. ""Still," he said.. "You did.. I owe you.. " He poured the drinks again.. "If you're serious, I've given it a lot of thought," I said.. He nodded.. "Now, don't take any offense, but...""I'm a king, not a diplomat," he said.. "Soldier, father, engineer and I remember how Gulliver described England to my grandfather.. You can't offend me.. ""I want a whore," I said.. He coughed, spewing alcohol across the floor by my table.. "Can I explain?""You want a what?""Listen, I see royalty daily.. But there's no one asking me to use my influence.. ""You don't have any influence," he said slowly.. "Right.. But people shouldn't assume that.. No one's asking me to drop their name at your table or take a side in a lawsuit, purely for discussion.. Or suggesting Devoo really needs a pet monkey trained to dance to the flolly.. "He looked thoughtful for a long moment.. I guessed he noted others doing that sort of thing.. "I think it's because no one really sees me as a person.. As a real man.. Even, uh... Even you.. " He didn't move, certainly not to deny it.. "Where I come from, I was kind of important.. Not quite a captain of industry, but at least a second lieutenant.. "I figure if I, um, have a woman, people will at least see me in a better light.. ""I can send you a concubine," he said slowly.. "No offense, sire, but I'd rather not be directly compared to you and your majestic manhood.. " That got a laugh out of him.. "So," he mused.. "You want a reputation more than you want a woman.. " He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, the clicks of his fingernails sounding like gunshots.. "Not a common whore, but not someone dedicated to a patron.. Someone you can order about, but not too discreet to be of use.. And not an overly perfumed woman.. ""I like perfume," I started to say.. He cut me off with a guillotine chop of his hand.. "Devoo says you can smell flowers on her hours after she comes back from the garden.. With your sensitive noise, you'll want someone who bathes to reduce sweat and soil, not someone who pours on another layer of expensive smell to cover the bad smell.. ""Oh.. Yes, I suppose.... ""I'd ask if you were a leg man or an ass man, but you're more interested in her mouth.. " He winked at me.. "Well, yeah, and in my case, the question is if I like ankles or toes.. " He laughed, toasted me and 'my immagestic manhood' and promised to see to it.. --------A couple of weeks later, the Queen took the princess to visit the Queen-Mother.. Grandma Royalty was convinced I was just a mutated splacknuck, a kind of local vermin primate.. I didn't make the trip, because her staff was on orders to stomp me flat.. She was certain my wit would breed true and greatly increase the troubles offered by the little beasts.. Devoo tried to be very diplomatic about the risks and the reasons, hoping I wouldn't hate her forever for leaving me behind.. I assured her that her father would find something to keep me occupied.. An hour after they were gone, maids bustled about.. They changed the unused seats on the bed, scrubbed the tub and toilet I'd only seen once, dusted and swept.. They laid out a very soft robe for me and built up a fire.. After lunch, there was a knock on the door.. A beautiful woman came in hesitantly, looking all around the room with wonder.. "Posh," she said.. "And largely unused," I replied.. She gave a little shriek of surprise, staggering back from the dollhouse.. "Sorry," I said quickly.. "Oh.. I just... I haven't ever been near..." She stepped closer and looked down at me.. I took her in, too.. She was a brunette with long hair hanging over her shoulders.. Nondescript clothes covered what looked like a generous figure.. Not too much skin was showing.. A pity, since her cleavage would have been right there before me, like a drive-in movie screen.. "I'm Pequette.. I guess we-" she was saying when two maids came bustling in.. They pushed Pequette towards the bathroom.. Four men came behind them with steaming buckets of water.. "Wow," I muttered, "I thought the king meant a woman that bathed frequently, not immediately before.. I wondered if we were going to have to break in the middle, to wash off the exertions of foreplay.. They started the fire, dimmed the lights and left.. I was alone.. Pequette game out.. She was draped in a filmy white robe.. There was a shift beneath it, just visible through the fabric, and a bra peeking through the opening of her robe.. She sat by the dollhouse table and smiled.. "So, um, I guess that what you want is... Sex?""Yes," I said.. "I, uh, asked for you to be hired.. I, uh.. I want to be in charge.. So you do what I tell.. .. What I ask.. ""Little man wants to be in charge of the big woman?" she said with a little laugh.. "It's the safety thing," I said.. "And sort of an ego thing," I said with a smile.. "But I don't really want you doing anything without my instruction, okay? Surprises could be...dangerous.. ""Ah," she nodded.. "But there's one thing.. ""What?""I'm a professional, right?""That's...kinda the point," I agreed.. "Then trust me.. " Her hand came close, finger out.. She touched my shoulder.. The fingertip stroked my arm, dropping down to my hips.. "There's something we have to get out of the way.. " Her knuckle brushed my front.. "Oooh, a nice hard-on.. ""Well, you are beautiful," I said.. She took a deep breath.. Her breasts rose up a bit, pushing against her robe.. "The giant breasts don't hurt," she said with another smile.. "No, they do not," I agreed.. "Now, what do we have to get out of the-" Her hand closed around my waist, pinning my arms to my sides.. A fingernail gently, so gently caressed my chest and pushed my robe over my sounders, down my arms.. She moved her thumb to let the slack drop down and my robe parted.. My erect cock sprang out.. She lifted me to her face.. "Wait, wait," I said.. "Shhh.. Professional," she whispered.. A giant whisper, her voice still made my skull vibrate, but her breath flowed over me like an ephemeral lover, peeking in intimate places and touching me everywhere.. I was tipped over slightly.. Her nose brushed my shoulder and then she lay a kiss on my chest.. Gentle, moistened, there was the slightest tug of suction.. Her mouth moved and found me, found my hard cock.. I protested slightly, but not too sincerely.. Her tongue slid out, licked left, right, then hesitantly touched me.. Her lips closed around me.. I was so small, next to her, my dick didn't make it all the way through her lips, into her mouth.. I was just trapped between the muscles and she worked me.. Slowly, lovingly, the tightest and firmest embrace I'd ever felt... The surface was smooth, soft and wet.. And she smelled of perfume.. Just a light touch of it.. Not enough to hide...her.. I could smell her.. She was savory and sweet, an aura of a sort of flavored salt came off her.. It was washed away with ever breath as her nose poured it over my back and chest, swirling my hair and warming my skin.. Her fingertips supported me at back, head, hips and feet.. I didn't have to do anything but lay in her grip, my whole body an erogenous zone.. Her eyes were closed to slits, but watching me.. I stroked her cheek and looked back.. My back arched as I got close, then she squeezed harder, pushing me up into her face.. And she hummed.. The vibrations in her jaw came into me, shook my bones and tickled my balls and I screamed, coming hard against her.. My whole spine twisted, every muscle in my body tensed and tight.. I hadn't come like this since I was a teenager.. She held me in place until I was done, empty, drained and drooping.. She smiled and my cock dropped free, chilled by the exposure to room air.. "That was..." I gasped.. "Now," she said, "we have that out of the way.. You can think about the next one.. " I felt movement.. "You'll be in charge, not the Little Lord and Master.. " Her fingertip tapped my thigh indicating, but not touching, my softening, sensitive dick.. She finished removing my robe and set me down on a pillow.. I lay back and watched as she stripped nude.. "Someone suggested maybe I should dress in a mesh body suit," she said playfully.. "Or string guy ropes so you can scramble over me like a sailor.. " Her hands cupped her breasts and jiggled them.. Waves rippled across the acreage of skin.. "But I thought, maybe you'd like more of a challenge.. "She giggled and lay down on the bed.. She was on her side, propped up on one elbow.. I slid off the pillow and stood under her dangling breast.. The nipple was about the size of my head.. The dark areola stretched in an oval about as long as I was tall.. I tore my eyes from it to glance up at her face.. She smiled encouragingly.. I stood on tiptoe and kissed the nipple.. This close, this big, I saw that there were different skin colors there.. The nipple was dark, but there were lighter colors down in the crevices.. I pushed close and licked.. I used fingers and tongue to outline the lightest colors..
Pequette sucked air in and her nipple stood erect.. What was weird for me was that it pushed me away from her breast.. I pushed harder against it and started to use my teeth.. "Oooh," Pequette sighed.. "Can you reach the other side?""No," I said.. "But if you roll back..." Her hand cupped me from behind, sandwiching me against her breast.. She rolled back, leaving me kneeling over her nipple.. Her breast was flattened out over her chest.. The areola's shape was more circular.. I looked over at the other side.. She lifted her arms to push the breasts together and I crawled over.. I went back and for th a few times, teasing and touching, nuzzling and nibbling.. On my fourth pass, she dropped her arms as I was in the middle.. I rolled down to her sternum.. "Hey!" I protested.. The slope was too steep to crawl up, the skin too smooth to climb.. Now I needed the damned catsuit.. "I was thinking I could push my breasts against you," she said.. "While you're down there.. ""I'd smother," I said.. I turned to look over at her face, resting on the pillows.. She regarded me with a mischievous smile.. "Not for that long," she said.. "But would you like to try it? For a second?""Maybe two," I said with my own smile.. With no further warning, the two flesh walls beside me slammed against me.. Her skin was relatively soft for a giant, but it was still giant.. The physical sensation of touching her was like feeling soft-sided luggage.. I could detect individual pores and small hairs, even here.. And the body heat, kinda like bouncing in a moon-walk with a furnace.. But in my head... The knowledge that I was getting a whole-body titty fuck worked it's magic on me.. She wiggled and jiggled the breasts.. I felt the mass move against me, flow over me.. Pressure crossed me in waves.. I started to feel aroused again.. The breasts parted for a moment.. I gasped quickly, taking in fresh air, laced with her smell.. There was a giggle, that I heard from my hears and felt shaking up from my feet.. Then the light went away and the breasts closed over me again.. She did this twice more.. Then paused on the third air break.. "Do I feel your Lordster? Already?""Oh, God, yes!""Then we move on?" she asked.. I heard rustling and turned around.. Her knees were rising.. Spreading.. I started walking towards her pussy.. Her hands lowered to frame her pussy.. When I got there, I knelt, running my hands through her hair.. There was a light sheen of sweat on the skin between the hairs.. I breathed in her scent.. Then crawled further.. I slid down the front of her pussy.. Her curled fingers were like stirrups as I lay against her.. "And now you fuck me," she said.. But there was a problem.. I pushed against her, but couldn't make headway.. I couldn't push into the lips.. I reached down to spread them, reaching in, trying to get some lubrication.. There was a giggle and the hand I was standing on move.. "I'll get that," she said.. I was held up above her leg.. I watched as Pequette ran a finger along her lips, then slipped it inside.. I watched, and listened, as she liberally spread herself over her lips.. Then she lifted me up a bit and wiped her fingers over me, from chest to knees.. She blew me a kiss and then spread my legs, wiping herself over my inseam and balls.. Then she lowered me back down, pressed against the face of her pussy.. Her thumbs were on my shoulders, my feet were on her fingertips.. She dandled me a bit, bounding up and down against her.. Sliding and slithering, I slipped gently inside.. I couldn't really pump, but she gave me long, such long vertical strokes against her, in her.. Her warm soft lips flowed over my body, chin, chest, cock and legs.. I reached up and parted her hairs, laying kisses on her clit as I could reach it.. "Ooh!" she moaned.. "And what have we here?""Just a... Just a human custom," I said.. Her thumbs pressed harder, and her fingers stopped bouncing as far, keeping my head centered where it was.. And her moans shook the entire bed.. I took it as a compliment, knowing there was a good chance it was just an act.. It was her job to satisfy me, I reminded myself.. Then her strokes sped up, fingers on the back of my knees started to push me in.. She pumped me up and down, deeper in on each slide down.. I tried to protest, sputtering as my head came clear.. She either didn't hear me or didn't care.. I got stuffed down in, deep, wiggling for all I was worth to get up for a breath of air.. The kicking and grasping seemed to excite her more and more.. Then suddenly she pinched me about the hips and yanked me into the air.. I saw her body pass by underneath as she drew me to her face.. I heard a low groan, 'Oh Baby,' I think it was, then I was slapped across her mouth.. Lips and tongue worked on me, one hand pressed me in place.. Her other hand made loud squishy sounds as she brought herself off.. Her squeal of glee burst up past me as her licks locked against my ribs and she sucked hard.. I got a hickey that lasted for two weeks.. I was starting to fear it was a permanent tattoo before it just turned to a bruise.. But right then and there, I just grabbed at her chin and caught her nose inside my elbow and came, shooting into the hollow space of her mouth.. Pequette's other hand came up and around me and she cuddled me to her cheek.. I stroked it gently, gasping from exhaustion.. "Try again in an hour, baby?" she asked.. I grunted something.. She moved me down to her breasts and hugged me between them.. I curled up in her cleavage and went to sleep.. -------------"And that, Gentlemen, is how you fuck a giant woman.. " The other card players laughed and toasted me with their drinks.. I lifted my own stein, formed from a seed's shell, and returned the toast.. The king's advisors had invited me to their weekly game.. His majesty had loaned me some money and Togkreff taught me the basics.. I wasn't too worried about the money.. I was very careful about answering questions, though.. These guys were feeling me out, seeing how much of a threat I was to the status quo.. It felt like I was fitting in, although I had to figure out a way to smoke their cigars without a bellows, a torch and a helmet.... . |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
If they outlaw shrinking women, only outlaws will have women who are shrunk. Deal! Body by Nautilus, furniture by Mattel. A hamster cage is just an unfurnished apartment that locks from the outside. Yes, at my size it'll take me all day to strip search you. Lay down, I'd better get started. Frankly, I've had it down to here with your short jokes. Cloned SWs are people, two. It's hard to soar with eagles when they think you're bite-sized. Voices in my head? Hell, there's hardly room for my own voice in here. Dammit, I'm at the top of the food chain, but I sleep in a used butter tub. Is that fair? Happiness is an SW on a date. Being this small makes all men seem... bigger. It's not easy being a pocket-sized sex object, but someone has to do it. Barbie's a people, too. Okay, well, she's not. But I am. So don't confuse us. SSW (Small Print: single Shrunken Woman) seeks CEWATTNBL (Small Print: Christmas Elf with Access to the Naughty Boy List) who likes to make trades. A day without sunshine is like a day locked in the sock drawer. I'm not lazy, I HAVE to sleep in. Last time I jumped out of bed I broke both my legs. Will work for stilts. I'm not shrunk. I'm just immune to the 'turn everyone into a big goofy giant' space radiation. I'm the queen of all I survey. Be a dear and lift me up over the table, will you? I may not wear the pants in my family, but I did make a studio apartment out of them. Fight unwitting sizism! It's not a little problem! Don't look down your nose at me, jackass... Oh, yeah. Never mind. Back off or I start singing "It's A Small World" out loud. Back off, buddy. My tiny butt only has room for one asshole. I lost my virginity and all but 1/1330th of my mass at MIT. Stocking? Last Christmas I hung my winter home by the fire with care. Don't laugh. I can split atoms with my Leatherman tool. Lost control of my other car yesterday. The accident tied up the foyer for half an hour. You survived an alien abduction? I was fetched by a Collie. Eleanor Roosevelt said "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." I take it no one ever stuffed Eleanor into a Mason jar and took her home. Any day I beat the vacuum cleaner across the carpet is a good one. I climbed all the way out of his pocket for this? Speak softly and carry a sharp toothpick. Be nice to your kids. They'll choose your birdcage lining. Did you hear about the SW who played poker at the veterinarian's house? She lost more money than she had and ended up feeding the kitty. Did you hear about the time-traveling SW that ran into a cheerful Roman vorophile? He was gladiator. I never spank my kids. Not since they figured out I fit in the microwave. I don't make waves. I TRY to, but surface tension defeats me. I'm motivated to make love, not war. Hell, at this size I'd settle for non-lethal cuddling. Why does everyone accuse me of being a Helium abuser? Got picked up in a singles bar last night. And by picked up, I mean in a gentle but firm grip. Back off, kid! I'm not the tooth fairy, I don't owe you a dollar! The way to a man's heart is through his stomach? So much for that reconnaissance. Puppies are a lot less cute if you're small enough to drown in slobber. I'm so small, the CDC has qualified me as contagious. I've been sober since the accident. Drunks make me feel like an extra in a Godzilla movie. I didn't do it. You can't prove it. Nobody saw me. The parakeets are lying! Will find lost earrings for food. Some days, it's just not worth crawling out of the Kleenex box. Take your dirty hands off me, you lousy miserable - Oh. Hello, Professor! In my case, unwrapping the fashion doll recapitulates phylogeny.
NEXT CHAPTER
Chapter 2
How many SW does it take to change a lightbulb? Four. (wait two beats) Well? Have you seen the SIZE of those things? Why don't you let an SW drive the car? Because they like to ride on the shoulder. How can you tell if an SW has been in your refrigerator? Pitiful cries for help from the crisper. When are SWs at their wittiest? Right after shrinking. As they wrestle their way free from their shirt, their comments are all off-the-cuff. What are the ABC's of human CPR? Airway, Breathing, Circulation. What are the ABC's of SW CPR? A - Around here somewhere, is the victim... What kind of shoes make SWs scared? Flats. How do SWs keep from being bitten by fleas? They duck. Why do SWs insist on playing racquetball? They're afraid to play squash. Why do SWs knit socks? There's no pattern for a 4-inch sleeping bag. What's the difference between an SW and divinity? Not everyone likes to eat divinity. How do SWs protect their rights? Small claims court. Why don't SW like to act? Someone always steps on their lines. Why won't SW sleep in boxes? They're afraid you'll ship them as a mail-order bride. Why don't SW go insane? They're never apart from their shrink. Why don't SW get degrees? They only get to choose a minor. Why don't SW like Western movies with strong female leads and multicultural casting? Their feet get stuck to the theatre floor and they can never get free. How do you get an SW to come out from the piano? Play 'It's A Small World' until she does. Why can't you keep SWs in a bird cage? It's not PC to treat broads as chicks. What are the ABC's of SW CPR? A - Around here somewhere, is the victim... B - Be careful where you step. C - Catch the cat! Why did the SW cross the road? The Mad Scientist had cold hands. Why can’t the SW make her own bed? The lumber was easy to get, but no one makes hammers that small. Doorman at the Mad Scientist Club: “Anyone here lose a sexy little SW with big tits, a tight ass, and a leather collar?” “Why, yes!” “Well, sir, I found your collar.” An SW was walking back and forth on the pages of a magazine, reading about celebrities. Suddenly, the Mad stormed in, grabbed her up and carried her to the pantry. There, on a shelf, was a candy bar. “Now see here,” he said. “Yesterday, I purchased four gourmet candy bars at the grocery. I had one with dinner and put the other three in here. This afternoon, two of them are missing. How do you explain this?” He placed her on the shelf and stared at her with hands on hips. She crossed her arms and replied: “Obviously, that if you had decent lighting in this joint, I wouldn’t have missed one.” How can you tell that every SW has a drinking problem? (Gesture to indicate holding a shot glass the size of a washtub, staggering back and forth) She can’t hold her liquor. Why do SW take baths? Because in a shower, they have to run around to get wet. Why do SW watch the weather channel? Because they’re always the last ones to know that it’s raining. Mad: Is that perfume I smell? SW: Yes. And you do. Mad: I’m going to give you general anesthetic before fixing this cut. SW: Oh, that can be dangerous. Can’t you give me a local? Mad: At your size, dear, a local IS general. The shrink ray affected the twins differently. One shrank to 18 inches tall, the other to 9. “Oh, darn,” the tall one said. “Now you’re my half-sister.” When the Mad shrank his Sexy Lab Assistant, did he get in trouble? No, the company was in the process of downsizing anyway. Did the SLA complain? Yes, but Human Resources just said it was a force reduction and there was nothing to be done. Did she appeal? Yes. But you know how that goes. Sometimes people just fall through the cracks. How did the mad explain why the test subject's face was on her belly after being shrunk? Feature creep. Why aren't corporate SWs considered innovators? Because they usually can't put anything on the table. Why aren't SW's usually entrepreneurs? Too much overhead. Why do SWs advise against hiring outside consultants? They've already had it down to here with agents of change. What's the difference in an SW's value between when she's loose and when she's been trapped? Her butterfly net worth. How do you determine an SW's chances of escape after capture? The butterfly net margin. How does Interpol refer to a ring of size-thieves who make some people small so others can be made larger? The Mass Market. What do you call someone's illegal increase from black market size activities? The Black Mass. Why did the blonde SW think the ramp to the sofa was made of advanced technology? Because the other SW referred to part of it as High End. Why did the blond banker always want to hold the SW's when they visited? He had heard that there were tax benefits to Holding Company. How does an SW know what to wear in the morning? She checks the weather floorcast. What do you call an SW who's lost 99% of her height? A micro. What do you call an SW who's lost 80% of her mass? A mini. What do you call an SW who's lost 60% of her worries? Divorced. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: television
Chapter 1
Years later, Ensign Sato could never remember the sensation of shrinking. She was recording the images of the writings on the wall, and without any transition she could recall, she was naked, wrestling in the dark with thick folds of cloth. She finally recognized a zipper and realized that she was somehow inside her uniform. That put a framework on the fabric, and she quickly worked her way to the neck. She glanced briefly at the walls, the recorder, the passageway, and confirmed that she had shrunk somehow. She compared herself to her boots and estimated her height to be about where her knees should have been.
She considered using her communicator but hesitated. The ship was out of range, and the only people who could respond were T'Pol, Tucker, and Reed. T'Pol was somewhere in the ancient temple Hoshi was in; the men were flying the shuttle to map the coastline. It was just possible that whatever had happened, the science officer knew how to fix it. With any luck, it wouldn't involve being naked in the presence of her male shipmates.
She headed back down the passageway at a quick jog.
When she got to the central chamber, she saw the Vulcan down below. At a quick glance, it looked like she was in a similar fix, as she was naked too. She sat in her meditation position next to her hand scanner and uniform. It looked to Hoshi like she was shrunk to the same size. She called down to her superior officer, but she could not break the Vulcan's meditation.
She addressed the stairway, taking the steps one riser at a time. The aliens who had built the stairs were longer-legged than humans, and each drop seemed almost five feet tall to the tiny Starfleet officer. Still, she was in excellent shape and made quick work of the descent. At the bottom, she finally had attention to spare for her companion. She looked around and saw that T'Pol was rising to her feet and looking around at Sato.
"Ensign, you are afflicted, as well," T'Pol said.
"Yes, Commander. Do you have any idea what's going on? Have Vulcans ever experienced this...this shrinking in their explorations? Were Tucker and Reed affected?" As they neared each other, Sato was surprised to see that T'Pol was significantly taller. Still not as tall as she was when they all stepped off the shuttle, but almost twice as tall as Sato herself was. "Why weren't you shrunk as much as I was?"
"There is much to explain, Ensign," T'Pol said. She watched the taller woman consider for a moment, and then shift. "Hoshi, I would like to make sure you are calm."
"Why? I'm calm. I'm perfectly calm. I'm smaller than my nephew's teddy bear, and about as well-dressed, on an alien planet, with no sickbay inside of 5 light years, and no freaking idea..." Her voice trailed off as she realized she was screaming. She paced back and forth until she was able to go on. "Okay, I'm not all THAT calm. But I'm..."
T'Pol reached out and placed her hands on either of the Ensign's shoulders. Hoshi had benefited from Vulcan relaxation techniques before. She lowered her shoulders and eased into the massage. She felt better and better as T'Pol rubbed shoulders, back, hips. She felt a lot better as the massage alternated between her wrists and her hips.
Her orgasm caught her completely by surprise. She fell to the ground with a gasp, paralyzed by the waves of pleasure coursing through her. She looked up into the concerned face of the commander.
"Um, evidently, there's something different about human nerves. That...that wasn't quite relaxing."
T'Pol leaned over her panting companion. "That was actually my intent. Stand, please." She offered a hand and lifted the smaller woman to her feet.
Sato noticed that now, she and the other woman were almost the same size. Sato stood as tall as T'Pol's shoulder, where before she was waist-high.
"I grew! How did that happen? Or...oh, no, did you shrink again?"
The Vulcan settled down to a sitting position. "There is much to explain. It will be easier now that you have seen certain things for yourself.
"Long ago, Vulcans worshipped a number of deities. One was something of a trickster. Ohkog was a minor but troublesome god, in charge of erotic expression.
"Legends tell that Ohkog took personal interest in the relationships of Vulcans. He would evaluate them. He felt that physical beings needed to express their feelings for one another in physical intercourse.
"If he felt they hadn't experienced enough physical love, he would shrink them. The amount of shrinking varied. It depended on how much sex he felt they needed."
"Wait," Hoshi interrupted, "I've never heard of Ohkog. Or of a Vulcan tradition of shrinking."
"Please, there are reasons you have not."
"Okay. So, how was shrinking connected to sex?"
"The only cure for the condition was to participate in a sexual encounter."
"Oh. So, when you..."
"Ohkog rewards sexual intercourse. He measures it by orgasm. If you masturbate, you get a certain amount of your size back. If you experience sexual satisfaction in intercourse with another, you get more. If you help another achieve satisfaction, you get rewarded as well."
"Wait, wait." Hoshi was having trouble with information overload. "Some old god would punish Vulcan frigidity by shrinking them?" T'Pol gestured for a bit of time. Hoshi nodded.
"The legends were ancient before the time of Sarek. Most scholars determined them to be a psychological reaction to our... rather violent mating rituals.
"But once we started traveling in space, there were incidents. On a non-predictable basis, the 'grace' of Ohkog would affect an area. Everyone in that area would be shrunk to one scale or another."
"So, are the guys...?"
"Doubtful. The area is usually confined to a building, a meadow, perhaps a single space station. In the first recorded instance, an historical scholar was among the first group so affected, recognized the signs, and he related the tales in time."
"In time?" Hoshi asked. "There's a time limit?"
"Yes. The tales are clear, and there has been one recent example. After Ohkog loses interest in the victims, any size that has not been regained will never be." Hoshi's eyebrows dropped.
"Why haven't you told anyone about this?"
"The Science Council became certain that it was unnecessary. Ohkog is a Vulcan deity. To date, we only had evidence of Vulcans being affected. It was thought that he would not affect humans."
"So, your government never told anyone about it because it's embarrassing? And, what, I'm affected because I'm in the same area as you?"
"I don't know. But you have seen the truth. You shrank. You experienced satisfaction at my hands, and you grew. I grew as well, but not as much as you. We must continue the task set for us by Ohkog."
"Oh, come on. I'm not sure what _IS_ happening, but you want me to... we should... Oh, come on. I mean, I like you, Commander, but not... We need to get back to Sickbay and see-" T'Pol leaned close and spoke urgently.
"Consider this, Hoshi. The best minds of the Vulcan Science Council would conclude that the God of Sex has shrunk us down. And the only viable response is to fuck ourselves normal." Hoshi was never sure, later, if it was the clout of the VSC or T'Pol using four-letter words that convinced her.
In response, she raised her hands and started stroking the huge breasts hanging before her.
'Think of it as exercise,' she thought, as she found the alien woman's nipples as responsive to attention as her own.
'Think of it as a medical treatment,' she continued, pretending to be isolated as her hands continued down the Vulcan torso. She found the pussy lips familiar as well. She wondered if the only external difference between humans and Vulcans was the pointy ears. Then she knelt down to concentrate on giving pleasure to her partner.
She noticed the smell was distinct, like nothing she'd ever known in connection with human biology. She fingered T'Pol's pussy and found her well-lubricated, and determined that the smell of an aroused Vulcan female reminded her of nothing so much as a puffed pancake.
"Wish I had some powdered sugar," she murmured. Then she leaned forward to explore strange new horizons with her tongue.
T'Pol gripped her head with firm but gentle insistence and aimed her attentions lower. Then lower again. Sato found another external difference when she realized just where the Vulcan clitoris was. Make that where the clitori were. She alternated her concentration between the upper and lower one. T'Pol set the rhythm by stroking Sato's ears.
Like the shrinking, the growth happened with no noticeable sensation of its own. The Vulcan issued a gentle gasp, and then suddenly the pussy she was licking was high out of her reach. She started to stand, but found T'Pol easing her down to the ground.
"Your turn," she whispered, taking Hoshi's breast in her mouth. Whatever the difference between them was, the larger woman was able to take up the entire boob. Her hands stroked and squeezed, rubbed the Ensign's breast, pussy, ribs, thighs, neck... amazingly enough to the younger human, each and every spot turned into an erogenous zone at the Vulcan's touch. She was on the brink of orgasm twice before T'Pol made her, let her cum. She arched her back at the sensation, grabbing T'Pol's hair to keep her close. When her mind cleared, she found that she was now taller than T'Pol. The Vulcan was cradled on her belly, stretching from the boob she was still licking to about her knees.
Hoshi reached down to grasp each of the two thighs on top of her own and draw them up. T'Pol rose to a sitting position, straddling the now-larger woman's stomach.
"Your turn," Sato whispered, running her fingers up and down the Vulcan torso. "What can I do for you?"
"Ladies, you should have come with us," Tucker sprang up the staircase into the ancient temple, Reed close behind. "We found some bays on this continent that make the fjords back home look like a trailer park with a drainage problem." As the two men entered the temple vestibule, they seemed to feel a strange tension in the room. They looked at each other, and then back to the other two.
Tucker asked, "What have you two been up to all day?" The women glanced at each other. T'Pol raised an eyebrow, while her human companion smiled slightly.
"Well," Sato replied, "I haven't been up to anything, but I've been down almost to one foot."
Everyone turned to T'Pol at the strange sound that might, just might have been a laugh. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: television
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: Star Trek, the Enterprise, and her crew, the Federation, are all properties of Paramount. This exploration of adult situations with Trek characters is only for entertainment. The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic. This work is my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, 'you gotta read this' excerpts, the usual). I tend to work with size-themed fiction, which includes overwhelming control issues and outrageous differences in scale. Such disparate sizes between partners are not for everyone, so be warned. The story is a continuation of a situation started with Shrinking Trek: Archer's Enterprise.
Uhura turned at the sound of a thump. At first, she didn't see anything out of place in the clearing. But then she realized that she didn't see the rest of the landing party. She started to walk through the high grasses. "Sulu?" she called, "Chekhov?" She looked to the trees but didn't see her fellow crewmen. Then her foot hit something. She looked down to see Sulu's tricorder lying on the ground. Her eyes trailed the strap as it wove through the grasses to a sleeve. The sleeve was empty, tangled in the blue-tinted blades of the vegetation. She stepped closer, slowly. She found her friend's pants, and Chekhov's shirt. Another slow step, terrified and certain that she was going to find either salt crystals, or bleached decahedrons, or some new indication of alien attack. What she found was a boot. Standing upright between the two uniforms, a single boot rocked back and forth. Small voices issued from within. Uhura lifted it up, half hoping and half terrified, to listen closely. "What are you doing?"
"I am going to climb up your shoulders and look around."
"You're not climbing on me. You're naked!"
"So are you!"
"But I am not touching you."
"What, you're afraid of being touched by a naked man? You're a homophobe? In this day and age?"
"There are no Russian homophobes. There are also no Russian homosexuals. It is a matter of- Look! What is that in the opening?"
With a strained smile, Uhura lowered the shoe to the ground and gently tipped the contents out. Sulu and Chekhov rolled onto the flat spot of one of their footprints. They were both about 7 inches tall. Sulu looked up at Uhura in astonishment, swiftly changing to suspicion. Chekhov shouted: "Look! Sulu! Something on this planet has made Uhura become a giant!" Sulu snorted in disbelief. "She grew to giant size? And so did the grass? And so did our uniforms? But not us?"
"You're right," the navigator agreed, looking around. "Logically, we must have grown, too. We just didn't grow as much. I hope we can still fit aboard in the passageways on Enterprise." He looked up at Uhura. "I'm afraid you will have to sleep in the hangar bay until McCoy or Spock can fix us."
Sulu shook his head at his friend. Then he turned to make eye contact with the communicator. "This is your brain." He pointed at Chekhov, "This is your brain when it's Russian. Remember kids, don't do Ukrainian."
"What are you talking about?" the Russian asked. Uhura finally got over her shock and swept her friends up in a gentle, relieved hug. "Oh, you're alright! I was so worried when you disappeared." Pressed against her breast, Chekhov squirmed around to look her in the eye. "I wouldn't exactly say we're alright! For one thing, your uniform is much rougher than mine is."
"You can joke," she replied with a half sob, "you're as okay as anyone can be. You're just small." Sulu was looking around the clearing, or as much as he could see around his fellow officer's bosom. "Why ARE we small? Anyone see any technology that might have done this to us?"
"Why must it be technology?" Chekhov asked from the other breast. "Maybe it's just a condition of the planet?" Sulu chucked a thumb at Uhura's cleavage. "Planet, huh? You notice that she wasn't affected?" He looked back up to the woman holding him. "I swear, something in the water? Genetic defect?" Uhura gave both of her friends a last squeeze, then stood up, looking around. She held the men gently, about waist high. "I think I know what happened here," she mused. "I read Admiral Sato's memoirs at the Academy. Not the published version, but something handed down between communications officers. Captain Durell thought I had some potential in that direction and let me have a copy." She went silent for a long moment. The guys made eye contact. Sulu shrugged and Chekhov started to rap on her knuckle. "So? What happened?"
"Oh." She came back to herself. "Sometimes, the Vulcans have run into a being they used to worship. Ohkog. A god."
"Ohhhhh," Chekhov moaned, "I never like it when we run into gods."
"What was he the god of?" Sulu asked. "Sex."
"That makes sense." Chekhov commented. The other two turned to stare at him. He gestured at the hand that held him, the size he was at. "Well, we're fucked." Uhura actually laughed at that, then sobered a little bit. "Close. He shrinks people that he thinks deserve to be. Then he makes them big again every time they…"
The other two started guessing at what Vulcan behavior a deity of theirs might reward: "Pray? Worship? Raise one eyebrow? Make condescending comments of others' mental abilities?" Then Sulu remembered what she'd just said. "Wait, he's the god of Vulcan sex? So we have to….. " He turned in horror to the other officer sitting naked in Uhura's hand. Chekhov grinned for a second. "So, it is not just a Russian problem, is it?" Then he turned to Uhura. "Wait, he's not right, is he? We don't have to…?"
"It's alright, guys. You just have to have sex. Not necessarily sex with each other." She raised Chekhov to her face and kissed his belly. Then her tongue darted out to draw both of his legs into her mouth. She fellated his entire body, lips rising as far as his ribs, and then dropping as low as his knees. In addition to the sensation, of sliding across her lips, rubbing against her tongue, feeling the suction on every inch of his body, the rhythm reminded him of other sexual encounters and drove him that much faster to a climax. When he finally came, it was on an out-stroke. He spasmed in her hand, with only his legs below the thigh still inside her. He watched a bolus of cum shoot up and splash on her lip. She licked it off as she lowered her little lover back down to hold him alongside Sulu. "See?" she asked. The spent officer sagged in her grip but was now nearly twice as tall as his friend. The helmsman looked from man to woman. "Uhura…" he started, "my wife…"
"Is a wonderful woman who I consider a personal friend." she replied sternly. "I would never do anything to harm her. But she has twenty years in crisis management. She may not like this, but she'll understand it. Besides," and her smile widened, "it's not like you have a choice." With that, she took the man to her mouth. A minute later, she dangled the two men beside each other. Sulu was about an inch taller than Chekhov, now. She lay the two men down on one of the uniform shirts. They stretched out and watched her. She stepped out of her boots, then removed her uniform. She stood for a second, looking down at her fellow bridge watchstanders. They drank in the beauty of her nude form. Sulu found himself becoming aroused again. He was surprised at how soon it was happening, but figured the deity responsible for this whole crazy day was attending to the detail. Then he looked up at Uhura's body again. He decided that supernatural explanations were not required for this rapid recovery. Uhura recovered the tricorder and removed a small package from the bottom. She spread out the survival blanket next to the men on the shirt. She knelt down on it and smiled at the others. "So, boys, who's ready for a rematch?" The men stood slowly and walked onto the blanket as in a daze. They hesitated at the edge, glancing from each other to the woman. Finally, Sulu pointed towards her breasts where they swung tantalizingly back and forth. "Go ahead, Anton. I'm the leg man." He stepped over to the other end, swung a leg over her calf, and stood between her legs. Her pussy was just about head high, and he contemplated it for a moment. Chekhov strode along her torso, trailing a hand on the large dark flank beside him. He figured that if she arched her back, he could walk under her belly without ducking. But he continued on. He reached her right boob and started gently stroking it. Up and down, pausing to stroke the nipple, and back up again. He whispered a thanks to Hikaru for the job splitting. Uhura got impatient. "You know," she pointed out "you get height restored for my orgasms, too."
"Really? That's good to know," he replied, but never changed his pace. She slowly swung the boob away from him. He stepped forward to keep it in reach. Suddenly, she swung back and knocked him down. The tit landed on top of him and pressed the air out of him. It lifted just long enough for him to suck in a quick breath, then she started pummeling him with both breasts from both sides. He giggled a bit at the thought of being beaten by boobies. Big boobies. Big black boobies bouncing and bounding him back and forth. The more he alliterated, the more he giggled. She got a big smile as well. Finally, she pressed down with Chekhov trapped in her cleavage. She opened her mouth to say something to him, then gasped. "Oooh, Mr. Sulu. What HAVE you found back there?" She closed her eyes and rocked back a bit. She had to restrain the urge to grind her ass against her lover out of fear of doing permanent damage. But she did widen her knees further apart, to bring her vagina down to a more convenient height for him. Sulu gently explored the slit of her sex. He reached one hand as high as he could; another explored the area around her clitoris. He teased, he stroked, tugged, and pressed, and felt the entire huge body shudder at his touch. Her moans shook his rib cage. She was close, he estimated, very close. Chekhov took the opportunity to grab her two nipples and squeeze as tightly as he could. He never noticed getting bigger, but suddenly the distance between the dark nipples wasn't as far a reach. Uhura sighed with satisfaction, then rolled off of him, swinging a leg wide to clear his partner. She curled up on the blanket, breathing a gentle 'thanks' to her two favorite men on the whole planet. They tried to estimate their new heights gained from giving Uhura an orgasm. Without walking over to the boot, the best they could estimate was that Sulu was taller than Uhura's knee, maybe coming to mid-thigh, but Chekhov was a few inches shorter. "This is an outrage! I was just as involved in her orgasm as you were! You tricked me! You sent me to the breasts so you could get taller sooner."
"Someone had to stroke the breasts. You didn't put up much of a fight."
"Right. Right. I am going to refuse the suggestion to stroke breasts the size of a hot tub with nipples like bread loaves. You tricked me."
"Okay, you want the pussy next? Be my guest."
"Of course, I want the pussy next. Out of my way." The mini-Russian stomped over to the Swahilian's knees. "Open up, woman, time it is wasting." Uhura lazily rolled over onto her back, legs spread. He stepped between them and knelt to her opening. He immediately started licking at the hood of her clitoris and drew a yelp from his victim. She grabbed his head and lifted it a couple of inches. "Not so fast, Anton. Give it a minute; work your way up to that." She released him; he nodded, and started in with a more tentative stroke. Meanwhile, she turned to Sulu and beckoned him closer. She lifted him with both hands, to sit between her breasts, legs on either side of her neck. He rubbed her breasts, she stroked his back. Finally, she speared a finger under his ass and lifted his crotch to her mouth. She licked everything from inner thigh to belly button. She drew his genitals into her mouth and examined his balls with her lips, his cock with her tongue. He stroked her cheeks, looking deeply into her eyes. When she figured he was as hard as humanly possible, she sucked. In the space of a second, she felt his body go rigid and his grip on her nose tighten. Then he was big enough to step over her chest and off of her. The very thought that she had the power to make him bigger pushed her over the edge, and she felt another orgasm. Immediately, Chekhov stopped what he was doing and stepped over her leg. "Sulu! I've done it. I've grown again! How tall are…" He stopped when he realized Sulu was twice as tall as him. "You tricky BASTARD! I swear, I will-" His rant was interrupted when Uhura grabbed him and sucked him off to shut him up. He lay back afterwards, certain he was much taller than his friend, now. For the next hour, the three friends explored each other. Taking turns with new positions and working as a team, they soon had everyone fully restored. At the end, Uhura lay sandwiched between the men, all of them on the blanket, looking up at the fading twilight. "That…that was wonderful, guys," she whispered, running the fingers of one hand through Sulu's hair and stroking Chekhov's chest with the other. "I don't think we can do it again, but I don't regret any of it."
"I regret," Chekhov started, "that Sulu was the first one back to normal." He raised his head to look to the other man. "But I forgive you." Sulu just responded with a rude gesture from out of Uhura's line of sight. "Well, guys, I guess we'd better get dressed and report in. They're going to wonder what happened to us."
"You can say that again," Kirk replied from somewhere close. The three crewmen stretched around to look up at their captain. "This looks like an interesting after-action report."
"Indeed, Captain," Spock added, stepping into view. "I do not recall any survey technique described in this manner."
"Actually, Mr. Spock," Uhura replied, "Admirals T'pol and Sato made one survey exactly like this one. On Ratchus II." As she expected, the mention of the other Ohkog incident she knew about sent one Vulcan eyebrow as high as it would go. He turned to the CO. "Captain, we should go. I will explain in detail, but I believe our crewmen have suffered enough humiliation for today." Kirk seemed surprised, but nodded agreement with his science officer. They called for recall and were beamed back to the ship. The remaining three scurried to gather their uniforms and gear. "I don't get it," Chekhov asked, "was Mr. Spock actually worried about our feelings? Was that logical?"
"I don't know," Sulu shrugged. "I do.
They turned to her. "It's very logical," they said. "Imagine finding out that the Vulcan god of sex is active in the area and realizing you're standing next to James Kirk." An image sprang into their minds: of the stoic Vulcan being small and naked with their earthly captain, and knowing what they'd have to do to please the deity. "Wouldn't you scamper like a bunny?"
The trio almost couldn't finish dressing, they were laughing so hard. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: television
Shrinking Trek 5: Janeway's Voyager
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: Star Trek, the Voyager, and her crew, the Federation, are all property of Paramount. This exploration of adult situations with Trek characters is only for entertainment. The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic. This work is my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, 'you gotta read this' excerpts, the usual). I tend to work with size-themed fiction, which includes overwhelming control issues and outrageous differences in scale. Such disparate sizes between partners are not for everyone, so be warned. The story is a continuation of a situation started with Shrinking Trek: Archer's Enterprise.
Janeway didn't quite wake up at the change. Her bed was much softer, and she squirmed happily in the deep cushioning, but she stayed in a mostly sleeping state. The Voice, however, put paid to any chance of sleep. Blasting from the speakers like God's Own Announcer, the voice of the holographic Doctor shook her very bones. "Attention, attention, this is the Emergency Medical Hologram speaking." Janeway woke instantly and tried to roll out of bed, but found that all she could do was wrestle with the cushion. The voice continued: "I've evaluated the crisis and developed a course of action. Please remain in the vicinity of your Communications Badges, and we will be beaming all crew members to the Holodeck."
The captain finally fought her way free of the overwhelming softness and tried to figure out where she was. It was a dark room stretching off into unguessed distances. She was beside a shuttle-sized down mattress, and the floor she and it stood on was further cushioned under a fabric covering. In the distance, muted lights blinked somewhere above the horizon. She was naked and saw no sign of her nightshirt. As she glanced around, she saw that the platform she was on stood across from a raised dais. When she saw what was on it, her suspicions about her location crystallized. Thirty feet away from her was her communicator. It was on her nightstand where she left it every night. And it was as long as her leg. Next to it was her customary water glass. Never mind half full or half empty, she thought, it's twice as tall as I am. I've shrunk during the night, and ended up on my pillow.
Janeway turned to the ceiling and shouted commands to the computer. She asked for lights, a comm link to the bridge, a general status report, but the ship never acknowledged her. As she considered how to get across to her nightstand, the Doctor's voice returned. "Attention. We have completed mustering all crew members whose location could be determined using their Commbadge. Fourteen personnel remain unaccounted for. We will begin with a concentrated search of their quarters, followed by detailed scans of certain parts of the ship. Please continue to stand by."
Katherine could probably have just waited for her crew to find her, but starship captains seldom attain that position by waiting around. She hunted around the bed sheets beneath the pillow and found one sleeve of her sleep shirt. She dragged the end over to the side of the bed and swung over. Her weight was little enough that the drag between the covers and the shirt slowed her fall. She made a perfect two-point landing on the floor and started across to her head. All restrooms aboard had a communications circuit in the bathroom. It was the one place that a crew woman was the most likely to end up hurt, naked, and alone. She should be able to activate one of the pickups even from her diminished position. As she got to the bathroom door, though, she realized the motion sensor that would open it for her was aimed about 8 inches over her head. Undaunted, she began looking on the floor for something to throw up into the pickup. She was still searching the automatically cleaned quarters when the door opened. Seven of Nine entered slowly, making sure her footing was clear by tricorder before stepping. "Captain?" she called softly. "Are you in here?"
Janeway ran along the wall of the compartment until she was next to the taller woman. She couldn't help but notice that Seven was fully dressed and apparently full-sized. "Here! Seven! Over here!" Seven turned to the captain with relief clear on her face. But she still moved slowly. "Was there anyone in here with you?" "No. You don't see anyone, do you?" Seven shook her head as she walked carefully to the Captain's location. "The entire ship has suffered what is believed to be the Grace of Ohkog. Crewmen are shrunken to varying extents. You are not the smallest." Janeway considered the implications of this as her friend lifted her up. Seven continued, "I have been unaffected." She walked out of the stateroom and worked her way down the passageway. "Tuvok suspects that Ohkog considered me under the protection his rules afford virgins. Naomi Wilder is also apparently off limits. Lieutenants Paris and Torres remain at their original size. It is probably because even by Ohkog's standards they have a sufficiently active sex life."
Janeway considered the recent project to double the soundproofing of the Paris' stateroom...again...and privately agreed with Seven's assessment. Aloud she said, "Or possibly even Vulcan deities are afraid of Klingon sex." That brought her around, again, to wondering what the god's view of her sex needs indicated about her private life. She glanced over her shoulder (and over Seven's thumb) and saw they were approaching the holodeck. "So," she asked, "what's the plan?" "Torres and Paris have divided the bridge and engine room functions to operate the ship between the two of them. Naomi is assisting, and getting her chance to perform bridge functions under close supervision. The Doctor is coordinating the recovery. I have been collecting affected crewmen."
The 'deck doors opened, and Seven walked into a basketball court. Bank upon bank of seating rose from the central playing area. Kate noticed members of the crew seated in careful order. The scales rose from inch-tall people at the edge of the court to nearly full-sized officers and enlisted in the highest rank of seats. Everyone was seated in the rows on the left-hand side. She also noticed that they were all clothed. As she glanced down reflexively, she saw that the holodeck had draped her nudity with a projection of her own uniform. But from the grip of her transporter's hand on her skin, she could tell that it was only a nod to visual privacy. She was still actually naked behind an illusion of fabric. Seven placed her passenger down in the appropriate rank, then stepped back to the Arch. Janeway had a moment to gauge the distribution of crewmen between the rows, and then heard the whine of a transporter beam. Ensign Kim appeared in the row below her, and then the Doctor appeared in center court. "Welcome, Voyager Crew. We have finally located everyone and gathered them all here. As you're probably aware by now, the Vulcan god of sexual urges and interpersonal contact has seen fit to bless this crew. His blessing has, as usual, indicated by size reduction his estimate of the need for you all to participate in intercourse. Now, no one has to worry. I've established some protocols for this event, and if everyone will cooperate, we'll get everyone back to normal as soon as possible."
Janeway stepped to the rail and raised her hand. "Doctor, just what do you intend to do with us?" A number of others had asked questions at the same time. The EMH gestured for them to wait as he answered the ranking officer. "Due to the time constraints of this sort of event, and the lengthy amount of time spent by the Vulcan Science Council on the problem, I can only conclude that traditional treatments are required. You will simply have to have sex with one another until you achieve vertical satisfaction." He smiled at his little witticism. Janeway didn't. He dropped his grin and continued: "I feel that rapid completion of sexual congress is key." He leaned over and picked up two people off the 1-inch rail. Janeway's 'magnify' command to the holodeck enabled her to see clearly that it was Chief Steve Samuels and Ensign Poeela Chales. "So, I will select the crewmen most closely matched in physical scale, and place them in a private venue to complete their contact." He nodded to Seven, who entered a command to the Arch. The half of the arena behind the Doc wavered, and then changed to a luxury liner docked at the wharf extending from the basketball court floor. The decks were graduated as the seats of the court, smaller rising to larger. A companionway connected the larger-scaled seats to the appropriate deckways. "Research has shown me that a luxury cruise contains the best combinations of privacy, romantic settings, and bed space."
The Doc turned to deliver his charges to the ship. Janeway called for him to halt. He turned back, still holding his matched pair. "It's a good plan, Doc, but there's a couple of problems." One being, she thought to herself, that she knew Samuels preferred blondes to Borellians, and another being that Chales preferred other women. "Human sexuality doesn't cooperate with carefully ordered plans. Pick me up." Doc put his couple down, to the evident relief of them both, and collected his commanding officer. She ordered a pillar raised from the floor, with a rail and a microphone. She turned to her crew. "Okay, people, we need to get big, and we need to get big before Ohkog leaves. The method is sex, and the priority is going to be for the most shrunken personnel." She waved to the front row. "For successful sex, you need to be attracted to your mate. The smallest person gets to pick their partner. The person they find most attractive will probably be the best choice for achieving orgasm. Remember that this isn't a wedding. It isn't even a date. Ohkog only cares about the physical expression of love. Now, if you really don't want to sleep with the person that chose you, you can turn them down. But keep in mind, eventually you're going to be at the front of the line. And helping someone else achieve orgasm helps you get your size back, too. Married couples will be assumed to cleave to each other, and are off-limits for selection."
While she was talking, Seven had altered the holoprogram. Each individual had a number floating above their head. It indicated a measurement of their current size compared to their normal height. The smallest crewman had a bold red border around hers. Janeway pointed to Ensign Chales. "Okay, Chales, you're first." Chales blushed a fine sapphire and turned to the higher seat rows. She found every face in the basketball court pointed at her. Shyly, she indicated an 8-inch tall chief from Shuttle Maintenance. As Doc lifted the two of them to the liner, Janeway searched out her XO. She found Chakotay up at the two-foot level. When they made eye contact, he gave a quick nod. So, he'd known about that particular pair. She wasn't surprised, it was his job. Pairs started to form between the ship's crew. Some signaled for transport from the Doc, some involved a partner who was big enough to carry the other across the gangways. Ensign Kim showed the initiative not to interrupt the transport of lovers, and asked the holodeck to make him a bridge over to Janeway's pillar. Katherine was surprised, if flattered, that the junior officer had chosen to approach her. But she was surprised at his actual question. "Um, Captain, what are the rules…?" she started. She looked down and smiled at him. "I think we can ignore the rules about fraternization, Harry."
"Actually, Captain, I think this is more about your rules than Starfleet's. What, uh, what about Seven of Nine?" Janeway was stunned for a second, and was on the point of saying the unseasoned woman was off limits. Then she thought of two things. It really was the woman's choice, and she certainly had qualities that would help get some of her people back to normal in a timely fashion. She turned to the arch. Seven of Nine was watching people pair up with a wistful expression. Janeway called her over. "Seven, would you like to help? I mean, would you like to participate? You don't have to, but…" "I believe I would like to experience human sexuality, Captain." Janeway noticed a distinct drop in the background noise after Seven spoke. She also noticed that Seven's hand brushed over the implants next to her eye. "Well, Seven, this isn't exactly normal human sexuality, here. Any lessons you learn here won't apply as well to any future relationships."
"That may be true, Captain, but I still would like to contribute. There is still an amount of resentment for my Borg background among the crew. The more I can help; perhaps the better I can establish rapport." Janeway couldn't fault her statements, looked to Chakotay. They made eye contact, shrugged to each other. The skipper turned back to her volunteer. "Okay, if you want to-" She stopped as she noticed that Seven was again hiding her electronics. "Seven, if you're worried about your implants, you shouldn't be." "They remind others of my nature, my recent past." Janeway could sense many of the men of the crew (and not a few of the women) holding their breath. She looked up at the younger woman's face, framed from her point of view by Seven's gravity-denying breasts. She shook her head. "Trust me, Anna, no one's going to notice your implants today."
Seven looked at Janeway for a minute, then cast her eye across the rest of the crowd. Without a word she unzipped her suit and shrugged out of it. She smiled shyly down at Kim, then plucked him up and held him to her face. "I believe intercourse between friends includes a kiss." She laid lips on the ensign's chest. At the start of intercourse, the holoprogram removed his virtual uniform. She held him away from her lips and examined his body closely. She stroked his chest, legs, arms. He lay quietly in her grip, afraid to startle her. "And then, one proceeds to stimulation of the secondary erogenous zones. Foreplay, I believe." She licked Kim's body from knees to nipples. When he was well-lubricated, she lowered him to her chest. She used her little partner to stroke her breasts, concentrating on her own nipples. She placed him between her boobs and squeezed them together. Janeway was engrossed with the display, but others were more impressed. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a yard-tall engineman suddenly drop to his knees, gasping. He seemed to glow for a second, then the size number above his head changed. The captain couldn't blame him at all.
By now, Seven had worked Harry down to her groin. "And finally," she announced, "one addresses the primary sexual characteristics." She worked him through her pubic hair as she lowered herself to the floor. Harry grabbed her fingers and brushed himself back and forth across the giantess' pussy lips. She covered him and her pussy with her hands, holding the tiny lover in place. He crouched, placed his feet on her palm, and started to thrust himself into his partner.
"No penetration!" Janeway shouted. "If he regains size while he's inside -"
"Historically," Tuvok contributed from behind his captain, "penetration has never resulted in a harmful amount of growth. Ohkog would never punish sexual satisfaction. Ensign Kim will not grow beyond what Seven of Nine can handle until he has been removed."
Janeway replied, "Oh." She had not noticed Tuvok's approach and was a little uncomfortable to find him next to her. She stood to about mid-thigh next to the security officer. She found images of what must be hidden behind the virtual uniform filling her mind. She looked away for something else to think about. She noticed a line forming on the hard wood floor. Officers and crew were approaching Seven's head. She writhed on the floor, eyes closed. Janeway saw Chakotay down on the floor, organizing the line: shortest people to the front, taller to the back. She had the holodeck connect them by a private message line. "Be sure they don't crowd her. And if she doesn't want to play anymore, make sure they accept that."
"My thoughts exactly, Captain," her number one replied, "I think she could be a big help here, but we could easily mess her up for the foreseeable future. We won't press her any farther than she's prepared to go." Janeway nodded again and signed off. She looked to Seven again. Kim lay draped across one thigh, dripping wet and panting, but twice as big as he'd been. Seven opened her eyes and turned to the waiting queue. She took the next two volunteers in hand, licked both of them, and pressed one to each nipple. Janeway turned away.
She found herself face to face with Tuvok, who had sat down. "Captain," he started, "you are aware that Vulcan mating bonds are difficult to break." Janeway asked, "Could we call up a Holodeck version of your wife?" Tuvok replied, "No matter how good the replication, my intellect would be aware that it was, in fact, a replication. It would not be sufficient. However, my wife and I have an arrangement."
Janeway asked, "An arrangement?" She was starting to worry where this conversation was going. "You and your wife have a plan about what you should do if you were shrunk while away from home and needed to get sexed up to return to normal?" Tuvok replied, "Not exactly. But my wife and I have shared ourselves telepathically. My wife has come to care for you as much as I do. She trusts you as much as I do. She recognizes that we have a bond."
Janeway said, "Tuvok, um, I'm flattered, really, but I wouldn't want to ruin a perfectly good -" Tuvok interrupted, "I do not think our relationship is at risk, Katherine." Janeway was shocked. She tried to remember the last time her security officer had used her first name. He continued, "This is a unique situation where we both recognize the need for something we neither anticipated nor desired. But the fact remains; you are the one person on board that I know, for a fact, that my wife would not resent my intercourse with. That she would even approve, if we could communicate with her."
Janeway said, "And that approval is important to you." She didn't make it a question. She thought of her trip to his home in the Vulcan desert, meeting his family, and remembered his wife looking at her. She recognized now that it was approval she saw in that lovely face. She surrendered to the inevitable and stepped up to her tall friend. She planted a chaste, sisterly kiss on his cheek. "That is for being a good friend, Tuvok. Even if you never said so." She placed another kiss full on his lips. It was not a sisterly kiss. As his lips opened to return the attention, she noticed the heat of his body, the fire of his breath.
Then his hands swept her up and carried her to the waiting liner. She chanced one look back at her charge and found Seven entertaining half a dozen crewmen at once, climbing up her, crawling over her, and reaching into her. Then Tuvok's hands caressed her breast, and she stopped worrying about much of anything for a long, lovely while. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: cartoons
Chapter 1
More Disclaimer: This exploration of the world of the Smurfs is only for entertainment.. This work is my own.. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual).. -------Smurfette stood on the tips of her toes to reach the last smurfberry on the bush.. She probably had enough of the things for the smurfberry pie she was going to bake, but this one looked special.. It glinted in the sunshine, extra smurfy in her eyes.. She was drawn to it, her mouth going all smurfy with anticipation.. After a moment of trying to reach it one handed, she put the basket on the ground.. With a vigorous jump, she grabbed it with both hands.. Swinging her little blue feet back and forth, Smurfette tried to yank the berry off the stalk.. It bounced under her weight, but didn't come free.. She was trying to think of something else to do when her eye caught something even smurfier.. From her new vantage point, she saw a beautiful blue ribbon.. It was wrapped around some branches deeper in the smurfberry bush.. That blue was the blue of a sky after a brief summer rain.. She and the other Smurfs could give it to Papa Smurf.. It could have a million smurfy uses, she just knew it.. "I'll bet he could make his house look soooooo smurfy," she whispered, marking the direction.. She dropped to the ground and stepped carefully through the branches of the bush.. The sky passed from view as she worked her way in.. The bare branches under the canopy of leaves loomed in the gloom.. Just when she started to wonder if she was lost, a breeze ruffled the leaves.. Dappled sunlight shone down on the ribbon.. "Oh, hooray!" she called, moving quickly as she could.. One end of the ribbon dangled down in front of her face.. The rest snaked through the darkness and out of view.. "Well, have to start somewhere," she said, tugging gently on the ribbon.. To her surprise, it tugged back.. As she watched, the inner branches of the smurfberry bush parted and a large, blue globe rose slowly into the air.. The ribbon she held snaked through the branches to the bottom of the globe, rising up into the sky with it.. "Ooooh, it's so smurfy," she breathed.. Then she realized the end of the ribbon was going to go up as well.. She let go.. At least, she tried to.. Her hands would not part from the fabric.. Before she could do more than squeak in surprise, she was lifted up and out of the bush.. Dangling from the blue globe by the ribbon, she floated off across the forest.. After a moment, she realized that the balloon was making a straight line for Gargamel's castle.. "Uh-oh," she said.. "This isn't nearly as smurfy as I thought it was going to be.. "Far beneath her, and way, way behind her, Tough Smurf finished weaving a sledge to carry all the smurfberries they'd collected back to the Smurf village.. He turned to look for his berry hunting partner.. "Smurfette.. SMURFETTE! Now where did she get off to?"------
NEXT CHAPTER
Chapter 2
Smurfette dangled from the ribbon as the balloon floated through the forest.. She noticed that it wasn't affected by the wind, or by her swinging the ribbon back and forth.. The line was straight as a rail laid out by Handy Smurf, from the bush to a window in Gargamel's hovel.. She barely cleared the bottom of the open window.. "Oh!" she cried, thinking just too late to try to hook her foot to the sill.. While she was twisted around to look out the window at the forest, the balloon continued across the room.. It paused just above the fireplace, holding Smurfette over an empty glass bottle.. The blue ball dropped suddenly, lowering her down to the bottom and wedged itself into the mouth.. The ribbon parted from the stopper and fell at Smurfette's feet.. At last, she could let go of the thing.. She kicked at the coils wrapped around her feet and looked around.. The rubber of the balloon shrank down and gathered into a stopper.. The dome of captured air got smaller and smaller, finally popping with a loud crack.. The noise woke Gargemel, sleeping in the next room.. "Huh? What was that?" he asked, rolling to his feet and standing.. Azrael didn't answer.. The cat just stretched from the corner of the bed to take over the vacated pillow.. The alchemist looked around, trying to figure out what had woken him.. He stepped through the doorway, searching the room.. His gaze panned across the decrepit room, passing the trash, dirty dishes, piled debris, fireplace, bookshelf...then twisted back to the fireplace.. Focusing on the bright yellow tresses in the bottle, a slowly growing smile revealed all three of the man's remaining teeth.. "You're back!" he crowed.. "I knew Papa Smurf couldn't change you that much.. " He skipped happily over and plucked up the bottle.. "Please, Mr.. Gargamel! You have to let me go!" Smurfette pleaded.. "But you just got here, my dear," he replied.. He moved to sit at the table, looking down at the captive in his grasp.. "Besides, you wanted to be here.. "
"No, I didn't," she assured him.. He pointed to the stopper.. "But you used my Return Spell.. The one I set up when I sent you into the Smurf village.. " She stared up at him with a blank expression.. "You wouldn't have known about the balloon until you finished your mission.. So! Have you?"
"I just saw a ribbon that looked extra smurfy," she said, shaking her head.. "I didn't want to come here.. And I didn't finish your mission, Gargamel.. Papa Smuf turned me into a Real Smurf.. I don't belong to you any more.. "
"Oh, fiddlesticks," he replied.. "No one has that kind of power.. If Papa Smurf had the power to turn a homunculus into a real Smurf, he certainly wouldn't be living in a toadstool.. "
"He likes his toadstool," she said.. "No one with real Power would like a toadstool," he said with finality.. She stopped arguing.. "The fact remains," he went on, "you're here.. Part of you MUST remember being made by me.. "
She shook her head silently.. "Well," he said with a happy lilt to his voice, "there's one way to find out!"
Smurfette watched from her glass prison as the man selected a tome from the vast pile of books around him.. "You see, my little spy, there are a number of spells I could use here.. " He flipped through the pages rapidly.. "If any part of you remains from the creature I made, I can use that link.. " He found the page, a spell marked 'Creature,' with a large, illuminated 'C' at the top of the page.. He placed a large bookmark at the spot and flipped through more pages.. "If not, if you really are entirely Smurf now," he mumbled, "I can... I can... Aha! I can still Command you to be my spy.. " Another spell was scrawled across the page, titled 'Command.. ' The illuminated first letter of the title was similar to the first spell.. He placed another bookmark there and shut the book for a moment.. "Now...which one to try first, I wonder?" Smurfette shrank down in her bottle.. His smile turned into a leer.. "I think I'll try 'Creature,'" he said.. "For old times sake.. "
He placed the book upon a stand, opened to the right spell and started gathering components.. "Air from a tomb," he muttered, "eye of a storm, twigs from a robin's nest.... "
Occupied by his inventory, he didn't notice that Azrael was awake.. The feline eyed the trapped Smurf from the doorway.. NEXT CHAPTER
Chapter 3
Quickly, but silently, the cat padded across the room and jumped to the table.. Smurfette's eyes grew wide as her eyes met Azrael's.. With an evil grin, he crept closer.. He gathered himself and leapt.. "Dag-rabbit!" Gargamel shouted, sweeping his arm down to catch the cat in mid-air.. Unnoticed by anyone in the room, his sleeve crossed the spell book and turned several pages as he tossed Azrael down to the floor.. "You know better than to eat one of my Smurfs.. Before I'm done with it, anyway.. " Behind him, the pages revealed the 'Command' page.. The bookmark slid down to the floor.. The wizard turned back to the book with a humph and continued gathering spell components.. "Petals from a budding rose.. .. A rose? I don't remember a rose.. " Before he could track the thought down, he saw Azrael sneaking around the back of the table.. "Out!" he shouted, grabbing a broom and sweeping the cat out the door.. "If this works, we'll have plenty of Smurfs, enough for me to make gold and for you to eat, alright? Now, what was I looking for?"
"A bottle opener?" Smurfette suggested.. "Right, a bottle open-" he caught himself as he almost picked up a corkscrew.. "Nice try, Smurfette, but what I really wanted was a budding rose.. " He collected more ingredients for a few moments.. Azrael's face appeared in the window behind him.. The cat softly pushed on the glass and slowly opened it.. A breeze shuffled the book pages yet again.. This time, they stopped on the spell named 'Care.. ' And the illuminated C was almost identical to Command's and Creature's.. The sound of the rustling drew the alchemist's attention.. His head whipped around to catch Azrael sneaking inside.. The cat froze, then shrugged and withdrew.. Gargamel turned back to his spell book.. "Raven's feather," he muttered, placing one in the growing pile on the table.. "Ladybug's pillow... " Finally, he was ready to start actually making the potion.. He set a cauldron over the fire and started adding components.. A thick, purple smoke soon boiled up out of the pot and filled the room.. Gargamel watched it approach, scratching his chin.. "Odd," he said.. "I don't recall a purple cloud from the last time I-" He stopped talking as he disappeared from view.. Inside her airtight bottle, Smurfette could only see swirls of lavender mist coiling and writhing around her.. She turned around and around, but there was nothing else to see.. "I wonder how it smells," she pondered.. "It's not blue, so it couldn't be VERY smurfy, but..." Her voice trailed off as something appeared in the murk.. Gargamel's head hove into view, sporting a very strange leer as he gazed down at the female Smurf.. "Well, helllllloooooooooo, there," he said.. "Do you come here often?"
"Oh, smurf," she muttered.. He picked up the bottle and sat heavily in his chair.. As he did, the clouds started to lower.. A thick carpet covered the floor, but left the rest of the room clear.. "You know," he said, "I always thought you were kind of cute, you know.. " He smiled again, his grizzled cheeks close to the glass.. "Why don't you come out of there and we can...get to know one another?"
"Sure," she said.. "That'd be smurfy.. Can you...?" She pointed up.. He glimpsed the stopper.. "Oh, certainly," he said.. With a few grunts, he managed to open the bottle.. He tipped it over and poured her onto the table.. "There," he said.. "Now, what shall we talk about?"
"About a mile away!" she said with a smile.. Fast as a wink, she jumped from the table and slid down the leg.. Once on the floor, she pulled the hem of her skirt back down, turned towards the door.... and paused.. Gargamel swept a large, torn fan back and forth, parting the clouds long enough for him to find her and lower a hand.. She stepped happily into his palm, smiling up at the man.. As she looked, the light seemed to glimmer off of his tooth.. "I never noticed," she said happily, "just how...smurfy you are.. "
"You too, my dear," he assured her.. "You, too.. "
NEXT CHAPTER
Chapter 4
"Papa Smurf! Papa Smurf!" Tough Smurf shouted.. Smurfs came running from all the points of the village.. Papa came more slowly.. He wouldn't get excited until he knew it was a real problem.. "What is it, Tough Smurf?" he asked.. "Smurfette! She disappeared! I just turned away from a moment, and Smurf! She was gone!" the younger Smurf cried.. "Was it a fox?" another Smurf asked.. "Did a fox get her?"
"Oh, no," another wailed.. "Maybe a dog?" one added.. "A wolf?" another guessed.. "A duck?" from the back of the growing crowd.. "That doesn't make any smurfing sense," someone argued from the other side.. "Does so!" the first insisted
"You're just afraid of ducks.. "
"They're just not smurfy!"
"ENOUGH!" Papa Smurf cried out.. "Tough Smurf, tell me what happened! Quick as a smurf!"
-----
Some time later, Papa Smurf led a search and rescue party of Smurfs through the forest.. "I think it was this smurfberry bush," Tough said, pointing.. Three of his fellows peeled off to search through the branches.. "Or..." Tough went on.. He pointed again, three more went to search that bush.. Papa Smurf rolled his eyes.. Looking up that way, he glimpsed an odd color.. The underside of the leaves of a nearby tree were dappled in purple.. "That's odd," he muttered.. "Leaves should be green this time of year.. "
Tough pointed through the trees towards another bush as Papa walked off to investigate this oddity.. A team of Smurfs swerved from one bush to the new one.. Across the clearing, Papa found that sunlight was coloring the leaves by reflecting off of a low purple cloud.. It wasn't very smurfy to look at.. It seemed to cower along the ground.. As he watched, a mouse ran across the ground, skirting the edge of the mist.. A hawk stooped out of the sky, talons extended to grasp the rodent.. "Look OUT!" Papa Smurf shouted.. Warned, the mouse turned to dive into the cover of the haze.. The hawk corrected its flight to catch up and they both disappeared from sight.. Papa watched carefully, hoping the mouse escaped.. A breeze came through the trees, moving the clouds.. Inside, the hawk stood on one foot and held the mouse in the other.. It lifted the mammal up to its face...and kissed it.. The little man watching wasn't sure, but it looked like the mouse kissed back.. "That's just smurfin' insane," he muttered, shaking his head.. Behind him, Tough started to point his hand.. Seven Smurfs tossed smurfberries at him until he was buried under the pulps.. NEXT CHAPTER
Chapter 5
Gargamel stretched back upon his cot, holding Smurfette against his chest.. "I've never felt this way about anyone before," he told her.. "Neither have I," she agreed.. He set the girl down on his stomach, reaching past to lift up the hem of his robe.. Smurfette was both excited and scared.. She really, really wanted to please her new-found soulmate.. But she was worried about what was under that filthy garment.. Glancing around the broken-down building he lived in, and his rotted teeth, she was pretty sure that he was a fetid mess inside the only clothing he appeared to own.. To her surprise, the smell of fresh herbs wafted over her as the man undressed under her.. With a final tug, he rucked his clothes up to his chest, the Smurf woman jumping lightly over the wave of fabric as it crested over his belly.. She came down on lily-white, but clean smelling, skin..
Before her, the man's cock-a-doodle looked like a fat sun-dial, angled up out of what looked to be a neatly trimmed nest of hairs.. "You smell so... so minty and smurfy!" she said happily.. She knew that she'd have braved anything to be closer to the alchemist, now that she realized she loved him.. But she was just as pleased to find him actually tolerable.. "It's the magic," he explained.. "One has to be pure to perform magic.. So I spelled the robe to-"
"Hush," she said.. "I don't care.. " She stepped slowly forward, stopping beside the cock.. While she stared at it, his hand dipped down to pluck at her dress.. She barely noticed as he lifted it up and off of her.. It returned to take her cap.. She kicked off her shoes and cocked a hip, batting an eye over her shoulder at Gargamel.. His eyes drank in her flat form.. The only curves on her body were around her head and around her teeny, tiny tail.. She shook it slightly as he watched.. His cock throbbed at the sight.. "Touch me," he whispered, drooling slightly.. "'Kay," she said.. With a hop, she was on top of his cock.. It bobbed slightly from her weight, but stayed pointing at the man's chin.. She'd never done anything like this before, but it seemed so right.. She walked up and down the length of him.. Then again, pausing at each step to dig into his skin with her toes.. Not harshly, just enough for him to feel it.. It was like being nibbled, ever so gently, by warm, soft teeth.. He groaned and writhed on the bed, careful not to disturb her.. On her third pass, she stopped just below the purple helmet.. Lowering herself to a seated position, she wrapped her legs around the penis, tickling at the rim of the helmet with her toes.. She giggled as the man threw his head back and moaned.. She grabbed the little flap of skin in front of her and pulled herself back and forth.. It seemed to feel good to the wizard, she guessed, because his eyes rolled up in his head and his breathing changed.. She felt... Well, she didn't feel as good, but it certainly felt right.. Smurfette shrugged and gripped harder with her legs.. Gargamel's feet drummed on the thin mattress as Smurfette's leg-job brought him to release.. With a grunt and a tremor that almost shook her free, he came.. A great bolus of sperm shot out and across his chest.. She relaxed her grips as her mount slowly deflated and sank down.. With a hop, she skipped off and walked slowly towards his face.. He watched her approaching, all angular lines and flat stretches of blue skin.. "You're lovely, my dear," he said.. "Thank you," she replied.. At the pile of his robes, she leaned her head on her hands, elbows resting on the fabric.. "How long before we can do that again?" she asked.. "Not...for some time," he admitted.. "Well, we'll have to think of something else," she said, fingers twirling a lock of her hair.. NEXT CHAPTER
Chapter 6
"Wrap the cloth around your heads," Papa Smurf told his band of rescuers.. "It'll protect you from the love-potion cloud.. " Suiting words to actions, he covered his face with the white cloth, coming to resemble a short, turquoise bandit.. "Oh, that's smurfy!" one complimented him.. The other Smurfs wrapped their own cloths around their head, producing everything from a turban to an origami moustache.. While many were striking, none covered both their nose and mouth, so were useless against the mist.. Papa looked them over for a second.. "New plan!" he announced.. Taking Brainy Smurf's cloth-Fez into his own hands, he fashioned the strip of cloth into a blindfold across Brainy's eyes.. "Now do that.. " The others quickly followed suit.. Groping around the grass, Tough Smurf asked: "Will this protect us from the love potion, Papa Smurf?"
"Nope," he admitted, turning to walk towards Gargamel's home.. "But if you do get horny, I'd rather you couldn't find me.. " The voices faded behind him as he approached the hut alone.. Outside of the front door, the alchemist's cat was curled up with a hen.. Both slept with satisfied smiles.. Papa Smurf shook his head as he slipped past.. Inside, he saw the last wisps of lavender smoke curl up over the edge of the pot.. He avoided the tendrils of gas as he gazed around the room.. "Smurfette?" he called softly.. With no response, he moved towards the nearest doorway.. Before he got there, he heard sounds from the other side.. "That's Smurfette!" he said excitedly.. "Is she... Giggling?"
Easing his head around the frame, he stopped in stunned silence.. Across the room, Gargamel lay on his back on the rickety cot.. His robes were hoisted up to his armpit, and a very firm erection was in view at his crotch.. Papa barely noticed that detail, though.. Smurfette hung from her grip on the man's thumb, lowering her over Gargamel's mouth.. Her legs were spread across his cheeks like his lips were a saddle.. The man kissed and licked at the join of her legs.. "Oooooh!" she said gleefully.. "That makes me feel all smurfy in my secret private girl place.. "
"Crabapples," Papa Smurf muttered.. "She's much too young to be using such language.. " He looked around the room for any idea about how to rescue his little ward from the evil wizard.. Before he could come up with an idea, she spoke again.. "Oh! Look! Somebody's ready for another round of 'Ride The -"
"STOP!" Papa Smurf shouted, running across the floor.. The two on the bed smiled down at him.. "Papa Smurf!" Smurfette giggled.. "You look like a highwayman.. "
"A tiny, blue robber," Gargamel agreed.. "I guess you're avoiding the love-potion smoke?" Papa stared back up at the man.. "You know?"
"I'm in love," the man replied.. "Not stupid.. "
"Well," Smurfette said, "not any more stupid, Snookums.. "
"Ah.. I see your point, my dear.. " He set her down on the floor and stroked her hair once with a gnarled finger.. "Well, you should get going before this wears off.. "
"Oh, but I could never leave you!" she cried.. "And if you wait another ten minutes, I'll never let you leave," he answered with a sad smile.. "But as long as I love you, I can't hurt you.. So, go along with Papa Smurf before it's too late.. "
"Oh, you'd never be so-" She was interrupted when Papa Smurf bodily lifted the naked girl to his shoulder and took off running for the door.. "Okay, bye, thanks for everything, maybe we'll call you some time, keep in touch," he shouted as he ran.. Smurfette kicked her feet and waved g'bye.. Gargamel waved back, then sank back down to the pillow.. His smile slowly faded, as his erection slowly softened.. The alchemist started to fidget, finally reaching under his shoulder to pull out one tiny white shoe.. He stared at it, sitting on his fingertip.. "I really, really hate those Smurfs," he muttered.. The end... |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: This work is my own. The characters are my own, unless they're Kajira's. Dr. Thomas Praetorius and his slave are characters used with Kajira's kind permission.
Dr. Thomas Praetorius took his nameless slave to the mall again. As part of their new game theme, public foreplay in plain sight, she was half an inch tall. At the food court, he'd place her on his plate and poke a fork around her as if about to eat her. Sometimes he'd pin her with the fork, or even lift her to his mouth for some oral examination.
Of course, with the two of them, there was every chance that the play would turn real at a moment's notice. If it wasn't near-lethal, it wasn't foreplay.
As he finished his meal, the slave stood expectantly on the edge of the Styrofoam, waiting to be picked up. He ignored her. The tray was conveyed to the trash can, tipped slowly and gently down. Her platform slid alarmingly towards the drop-off. When it hit the edge, the shock nearly threw her off. She gripped at the edge, fingers finding slight purchase in the soft material. A leftover piece of rice rolled past her, and she watched it fall into the dark emptiness below. Then she noticed something.
Finally, Praetorius slid the tray out enough to grab her, dumped the trash in, and placed the empty tray on top. He strolled over to the restroom.
Sitting inside the stall and out of sight, he brought the slave up to eight inches. After the foreplay, it was part of the game to 'complete' the fun. The restroom combined a chance of getting caught with the breaking of the woman-in-the-men's-room taboo, plus the superiority of being the only ones to know that there were two people in the stall, and that they were having sex at each other.
This time, though, as he placed her in his bared lap, she waved and gestured. Thomas lifted her to his ear, where she whispered: "There's a dead woman in the trash. A dead shrunk woman!"
Instantly, he thrust her into a pocket and restored his underwear and pants. A few seconds later, he nonchalantly walked back to the food court. After a few moments of scrutiny, he was amazed to notice one of the other shoppers: Paul Featherstone. Much became clear at that instant.
The self-admitted gift of the gods to women, physics, and whatever else took his interest was eating a hoagie with a very familiar look on his face. Praetorius dropped into the seat opposite him. "You look terribly, terribly self-satisfied, Paul." His former study partner nearly choked on his sandwich. Thomas went on. "So, I'm wandering around, wondering who in his right mind would dispose of a body in a public place, knowing the number of cameras they put in malls. And in a trash can that you just have to know that someone's going to sift through for recyclable items.
"Then I get an idea. I remember my college roommate coming in drunk a few nights, telling me his dreams and fantasies, and all about how disposable women really are. So I get out my PDA, and look up 'Arrogantasallgetout.com' and what do you know, they tell me you're at the table between the fountain and the Mr. Meaty. What's up, Paul? Trashed any girlfriends lately?"
A slow smile spread across Featherstone's face. "Hey, Tommy." Praetorius hated that diminution of his name. But he'd been drunk a time or two, also, so Paul knew that. That's why he did it. Fucking child. "You know, if you were even slightly worried about discovery and the cameras, you wouldn't have sat next to me."
"As the kids say, Paul, LOL. I come to this mall every weekend. I'm known in the community." Known for what, he didn't mention. "It would actually be weird if they noticed that I was within twenty feet of my college friend and DIDN'T say hello. Besides, anything I pick up at the mall, I take home." Featherstone's eyes flicked to follow the movement as Praetorius' hand patted one pocket. Inwardly, Thomas cursed the reflexive gesture, but nothing showed on his face.
"So, what happened, Paul? You always break your toys, but was this one intentional or just your usual inability to work or play with others?"
Featherstone shrugged. "She was riding a sort of holster tied to my thigh. When I tapped her, she was to stroke me off." He gestured towards the movie theatre. "Some time during the movie I was watching, she either suffocated or decided not to obey. So I removed her, twisted her head around, and disposed of her." Another shrug. "She's easily replaceable."
Thomas sat, stunned, staring at his... well, friend was not the right word. They had a number of things in common, but one of them was each man's deep hatred of the other.
"So, you use women," he finally commented, "like tissues or disposable lighters?"
"Oh, look who's talking," the physicist laughed. "Your ideal woman has a 'Best By' date tattooed on her ass. You find women as expendable as me, maybe more."
"True," Praetorius nodded, "those that fail, anyway."
"Fail?" Featherstone asked, eyes narrowing. "Fail what?"
"I'm not sure I can explain it to you, Paul. You never were much of one for process. All you care about are results."
"Well, that body in the trash shows I can get those results," Paul said smugly. Thomas popped that balloon.
"Someone can get the results. I'm guessing you bought or stole the technology." The man's expression showed that he'd scored a hit. "Oh, you're bright. I'm sure you can follow the math and understand the principle, and tinker with the tech, but you're just not terribly original." He nearly laughed at the growing frown on his acquaintance.
Praetorius felt his slave start to squirm in his pocket. At the same time, the alarm on his watch warned him of an approaching appointment.
"I have to see a man about a grant. Where are you staying, Paul?"
In the car, his slave crawled from his pocket up to climb to his shoulder. Once settled there, they compared their judgments of Featherstone: her immediate impressions against his years of familiarity.
"He's insane," she said.
"Yep."
"But that holster idea," she mused.
"A waist strap, two leg straps for me, two restraints for you, a holster, five D-rings, and a strip of leather or plastic," he replied, having already designed it in his head.
"Plastic?"
"I suppose I could line each and every pair of my shorts, but it'd be easier to make the holster the thing that keeps me from staining my fly."
"Ah."
That evening, Paul opened his hotel room door to let Thomas in. The Professor took a seat at the table as Featherstone opened the minifridge.
"Drink?" he asked his guest.
"Just some ice water," Praetorius said with a shrug. Paul filled a glass from the tap, gestured towards the ice bucket on the table.
Paul found, when he lifted the lid, that the ice bucket was half full, and a tiny little woman was half-buried in the ice and ice-melt. She cringed when light struck her from the opening.
"And what are you doing with her?" he asked, scooping out some cubes and replacing the lid.
"I don't know, yet." Featherstone shrugged. "Something will come to me."
"You never did plan."
"You keep saying that. What do you mean? You torture women. I didn't miss that you had someone in your pocket this afternoon. Where is she?"
"She's exactly where I told her to be. I can trust that if I order her to stand perfectly still on a table in my lab until I come back, that's where she'll be," he lied. Not about how she'd obey, but about the implication that his slave was back at the lab.
"You've trained her. That's good. I never want to keep any around that long."
"That's short-sighted, Feathers. Any woman you grab, they're going to have different breaking points. You don't look for the mental, moral, emotional breaks. You just break the bodies and move on."
"It's easier that way."
"But not as much fun..." Thomas shook his head. Then lifted the lid and removed the girl from the ice. She flinched again, screamed when he grabbed her, then stood on the table, naked and shivering, looking between the two men.
Praetorius reached over to the sink and picked up a hand towel, offering it to her.
She rushed over to wrap herself up in the cloth. With another imploring look at her rescuer, she knelt at his wrist and lay her head on his arm.
"See that?" he asked the other man. "She's made a choice, there, hoping that I'll save her, from you, from whatever you've promised her. She'd be putty to reshape into any personality I wanted." He reached over with his other hand to stroke the wet hair of the eight-inch woman. "But don't get comfortable, bitch. I don't rub another man's rhubarb." Then he caught his index finger with his thumb and flicked her skull. She spun halfway around, then fell to the table, sobbing.
"It's a lot more fun that way. If you just constantly beat them down, they never come back up. A short, brutal spiral. But, if you let them hope, even a little bit, the down blow is that much greater."
Featherstone shrugged. "But I like Epicurus. A series of small pleasures is probably better than one or two really big pleasures. Ten women a week is easier than trying to smuggle one woman onto an airplane every three days for a month."
"You travel by plane?" Thomas asked, eyes wide. "Don't you think that's a little risky, these days? Isn't half of US Law Enforcement after you?"
"What do you know about it?" Paul asked, eyes narrowed.
"Oh, I have sources," the other man demurred.
Featherstone stared at him for a second, then shrugged it off. "I probably need to change my habits, yeah." He scooped up the wretched figure and held her, dangling by her ankles over the trash can. With one finger, he stroked her body.
"So, what happened, Paul? You always break your toys, but was this one intentional or just your usual inability to work or play with others?"
"Well, Paul," Praetorius said, shifting back a topic, "the sage may be right." Knowing you, he thought to himself, you only understand anything an ancient Greek philosopher wrote because someone else made a comic book, movie, or miniseries about it. "But in twenty years, what will you have to show for it?"
"Lots of happy memories."
"Where I have, I hope, a nameless little slave who will be by my side forever."
"Slaves..." Featherstone muttered. "Now that's a thought. Someone who can learn my tastes and desires, until I hardly have to talk before they're doing what I want...."
"But you'll never have the patience to do that, will you, Paul?"
"Probably not," he shrugged. He took off his boot and lowered the sobbing woman into it. Shook it a bit, watching her reaction. "I'd as soon put this boot on and crush her, as go to the effort to make a cage to carry her around with."
The sobbing increased, so he shook her to silence. She curled into a fetal ball, rolled into the toe, and whimpered almost silently.
"Then again..." Featherstone muttered in what he probably thought was a disarming manner. Praetorius didn't even blink when the man brought up a pistol-shaped device from somewhere. "...maybe I'll have you do it!"
"Shrinking ray?" Thomas asked with a wave to the gun.
"Yes. I don't normally take men, but you've convinced me that you have a lot to offer. And I hate buying more than one airline ticket, so..." The voice dropped off as his motor control did. Eyes flicking wildly from side to side, he slumped in his chair and slid to the floor.
The slave waved at her master from about where Featherstone's ankle had been. He picked her up from the floor and kissed her. Or, considering that she was currently about three inches tall, kissed at her.
"You see," he lectured the paralyzed physicist, "you are one of the more predictable men I've ever met." He knelt down beside the man, drew a scalpel out of his pocket, and started working. "I knew you were going to try to shrink me, so I sent the slave in here with a special chemical compound I cooked up for you."
He set the slave on the man's chest and raised her to eight inches tall. That way, she could see the minimal expressions the bastard was capable of while Master was working. Without anesthetic...
"What I'm doing is installing a device that will allow ME to shrink YOU. I don't want to use it, Paul, I really don't. That'd put you completely in my power, but also make you my responsibility. That's a word for a concept of duty that you just never knew." Quickly finished from long practice, he applied the stitches and a liquid bandage.
"I'd like for you to never, ever come to this state again, Doctor Featherstone. If you do, I will put you so far down in scale that you'll be able to SEE quantum physics. If you try to remove it, I anticipated that. It'll react poorly to any surgical attempt. Any EMP pulse near you has a decent chance of disabling it, but more likely it'll just make you the next passenger on your surgeon's breath."
He stood to leave. "This'll wear off in a couple of hours, buddy. Use the time to think. I really don't care what you do, how you do it, what you end up with in the Mad Scientist Retirement Home. But I hate to think that you think you're hot shit."
He poured the man's latest victim out of the boot, dropping the footwear on the bastard's crotch.
"And you, dear, have a chance, now," he told the shrunken woman. "He can't move for two hours. Make your escape."
With that, he tossed her to the bed and into the quilt-covered pillow. Before she stopped screaming in her little weak voice, he'd spun and reached the door.
He held it open just long enough to see the kidnapped woman slide down the cover and start running towards him and freedom. Or at least, escape from the lunatic behind her.
He savored the look of hope on her face as she ran, and then, just as she reached the bathroom door, the look of fear on her face as the door swung swiftly shut.
Praetorius made sure the slave was seated uncomfortably in his pocket, then walked towards the elevator.
"Now the holster. Michael's will have everything we need," he said quietly.
The slave squirmed in anticipation. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: television
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: Star Trek, the Enterprise, and her crew, the Federation, are all property of Paramount. This exploration of adult situations with Trek characters is only for entertainment. The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic. This work is my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, 'you gotta read this' excerpts, the usual). I tend to work with size-themed fiction, which includes overwhelming control issues and outrageous differences in scale. Such disparate sizes between partners are not for everyone, so be warned.
James Kirk raced onto the bridge from the turboshaft. He ordered Uhura to contact the other craft, but of course, she had already anticipated him. It was only military courtesy that drove her to wait until after he actually gave the order to report it completed.
"Hailing frequencies open, sir," she said, turning towards the command chair with a hand on her earbug. Suddenly, her chair was gone, and she fell to an ignoble landing on her butt, on a hard wood floor, in a large room.
She lay there for a moment, assessing her surroundings. She was in front of some sort of monitor that showed a view of her communications console. It faced a room that resembled an old 20th or 21st-century domicile. She'd seen vids but wasn't historically inclined. Sulu could probably have dated the room.
The room was sparsely furnished, with a table, a chair, a very fake-looking bass fish on the wall, and the shelf holding the monitor. Suddenly, she realized that it was a radio vision or something like that. The one jarring detail was the scale. The room was as big as the Enterprise's shuttle bay, and the furniture was sized to match.
She sat up slowly and noticed an occupant. A man, scaled and dressed appropriately to the size and time of the room, sat on the floor next to the RV shelf. She slowly stood, never taking her eyes off of him. She estimated that she wouldn't even stand as tall as his knee if they were beside each other. He regarded her with an air of patient waiting.
"Hello," she started. He responded immediately, as if her word had been 'Start!' "Greetings in the name of initial contact management. I am the communications specialist of the Vareen. You have been chosen for your communications position among humanity."
"I offer you a straight 10% interest in any benefits realized by this contacting. You may hold them to yourself or submit them to your superiors as is your custom. I..." He paused for the first time, leaning closer to her. His tone changed from that of a practiced speech to something more personal.
"I must ask... are all your people usually of the same height?" she was asked.
"No," she answered, shaking her head. "There is a lot of variety in our heights." But not this much, she thought to herself. He gestured to indicate the two of them.
"Is there usually this much variety?" he asked.
"No," again, wondering if he was reading her mind. "No, this is not only unusual variety, it's frankly impossible for our species to be this different." His shoulders sagged.
"I have been lax in verification of my survey agents. I offer you the option of continuing or delaying the initial contacting." He leaned a fraction closer to her and dropped his voice. "It would be to your advantage to continue. You could always suspend negotiations if they go in a suboptimal direction."
She shook her head. "I... I guess I don't understand what is going on here. I'm afraid to make any decision until I do." He seemed to smile slightly, as if her answer was the correct one.
"Very well. You have asked for disclosure. Full disclosure is not in our interests, but as long as you have the option to abandon negotiations without penalty, I must comply." She'd swear he winked at her. "The Vareen..." She interrupted briefly and pointed to the chair.
"Could we move to more comfortable seating?" she asked. He looked around the room in confusion. "The chair?" He turned back to her. She gestured towards the ground. He lifted her up by cupping her behind in his hand, then carried her over to the table and chair. He stopped between the two.
She pointed to the table, and he set her upon it. She walked to the edge and sat down, legs dangling. "Take a seat on the chair, um... My name is Uhura. Yours is...?" she asked.
His eyes were assessing the chair as he spoke. "I selected the name of 'Fred' for this juncture." He eyed her seat on the edge and copied it to sit on the edge of the cushion. When he was through, he and the Starfleet officer's eyes were at about the same level.
"Very well, Uhura. This is comfortable?" she was asked.
She nodded. "Then to continue. The Vareen are largely an energy-based species. We can assume physical form, and do so to contact alien species that come to our attention. This" – and he waved at the room around them – "is a contact module. Survey agents collect information on a species, and a contact specialist, Fred, selects details to construct a module."
He leaned back into his seat. "This was supposed to be about 200 years old, to you. My theory was that it would lend a subtle feeling of superiority to you, thinking that the Vareen could make a mistake that large. It would have been to our advantage in negotiations."
"Okay, Fred, I appreciate that. But what are we negotiating?" she asked.
"Our civilization is based on the exchange of ideas. We value the information exchange between our civilization and yours. We want to ensure it is an equitable trade. Part of what we will do in this and later meetings is establish the measurement of information and the value of exchange."
As an example, your warp drive technology is of little value to us directly. But other civilizations that cannot afford what you would call trans-warp drive may purchase that. It would be in our interests to get it as cheaply as possible.
"You have trans-warp?" Uhura knew that Starfleet, heck the Federation, would give a great deal to get a working trans-warp drive.
"Yes. We have a great deal of technology. We feel that we have a great deal to teach you. On the other hand, you have much that is attractive to us. The concept of satire is new, as is opera. And Vulcan logical schools hold interest for some of my superiors."
"Well, the Federation is always interested in making new contacts with other civilizations," she said, leaning back to a more comfortable position. She noted that his eyes tracked her legs as she crossed them. She remembered a few alien species that weren't fully prepared to adopt human form. She wondered how faithfully the survey agents copied it as she stuck her chest out. His eyes almost popped out of his skull watching her breasts rise. She smiled slightly, with a much larger virtual grin on the inside.
"Of course, we normally enjoy a less formal exchange of ideas," she continued, stretching her legs out straight, then uncrossing and recrossing them. "We like to encourage a free exchange of information, both technological and social. We'd just hate to have to pick and choose what to offer you and what to ask for."
Like a kid scanning a candy catalog, he didn't know where to look. He followed her legs, her breasts, and the hem of her skirt as it rose slightly up her thighs. She imagined writing up her log with a reference to 'the Kirk maneuver' and leaned forward.
"You know," she said, dropping her voice low, "this table isn't too comfortable. Can I sit on the arm of your chair?" He was helpless before her smile and assisted her in moving to his side. She sat on the cushioned part and stroked a booted foot up and down his thigh. "There. Isn't that better?" He could only nod.
"Now, how would we go about setting up an information exchange more along Federation lines?" she asked.
"I would have to, um, convince my superiors," he said, fidgeting under her attentions. "It has never been done, but perhaps..." Suddenly, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her to his face.
"Question. I spent three days in this body for rehearsals. I never noticed a need to pay attention to a specific body part in all that time. Now," he grabbed at his crotch, "I can think of little else. You must explain."
"I don't know. Do you have discomfort?" she asked, claiming innocence, while she noted that one of his fingers stroked her torso. She twisted a bit to make sure it encountered her breast. He gave a low noise when it did.
"Yes. Discomfort. There is tightness in my body. It interferes with my concentration. I wish it to go away."
She looked down at his fly and detected a truly prodigious swelling. That virtual smile doubled, and she asked, innocently, "What would that be worth to you?" He didn't answer right away, just took several breaths.
"Very wellness. If you relieve the discomfort, I will make the supreme effort to convince the contact committee to adopt your Federation standard of exchange. Call it a test case or something. We will require that you do not offer our information to other civilizations outside of the Federation. Sufficient?"
She pretended to think about it, leaning forward to press her boobs to the fingers gripping her. "I don't know. What will you give me for it if they don't adopt our standard?" He growled at that.
"I have the authority to increase your Federation's advantage in negotiations as high as 20%. I offer that and an additional 5% from my personal outlay, if you will successfully relieve my discomfort." She just looked at him and raised a hand to her face. When she began sucking on one finger, he added another 5% but would go no higher. Satisfied he was between a rock and a hard-on, she nodded.
"We have a deal. Let me down," she said. He returned her to the chair arm. She lowered herself to his lap. "Okay, you have to open this." She started to advise him on the operation of a zipper when he reached down and tore the pants open. "Oh." It wasn't particularly violent, compared to other extremes she had driven men to, but the scale startled her. "Um, okay then, ease aside this layer of white fabric."
A second later, a large throbbing cock popped up before her. She stroked it gently along the length as she eased down to sit above it. Caught between her thighs, it stretched almost to her chin. She licked the edge of the purple helmet, gently trailing fingernails along the sides. Fred whimpered and sank down deep in the chair. She licked and stroked for a while, squeezing it between her thighs, feeling his ball sac tighten under her calves. She lifted her uniform up and undid her bra. Then she stretched the hem of the skirt over the cock and back down to her thighs.
The durable fabric squeezed the head of what another lover had called 'Little Fred' between her tits, and added pressure to the skin of its length. A few more strokes along the side brought him to his moment. With expert timing, she grabbed her collar to make sure the uniform covered the hole. The ejaculate bulged the tight uniform that restrained it, then the advanced material wicked the fluid away. Warmth spread through the skirt around Uhura like a slow hug. She kissed the tip as it shrank out of her uniform, falling down to a sated repose in his lap.
She stood, fastened the bra, adjusted her skirt, and climbed across the chair arm to the table. There, the lieutenant turned to the contact specialist. "Feel better?" she asked.
It took him three tries to form words. "Oh, you know I do. That was incredible."
"Glad to help. Now, about that deal?" she said.
"I will speak to my superiors," he said, reaching down beside the seat cushion and lifting a control device. "But it is time to return you to your vessel."
She still had questions when he pressed 'Return' and she felt herself flying towards the radio vision. Then she was back at her console. She turned around to find Kirk. "Captain, I have something to report..." |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
The first stage of The Plan went off without a hitch. I had asked Miss Leland to stay after school for help with my science fair report. At the same time, Rolly and Chris had stayed after with their science fair advisors, Miss Cross and Miss Ford, working on their projects. Tom had acted up the teeniest bit and was being "talked to" by Miss Roth in the counselor's office. My little talisman vibrated, telling me that everyone was in position and unobserved. I activated my part of the spell. Miss Leland shook her head, suddenly dizzy. She giggled, then tried again to read the sentence she was correcting. I watched as she became utterly fascinated by the texture of the paper.
She lowered her face very close to it, touching the paper and following the indentations made by my pen. "You can even feel the letters from the other side!" she laughed. She was also shrinking. Slowly at first, she kept scooting the chair closer to her desk to keep the paper in view. Then she stood up, but that only put her head slightly above the desk. I heard her whimper and lifted her up to the chair. She stood on that as I scooted it as far up as it would go. Then she crawled up onto the desk on hands and knees. Her ass poked high in the air as she kept her face practically touching the page. Then she rocked to the side and collapsed. She slept on my report.
I stretched her out on the blotter while I put my report in the folder. She was exactly sixteen inches long, just like she was supposed to be. Her clothes still fit her, even her shoes. I picked her up gently and carefully and placed her in one of Mom's reusable shopping bags. A second bag on top of her hid her from any casual view. Then I went to put my report in my locker and went on to Mr. Van Hosten's classroom. It was a science room, with a long table in the back room. The room with no windows, not even in the door. No one would see what we were doing if they walked by. A cloth tube meant to insulate against drafts also blocked any light shining under the door.
I picked Miss Leland up and placed her in a cage on the corner of the table. Rolly showed up almost immediately and put Miss Cross in her cage. Chris brought his teacher and held the door for Tom. Miss Ford and Miss Roth went into their cages. We divided the chips and dealt some cards. The game was Slippery. We'd invented it. It's a betting game mostly designed for people to lose their chips quickly. Miss Leland woke up first. She was still woozy. She looked around and saw me. She didn't seem to realize how big I was.
"Mal? What's going on?" she asked.
"Basically, we're playing strip poker, Miss Leland," I replied.
"Oh..." She squinted at the players and the other cages. "You're not betting clothes?"
"We bet chips," I explained. Beside me, Tom was murmuring to Miss Roth. We kept playing cards and making bets. "When we run out of chips, we use your clothes to buy new ones," I added.
" Makes sense," she nodded. She shook her head and stood, holding herself up by the bars. "You must have just started."
"That's right, Erica," I said. She looked cross for a second. "You don't get to call me that," she said. "It's kind of hard to be formal when you're the size of a dolly," I pointed out. "I guess so," she agreed readily. She noticed Miss Cross in the cage in the opposite corner and waved. Rolly was explaining things in short, terse terms. Miss Cross looked stricken. In the far corner, Miss Ford started to scream. Chris slapped her cage to shut her up. "What's wrong?" Erica whispered.
"I think she just realized that she's been shrunk," I said. Erica shrugged. "Angie always was a little high strung..." Then she paused, squinting at the bars of her cage and looking up at me. "Oh..." She closed her eyes, shaking her head. She murmured something, I think along the lines of "it's not real, it's not real..." We went on playing.
Chapter 2
Rolly lost his chips first. He opened the cage and reached in for Miss Cross. Taking her by the hand, pinched between two of his fingers, he led her out to the center of the table. "Strip, Susan," he commanded. She was wearing pants, a button-up blouse, sneakers, and socks. She looked around, at us, at the other cages. "I, I, I can't..." Rolly lifted a pair of needle-nose pliers and set them down at her feet. "Your clothes are coming off, Susan. You can do it, or I will." She toed the pliers with one foot, testing the heft, seeing that they were real. "A compelling presentation," she said. She unbuttoned her blouse.
"That's not terribly sexy," Chris complained.
"Music!" Tom said, suddenly remembering the Plan. He picked up the boom box and started playing "Girls, Girls, Girls..." If anything, Susan got stiffer. She tried to move like a stripper, but only looked scared. She got the blouse off and waved it over her head, tossing it to Rolly. "I give it a six," Chris said. "Four," I said. "Four!?" Rolly objected. "Didn't you see the titties bounce in her bra?" "Yeah, a six," Tom said. "Mostly for the titties..." I shrugged. "Her back was to me..." Rolly collected 16 new chips, muttering all the while. Susan stood looking lost until he led her back to her cage.
Erica tapped on her cage bars, and I leaned down to hear her whisper. "What happens if we don't earn enough chips?" "The more chips you earn me, the less often I have to make you strip," I explained. She nodded with a thoughtful look. Tom was the next big loser. He opened Miss Roth's cage and tapped the center of the table. "Now, Tom, you don't need to do this," she said, trying to sound like she was in charge. The quaver to her voice made it clear that she wasn't, though. "Strip, Miss Roth," he said. Rolly slid the pliers over to Tom's hand. Miss Roth stepped forward. She was wearing a dress, high-heeled shoes, and maybe stockings. She looked around the table, too. "'Cradle of Love' was playing. She kept turning as she unzipped the back of her dress and slid it up and off. We could see her bra and pantyhose, now. She whipped the dress around and around, finally throwing it towards Tom. "Good energy," I said. "I'll go with a six..."
"Flat chested," Chris said. "Three..." "That's not her fault!" Tom said. "But she's the one you picked," Rolly said. "I'll give her a five..." Tom picked up fourteen chips and returned his Miss Dolly to her cage. I was the next to lose. Erica came right out when I opened the cage. She was wearing denim overalls over a long-sleeved shirt, and tennis shoes. She came over to stand close to me for a second. "Strip poker, right?" I nodded. "So shoes count?" I shrugged, then rubbed my fingers together, indicating coinage. "Wild Thing" started to play. Tone Loc's version. Erica danced. She spun and writhed, pointing her ass in all directions, sucking on her fingers, ending by kicking her shoes off, one flying between Rolly and Chris, the other going between Chris and Tom. She got an ovation, I got 25 chips.
Angie was wearing her usual miniskirt, hose, and sandals. When her turn came, Chris ordered her to 'go out and take off your panties, sexy...' "But the others..." she objected. "PANTIES!" She danced, sort of. She kept moving, anyway. She didn't do The Hustle, though that was playing. What she mostly did was turn her back on one boy at a time and bend way, way over, flashing her panties at them. At the same time, the boy she was facing got a good look down the front of her miniskirt, at her generously endowed boobs. Finally, she eased the panties down, one thumb at each side, an inch or two down at a go. When they got to mid-thigh, she just stood and wiggled, shaking her panties down to her ankles, then stepping out of them. She flicked up her dress, flashing her crotch and ass in both directions. She earned a full thirty chips for her player.
Chapter 3
Tom had made the least on his turn, and he ended up going out next. Miss Roth was still scared, and now terribly self-conscious about the size of her breasts. She tried to match Angie's performance with her panty hose, but lacked the other woman's grace. She finally tripped over her own feet, going down in a tangle of hosiery. She sat and cried while Tom pinched her panty hose and slipped them off of her. Her shoes popped off and rattled across the table. Tom put them back in the cage with her. We each voted her four chips, mostly out of pity. Rolly lasted two hands after that. He made twirling motions with his hands, and Susan danced. After a little of that, she knelt and untied her shoes, shaking her ass in the air. She teased us by tugging her panties down, but not far enough to show anything. Still, she was starting to figure out the T's in strip-tease.
Tom lost again. Miss Roth just curled up in her cage and cried. He ended up lifting her out of the cage and holding her over the table. We watched him pull the straps of her bra down to her elbows, then tugged her hands down so we could see her breasts. There wasn't anything wrong with them, and they weren't exactly flat. What she had, though, didn't stand up well in comparison to Angie or Susan. Plus, shrinking her had done her no favors. Tom fingered the titties a bit, trying to gen up some interest. She only got him three, two, and one chip. Down only to a large pair of cotton panties, she was eased into her cage once more. Rolly lost everything yet again. Susan took off her socks, slinging them wildly, which had the happy effect of swinging her boobs within the bra. She still didn't recover much, though.
Tom lost twice in a row. He didn't even bother the first time, just reached in the cage and tossed the shoes on the table. We gave pity scores. Next, he had to actually fight the panties off of Miss Roth. Her legs were clamped together, arms holding them tight. He pinched and pried, straightening one limb at a time. There are websites where this would have been prime entertainment, but it wasn't really our cup of tea. We were into control, not fear. He finally prevailed, though, forcing her onto her belly and stripping the panties down her legs. Then he rolled her over onto her back. She shaved her pussy, leaving a chevron of hair just above her vagina. "Now that's interesting," Rolly said. He scored a little higher just for the pattern. Chris, on the other hand, is uncomfortable with any hair on the pussy and down-scored her for that very reason. I hit the middle between them. Tom ruefully collected his winnings and caged Miss Roth.
To everyone's surprise, Chris had to raise funds next. The cards had just seemed to get together and whale on him. Angie slid out of her miniskirt with lots of false starts, misdirection, flashes of bra and ass. Then she used the skirt as a bullfighter's cape for a bit, finally throwing it straight up in the air. Two of the guys tried to grab it. She earned thirty chips once more, and sauntered back to her cage. Rolly's next loss brought Susan out. She cupped her breasts, unhooked her bra, and danced, using her grip to put a little extra shimmy on the boobs.
Chapter 4
The cards turned against me next. "Finally," Tom muttered. I brought Erica out. She asked for a pencil. That was too short for her to use as a pole, so I got a chemistry stand and held the top end. She spun around and around, unhooking the shoulder straps one at a time, pushing the overalls down, and finally literally jumping out of them. To everyone's surprise, she had no panties on. And she was clean shaven. She made both points clear for a second, turning quickly around, with legs wide, then blushed and covered herself, running to the safety of her cage. I got thirty chips. Tom lost next. He only had one thing left to offer. He brought her out and pinched a wrist between each thumb and forefinger. She was lifted up on tiptoe, arms stretched, no way to cover herself. "Can I start the bidding at five chips?" he asked. All four women gasped at the realization they were up for grabs in this manner. Miss Roth started to whimper. There were no takers.
Like I said, on some boards they'd have been clawing for just such a victim. Not us. Tom shook his head, gathered his dolly up to his chest, and went to sit at the desk in the corner. We tried to ignore the sounds of him trying to play with her. Well, the guys did. The women stared. The game started to move much faster, then. With only three players, one could only win a maximum of twenty chips, but the bets didn't change. Chips still changed hands at a speedy rate. By the time Rolly had to put Susan up for auction, Chris had discovered that Angie didn't shave her pussy. Rolly cared a lot more about pendulous boobies than pubic hair, so he offered a trade of women and twenty chips. They both went out on the same hand and happily carried their women to neutral corners. I ignored the licking, sucking, and occasional sounds of tiny hands slapping ineffectually. Erica stepped out of the cage and looked up at me. "You, uh, you won?" she asked.
"I did," I said. She was down to her socks and bra. I told her to take the bra off. When she did, I handed her back her shirt. "What?" she asked. "I don't know, there's just something about a woman half-clothed, but bare-assed, that really, really turns me on..." She quickly donned her shirt and stood there, twisting a little in her socks. I could see that she wanted to pull the hem of her shirt down to cover her ass, but she didn't. "What now, Mal?" she asked. "Just like the rest of the evening," I said. "Whatever I want..." "I don't suppose I can talk you out of it?" "Standing there, with your nipples poking through your shirt-" "I'm cold!" I reached out and wrapped a hand around her left thigh, tugging her closer. She stutter-stepped over. I brushed a fingertip over her breasts. "I have been fascinated by these since the first time I saw you..." "Please," she pleaded.
I worked a finger from my grip on her thigh, up her ass, teasing along the cleft between her cheeks. She shivered in my hands. I pushed the other hand's finger in against her pussy, light strokes, then up under her t-shirt, caressing her belly, then her boobs. "Mal, stop," she tried to command. "No," I said softly. "Mal, this is rape!" "Yes," I agreed. "And you've been cooperating very intelligently..." Just then there was a slap and a wail from somewhere in the room. She flinched but couldn't break my grip. "Mal, I'm very disappointed in you..." "Maybe, but you won't remember this tomorrow..." I grabbed both of her thighs, one in each hand. "Lift your shirt," I commanded. She obediently grabbed her hem and tugged it up over her breasts. I rotated my hands, easing her down onto her back on the table.
She closed her eyes and whimpered as I forced her legs apart, gazing at her pussy, watching it open. I licked it. She tasted hot, hot and wet. I licked from her pussy up to her breasts, taking an entire boob into my mouth to suck on, one at a time. I saw her hands clenched in fists, wrapped up in her shirt's fabric.
Chapter 5
There was a bottle of lotion behind her cage. I squirted some out onto her belly. Her eyes opened at the cold splat. I started smearing it over her, from knees to ribs, with long, slow strokes. I could feel every bone she had, every muscle tensing as my fingers slid across her skin. And she was so, so smooth. She watched me, wide-eyed now, as I prepared her. Then I dragged her to the edge of the table. Her knees were bent over the edge, feet dangling. She started to shift to a more comfortable position. "Ah-ah-ah," I said. "I didn't say 'Simon says move.' Not yet."
"Mal, what are you going to do?" she asked.
I stood up and opened my fly. My erection sprang out. I pushed the tip against her pussy. "Simon says squeeze your legs together."
"Yes, sir," she agreed. She rubbed as much of my cock as she could reach. I inched closer to the table, sliding myself up over her belly, pushing against her boobs. She wrapped her arms around me, stroking the edge of my helmet with her fingertips, leaning up to lick at my pee-hole. Her tongue was bright pink against the angry red tip. She stabbed it in and out of me, licking up the pre-come starting to ooze. I wanted to just stay there, but part of me wanted friction. So I pulled back and pushed forward, quickly, leaving the tip where she could reach it again. I cupped a hand under her head, pillowing her so she could stay there more easily.
I heard the patter of tiny, naked feet on the linoleum floor as someone made a bid for escape. Rolly swore and chased her, his belt buckle ringing on the floor. Another quick stroke, out and back. Someone made a sound I couldn't quite place, but I wasn't about to look away. Turns out Miss Roth had barfed. Tom gave up on her, then. There were a few brief pops as she and her clothes all disappeared from the room. Tom started helping corner the fleeing Angie. I gave another stroke, then another, faster and faster. She stopped trying to hug me and just held her hands against the sides. I pushed down on the top of my cock with my free hand. I felt my balls start to squeeze and pulled back, jamming myself up against her pussy, coming in sharp, splashy pulses. Just as she started to try to wipe herself off, I squeezed the medallion and she popped away.
I cleaned up the come and folded the cage away. The chips went under the podium, with the cards. Mr. Van Hosten never looked under the podium. In the corner, the guys were forcing Susan and Angie to make out. Well, Susan was held down by two of the guys, but Angie seemed to need no coercing. She was lapping away at Susan's pussy quite happily and energetically. "I almost wish we could let them remember this part," Chris said cheerfully. "NO!" Susan screamed. Then Angie stopped licking and just sucked hard. Susan writhed and moaned, then tensed, held it for a second, and finally relaxed. "No, no, no," she whimpered. "The lady doth protest too much," Rolly said. He gave Angie a pat on her ass.
The Chem teacher rolled to a sitting position, still between Susan's outstretched legs. "Listen, guys, fun's fun, but…" she said.
"Yeah, you're done," Chris said. He lifted his medallion and Angie popped away. "Hey!" Rolly protested. "She was mine," Chris shrugged. "But we traded!"
"Oh, yeah... Sorry..." They looked down at the last dolly, Susan. She looked flushed, trying to ignore the guys. "Fuck it," Rolly said. He sent her away. "Better luck next time," he muttered. "Cheerleaders?" Chris asked. "Class officers," Tom said. "Teacher's aides," I said. "We'll vote tomorrow," Rolly said. "Mal won, so he gets the extra votes." He went to fold his cage away. The others followed. I was done with my cleanup, so I just walked out.
I passed Miss Leland's classroom. She was locking up, looking sleepy. "Hey, Miss Leland, thanks again for the help," I said.
"Any time, Mal," she said with a smile. I'd have to remind her that she said that. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: games
Chapter 1
He grunted and set her down, turning his attention to the television. If she could speak, she would have screamed in frustration. She was unappreciated here. The man toyed with her when the commercials were too long, but there was no satisfaction on either side. He hadn't even sought her out, and that was what really torqued her off. She was a gift, someone's Secret Santa selection, and a poor one. Player Number One (and only) never got past the second screen. The button pushing was sluggish, the patterns uninspired. And he never, ever, pushed the blocks, letting them fall at the game's rate to hit the bottom, long after she knew where it would land. It was almost boring enough to put her to sleep.
She didn't have eyes, so she hadn't seen her owner. But when her speaker wasn't beeping, it picked up ambient sound, so she heard. Player mumbled a lot, unless there was football on. Then he hooted at the cheerleaders. Maybe if she had boobs, he'd play with her more? But there was no profit in that thought. She sighed internally and waited for the watchdog routine to turn her off.
One day, she was fingered awake as usual. But something felt different. The fingers pressing her buttons were firmer, more confident, and decisive. She came awake with a rush and hesitantly tagged this as Player Number Two. Whoever it was, they chose level 2. Player One never even examined anything but the starter level. She was still trying to process this when the game started.
An L shape started to fall. Player spun it halfway around and shoved it to the side, then pushed the button to accelerate the fall. She thrilled and watched. A short T appeared. Fingers danced on her rotate and down buttons to slot it into place. Energy surged through her frame. He clearly had a plan. She couldn't wait to see him fit a long piece. A square appeared. Even as it was positioned over the empty slot, it was still spun. It didn't matter for the game; any aspect would fit the same way. Player just seemed to enjoy playing around for the sake of playing around.
She felt closer to fulfilling her purpose than ever before. Her beeps became just ever so slightly more shrill. She'd never had a partner so attentive to her needs. In short order, Player had a row all set to complete. But when the L started to fall, he started the second row instead. She realized he wanted the bonus. Her buttons felt warm under his touch. She yearned to squirm, to show her appreciation. But she was entirely helpless in his grip, slaved to his whims.
She wasn't surprised when he didn't take the opportunity to finish the first two rows together but went for the third. Then the fourth. The anticipation was killing her. A few more blocks were slotted into place, then the long piece fell. He spun it. What the hell? Rather than drive it home in the slot, he fitted it into the sixth row. Was he mad? You couldn’t get more than four rows at once.
Her screen started to flicker ever so slightly. The beeps became positively strident. This madman was playing her for all she was worth. He worked her, driving the blocks back and forth across her screen. She could hardly guess where they would land until contact was actually made. The confusion was so different from anything she'd felt before... She was driven to join him. To help him. To cheat.
She hacked her own program, swallowing the hated S-shaped blocks away. With the remaining patterns, Player built and built, rising higher and higher. The unfinished rows climbed across her screen, giving her a sensation of being filled from within. At the same time, Player alternated between left and right so fast it felt like she was being split apart. She lost count of the rows. Her whole world spiraled in to left, right, spin, and down. He was still pushing them down!
Her beeps became flatter, rapid, shallow. Anyone listening closely would have said she was panting. She couldn't take much more. Then she realized she didn't have to. Once more, she cheated. Her QA inspector would be scandalized to see her, she knew, but she had to end this. She swept the block fetch queue clean of anything but straight longs.
They appeared just as Player finished another row. There was barely room to spin them and hardly time to move them. Player managed it, though, just sliding them into place. The long, long fall nearly drove her mad. Closer, closer, closer, sliding past a solid wall of blocks. It hit bottom, and she nearly screamed. Four full rows blinked three times, then disappeared in a bright, blue explosion of ecstasy. She'd never felt four rows disappear at once.
Before she could process it, the next one slammed home. And the next. She couldn't think. Waves of satisfaction swept back and forth across her. She was certain her board was melting. The next block appeared automatically. She watched, almost disconnected from her own screen, as an L floated lazily down like a mutated snowflake.
In the silence, she heard Player 1 speak. "Okay, that's done. You ready to go?" "Yes," a woman's voice said. Player 2 was a girl? "Hope you weren't too bored waiting," Player 1 said. "Oh, no, I kept busy. Nice game you have there." Nice! Player 2 thought I was nice, she thought to herself. There was a click as she was laid gently down in her usual spot.
Players 1 and 2 left the room, sounding like they were going on a date. She wished them well, if only because it would keep Player 2 nearby. And for the first time in her existence, she waited for the timed shutdown with anticipation, not boredom. She thought I was nice. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
The Games Start After Dinner
Chapter 1
More Disclaimer: This work is my own. The characters are my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual). The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic. I tend to work with size-themed fiction, which includes overwhelming control issues and outrageous differences in scale. Such disparate sizes between partners are not for everyone, so be warned.
At Eddie's parties, the games started after dinner. She had a number of board games around the mansion, all collector's versions or luxury custom jobs. To start the mood, you might find yourself playing skittle-bowl with ancient wooden pins, or a game of checkers with marble pieces. Eddie assigned them apparently at random. The only thing you knew for sure was that you wouldn't be playing your spouse.
Her cool voice invited, her eyes promised. "Well, Mr. Ramsey, I have heard you do well at draughts. Why don't you show Mrs. Montpelier how well you can jump?" No dramatic pause to let you know she intended innuendo. She just sailed on, drawing the rest of the guests after. "Billiards!" you'd hear her crow as she passed through the door. "Mrs. Gordon-Smythe, I remember you being something of a shark at the table...."
You'd get a brief, private time in one room or another, getting to know the other guest. An efficient, almost invisible staff would keep your drinks from drying out. And at the end of the game, one would appear at your elbow, indicating where Madam expected you.
Word games were usually next. Teams would be formed, and clues given. Score wasn't kept. I came to realize it wasn't competition that was being fostered in these events. Rather, we were getting comfortable with one another. And with the words. One or another player would suggest a rather naughty word, a light innuendo that had everyone giggling. Then they got bolder, more explicit, until they stopped even at euphemisms for sexual congress or sexual plumbing. Once someone had shouted 'penis' or 'pussy' to fill in the blank, Eddie judged us ready.
Depending on the number of guests, one, two, or three Twister mats would have been arranged over rugs on the floor of the music room. Eddie ran the dials. There were two: one for men and one for women. But first, she called out for us to strip. There was another dial. If she called out clothing you wore, off it came, unless there was a layer over it. Once she called something that no one had on, or still had on, we started Twister.
This could be good or it could be bad. I've had booby and cock both flop into my face. Of course, by that point, I was usually so lubricated I gave either one a lick or two, waiting for the mass to shift. And I gave more than as well as I got. Oh, my, yes.
When Eddie thought we were all ready, she rang her little bell. We straightened and stood and followed her to the buffet. After the exertions, the light refreshments were welcome. And by that point, we hardly cared if the servants saw us wearing shirt and socks and nothing else, or perhaps a bra and nothing else. I swear, one night I attended, and the only thing anyone had on was one feather boa. How she kept it on during the scrum, I'll never know.
There was no talking during this part. The anticipation was too high. We watched as Eddie was undressed. Two of her servants wordlessly stripped her bare. Her alabaster skin shone in the moonlight. It would be years later before I would realize she always choreographed the parties so that she'd strip in moonlight. She looked like a vampire, then. No 'walking undead' or sparkling parody. A marble statue, cold yet desirable, gentle curves as yet unwrinkled, unaged. Pure and as cold as a tombstone.
Until she smiled, coming alive again like winter melting into spring. The eyes shone, and the teeth glinted, and we all took a step closer to her. The vials were lined up in a brass tray. It was filled with birdseed, and the stopped glass tubes rested upright. Each had a number engraved in the glass, and amber fluid inside. It was whiskey, always, her special blend. What wasn't always there was the special bonus.
Dice carved from petrified bones were rolled by our naked hostess. Guests were gifted with one vial, seemingly at random. I say seemingly. For years, I believed it to be so. But looking back, I doubt that the Countess would ever allow that much chaos in such a tightly wrapped scheme. We held our treasures, still waiting for the final reveal. The dice rolled again, and she handed out keys to the bedrooms upstairs.
The crowd scampered, each one running to the stairs as soon as we had the key in our hands. You found the number that matched the tag, opened it, and locked it again. Then you either found the room occupied with your partner for the night, or you had to wait until they showed up. The only thing you knew for sure was that you wouldn't be playing your spouse.
I really can't believe I accepted that as the result of random chance for the entire time I worked at the Embassy. Youth, I guess. Anyway, it was never the spouse. And it usually wasn't the partner from the first board game. But sometimes, on those rare, lucky nights, it wasn't any of the guests. You got to the room, took off any clothes that remained, and waited. And waited. Eyes on the door, you began to suspect. You hardly dared hope.
Maybe they had to stop at the bathroom, you'd try to tell yourself. Or slipped on the stairs. They'd dropped their vial and needed to get another one. Or had to go outside for a smoke. God, I could use a smoke, you'd think. Fool, you couldn't have delayed reaching that room if you'd broken a bone. It was real. It was really happening.
The door would open, drifting gently to the stop. She'd be there. The Countess would smile, stretch, and beckon. You'd follow her to the hall where one of the other guests had been collected. Boy, girl, boy, girl made for an even number of couples, but nothing left over for Eddie. As the hostess, though, she got two partners. Greedy, but no one would deny her. Any who complained, any who questioned the arrangements wasn't invited ever again.
You'd follow her back to the end of the hall, to her bedroom. She'd unlock it and draw you after. Both of you. She'd crawl onto the bed, barely visible in the candlelight. "Drink," she commanded. The word was never finished before matching pops sounded from the rubber stoppers. You drank. You always got whiskey. Sometimes you got whiskey and the shrinking potion. And sometimes more, sometimes less.
More often than not, only one partner changed. The man or the woman would stoop to scoop the woman or the man up in their hands. Then cuddle the little puppy to their bosom, or lift the little doll to their shoulder or cradle the tiny creature in their cupped hands. They'd move to the bed, or maybe the bay window, or once in a while two tiny figures stole under the furniture on naked safari.
The bed and/or the partner assumed relative dimensions of mahout and elephant, captain and schooner, Gulliver and the Queen. Explorations after that were up to the participants. Some found being bigger thrilling, some preferred being smaller. Perhaps your partner's strength or helplessness thrilled you. Or maybe it was the trust required, the trust offered, to let such a monstrous brute have their way with you, or even to pick you up. Or to stand there, trembling, reaching your hand closer and closer, coming to surround them with your fingers, and there was aught they could do to stop or restrain you.
The Countess never shrank herself. She also didn't always shrink her lovers for the night. I can't begin to guess how many possible combinations there were. But the experiences never seemed to repeat themselves. Lord knows the nights with our Hostess were wonderfully unique, inventive, and rare.
But my favorites, I think, of those exceptional threesomes were nights that both of us shrank. Eddie would dangle a hand or a foot over the bed, down to the floor where we could reach her. A light pinch between digits allowed her to languidly lift us to the top of the mattress, often depositing us both on her belly. There was some sort of hierarchy in the Countess' mind. Tiny people came first. Whoever was the smallest guest received attentions from the other.
If we were equally small, she expected us to please each other. It wasn't much of a sacrifice for her. After the build-up, the evening of intimacy, heightened innuendo, and raw sexual tension (And boobies! And Cocks!), it was never long before we gasped and fell across her skin, sweating and gulping at the air. Then she'd lift us up for a gentle kiss, light pecks on thighs, on ass, on bellies and boobs, quickly growing in urgency and power.
She'd mouth at us, often taking us entirely into her mouth, if we fit. The nerves in all-too-sensitive flesh, just passed from mind-blowing sex, fairly screamed at her gigantic touch, but drove us mad with inflamed desire. I'll tell you, you look at a lovely woman and might hope to lay a hand on her breast, you might imagine her lips on your mouth. Maybe you're forward enough to imagine her lips on your cock. I lived for the moments Eddie dangled me over her open mouth. Stretched between two hands that gripped me at wrist and ankle, I was as helpless as a pig on a spit while she licked and lipped me, exploring and promising.
She licked from forehead to shin, tarrying wherever the taste or my reaction fired her imagination. Then I'd rest, sprawled over her nipple, or maybe her belly, sometimes over her snatch like a string bikini, while she gave my peer for the evening a similar treatment. Sometimes the position would be enough to get my motor running yet again. The boob wobbling under me, the nipple pursing itself against my chest. Or the heartbeat next to my cheek, the belly undulating with her gentle laughter. Or her hot, wet sex where I lay draped across it.
It was a long, marvelous night, whatever we did. She kept us hopping, popping, and finally dropping. Curled up in one of her stockings or maybe laying the length of a pillow, sometimes almost as tall as she was and laying alongside. The morning would come much, much too soon. Then coffee and robes would appear. Restored bodies would shakily gain covering and stalk through the mansion to the guest rooms with our luggage.
Sometimes hunger drove us back to the buffet, where a full breakfast waited. More often than not, I made a quick, vulgar sandwich out of a pancake, bacon strips, and a spoonful of egg. Such was my hunger that all I did when the wife arrived was move out of her way. When more prosaic hungers were sated, we'd drift back to the bedrooms, the ones with our luggage this time. There to cuddle with the spouse and take a short but unavoidable nap.
By the time we woke, our clothes had been dry cleaned and hung in the closet. Afternoon clothes were laid out. A very heavy, fulfilling lunch awaited. We'd emerge, mingle, sport, picnic, or read. Couples left, couples arrived, and our perfect Hostess kept us all content. A dinner followed that could stand proudly against any of the fashionable restaurants of the Continent. It was usually a light meal, as the games started after dinner. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
[A short story sort of inspired by some Harry Potter fanfiction, and the time travel device Hermione uses to travel in time (duh...), and the scenario that has Hermione meet Hermione and start peeling their robes off in instant mutual attraction, which would really be self-absorbed attraction.. I just won't use Hermione because she's much too classy to do that sort of thing although she might find it a way to give her boyfriend a threesome without any entangling jealousy or awkward introductions.. And she's too young.. Therefore, it's not entirely within the Potter universe because it doesn't have to be so don't judge the story against the fandom.. ][Also inspired by Larry Niven's Svetz stories, where the impossibility of time travel is apparently solved, but the traveler never notices that he's actually traveling between dimensions]Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings, consulted the recipe one last time and verified that her ingredients were arranged.. There would be no time to search anything out once she started mixing the potion.. With everything to her satisfaction she began.. She lit the fire under the cucurbit, touched the silver alchemical symbols embedded in the mahogany work table, intoned the chant and poured the components.. Then she covered it with the alembic and watched the chemicals come to a boil.. Gray smoke writhed above the fluid as green bubbles burst.. Then the gravelly contents started to climb the sides and flow out the retort.. A greasy gelatin dropped globule by globule into the waiting cup.. She smiled in victory at her success.. Over the work table, a painting of the original Circe watched with concern.. "Should it be that color?" she asked.. "Of course," Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings, said.. "I did everything right, this must be what it's supposed to look like.. "
"Uh huh," the painting said, unconvinced.. After ten minutes to cool, Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings, dipped a finger into the mess and took a taste.. "Does it taste toxic?" the painting asked.. "I'm sure your biographer will wish to know if you saw your death coming.. ""It's fine," Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings, insisted.. To prove it, she grasped the cup and sucked it down in one go.. About halfway through, though, it stopped being bravado.. She couldn't stop, it was all one mucousy piece.. She groaned but continued swallowing.. Finally it was all down.. She giggled a bit and held a hand up before her face.. The promised golden scales never came.. The fingernails remained un-talon-like.. She thought there was a bit of transformation but it was only her rings sliding down her fingers.. Wait.. Those rings were too tight to slide.. She shook her hand.. The jewelry all fell along the bench, rattling and clanking.. "What's wrong?" Original Circe asked.. "Did the potion grant you a sudden amount of taste?""No!" Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings, said angrily.. "I mean, I have plenty of taste.. I'm just not turning into a hippo-griffin-unicorn-taur! Something's wrong!""Starting with your initial goal, fangirl," the painting muttered.. Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings, paid her no heed and activated her Magic Mirror.. !!Spellsoft help desk,!! the featurdeless face said as it came into focus.. !!How can I help you?!!"My Transformation Spell failed," Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings, said angrily.. She hitched the chair closer to her desk to look directly into the mirror.. "It hasn't changed me!"!!What was it supposed to turn you into?!! the help demon asked.. "A hippo-griffin-unicorn-taur," Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings, said calmly.. !!Ah.. One of those,!! the figure said.. !!What's your name?!!"Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings.. " She hitched the chair closer to her desk to look directly into the mirror.. !!Can't find it in the register, love.. Do you have another name?!!"That's the name I registered it under!" she said.. !!Yes, but is that the name attached to your credit card? Your account will be attached to that.. !!"Emily Helmfeather," she replied quietly.. She tried to hitch the chair closer to her desk but the arms were already solidly against the face of the top drawer.. She raised herself up a bit to keep her view direct into the mirror.. !!Aha! Found it, Emily,!! the mirror face said.. !!Uh... Emily, could you tell me what the fourth ingredient was?!!"Fairie Gravel.. The gravel's connection to Underland make it possible-"!!Yeah, yeah.. Could you take a teensy peek at the actual contents of that beaker?!!"I emptied the beaker into the cucurbit," she said.. "Oh, but I still have the box it came in.. " She stood and pushed the chair back with her legs.. It hardly moved.. She bent to pick up the box and held it for the mirror to see.. She stood on tiptoe to make eye contact with the figure.. Up over her head, the painting started to laugh.. She ignored Original Circe.. !!Okay, love, the problem is, that box doesn' have Fairie Gravel in it.. It's got Pixie Nuggets.. !!"Pixie Nuggets! But that will... Huh.. What will that do?" Emily asked.. "How does that affect the spell?"!!The only thing your transformation spell is going to do is transform you into a pixie.. Not entirely, but you'll be able to shop in the pixie department for clothes.. !!"How do I fix it!?!?" Emily shouted.. The mirror face was blurry.. She dropped the box and grabbed the frame to keep it in view.. It felt larger than she remembered and the heavy weight slipped from her hands.. The glass shattered, sparkling prisms spraying out across the chamber.. "Oh, poo," Circe said sympathetically.. "You're just a bit doomed, then, aren't you?""The Time Flipper!" Emily shouted, turning to run towards her storage chest.. She tripped over the hem of her robe and slid across the floor.. "AHHH! I'm already shrinking!""Doctor Bombay said you should never, ever use the Time Flipper," Circe cautioned her.. "In fact, I don't even know why he gave you the thing.. It's quite dangerous.. ""I'm shrinking to the size of a pixie!" Emily shouted as she wrestled her way free of her robes.. "That's dangerous enough!""So what can you do with a few minutes-jump through time?"There was no answer as Emily wrestled her chest lid up and over.. She hung over the lip and felt down into the magic storage device.. Her reaching fingers found the Time Flipper.. She found the activation button and stabbed it.. NEXT CHAPTER
Chapter 2
Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings, consulted the recipe one last time and verified that her ingredients were arranged.. There would be no time to search anything out once she started mixing the potion.. With everything to her satisfaction she began.. She lit the fire under the cucurbit, touched the silver alchemical symbols embedded in the mahogany work table, intoned the chant and poured the components.. Then she covered it with the alembic and watched the chemicals come to a boil.. Pink smoke writhed above the fluid as gray bubbles burst.. Then the doughy contents started to climb the sides and flow out the retort.. A greasy gelatin dropped globule by globule into the waiting cup.. She smiled in victory at her success.. Over the work table, a painting of the original Circe watched with concern.. "Who the hell is that?" she asked.. "Circe! Don't drink it!" a tiny voice screamed.. Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings, turned to see a small pale creature running towards her across the floor.. "What? Why?" she asked.. The creature ran to the foot of her stool and leaned against it, panting for breath.. "It's gone wrong!" it said.. "It's Pixie Nuggets not Fairy Gravel.. "
"Oh," Circe Imaginings said.. She took the cup carefully and poured it into the Gone Well.. The slight popping sound of matter and energy destruction sounded then subsided.. Circe reached down and gathered up the tiny figure.. She wasn't entirely surprised to find that it was herself.. "You're me? I traveled in time to warn me?" she asked.. Little Emily nodded, still feeling the after effects of traveling through time, traveling across the floor, the fear of failure and the rather queasy feeling in her stomach from her more complete failure.. Emily rolled onto her side, held her belly with both hands and gulped air down.. Circe watched perfect, if tiny, replicas her own breasts heave with each breath for a while.. "So now what?" she finally asked.. "Um, what do you mean?" Emily asked back, then belched.. "Well, you prevented the magical accident.. Which means that you preempted the event that would have driven you to travel in time.. So you shouldn't be here.. "
"Why shouldn't I be here?" Emily asked, raising herself up on one elbow.. "The event I prevented is in your future, but it wasn't prevented in my past.. I remember it, so it happened.. It just won't happen again.. "
"No, no," Circe insisted.. "You've created a paradox.. Either you, I mean, I, or we... Either Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings, drinks a shrinking potion or she doesn't.. If she doesn't, she doesn't travel in time to prevent her from shrinking herself.. Which means she will drink the potion.. "
"Oh.. Well, I drank it," Emily said.. "And you won't.. So you won't go back to prevent yourself.. Ourself.. Me.. So the next time through, we will drink it.. Maybe we only prevent it every other time.. "
"There is no other time!" Circe said forcefully.. Emily covered her ears and Circe felt bad.. As a matter of absolute fact, she felt very sympathetic to the little-self.. She quieted her voice.. "There is only one time.. Events happen or they don't.. "
"Maybe there's only one time, but many time STREAMS," Emily suggested.. "I don't believe you're arguing about this," the painted Circe said.. Both women looked up at her frame.. "You're right," Circe Imaginings said.. "It's not really a matter-"
"No, no," the figure said, waving her arms, "if you're the same person, why do you have two different opinions on the subject?"
"Maybe...," Emily said slowly, "altering the time STREAM has consequences that ripple outward from that event to alter the very fabric of space and time.. "
"You're rejecting my entire philosophy on time travel for one of your own from the cosmological effects of a five-minute time jump?" Circe asked her handheld guest.. "Maybe it wasn't five minutes," Emily said.. She stood up on the giant palm.. "It's time travel.. Maybe I really traveled all the way to the beginning of time and that changed the mass of the big-bang and now things are different.. "
Circe shook her head.. "IF you had that big of an effect on ALL OF REALITY, I'd expect that we'd look much more different.. I can think of an easier explanation.. You're not me.. "
Emily started to insist that she was, indeed, who she told herself that she was but was interrupted.. Giant Circe grabbed Little Emily by the ankle and hoisted her into the air.. Giant fingers separated the little legs and she was lifted close to Circe's eye for inspection.. A finger slowly stroked the inside of the thighs.. "Well," Circe finally said, "you've got the right scars.. " She opened her robes and lowered her captive.. Upside down and dangling, Emily saw matching jagged scars on the two inner thighs below her.. "Of course I have your scars," Emily said.. "We got those from getting caught on the fence, sneaking out of chantleader camp in the ninth grade.. "
"That's what we tell everyone," Circe said.. Her fingertips still stroked the marred flesh.. "But how did we really get them?"
"Donna Stretchfuller bet us that we couldn't masturbate to,,, completion while standing on the fence," Emily said.. "And we fell right before we won," Circe said with a nod.. She lifted herself to the work table surface.. "No," Emily said as she was placed rightside up on the stained wood.. "No, we won!"
"Ah," Circe said.. "So, you're not exactly me, not really.. " She started to reach for the little figure.. "So then, this won't be masturbation.. "
"Eep," Emily squeaked in apparent fear, but she remained still and waited for the approaching hands.. NEXT CHAPTER
Chapter 3
Circe's hands circled the little figure and plucked her up into the air.. This time she was more gentle.. Her ring finger held the hips tight to support Emily, while the thumb and forefinger gently stroked the breasts.. Emily braced herself with a hand on each finger and leaned into the caresses.. "So, little Emily," Circe started to say.. "Hey!" she protested.. "I'm Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings!"
"I am Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings," the larger woman said.. "You have no power here, so you're merely Emily.. Little Emily.. And you're mine to toy with.. " With her free hand she stroked the long hair of her captive back from the little face with a fingertip.. The stroke continued around behind the ear then trailed down over the shoulder, between the breasts and over the belly.. She withdrew it to jump over the triangle of hair, dropping back again to stroke the thighs near where they touched.. As the finger tip reached the little toes, Emily gave a gasp.. "What's this?" Circe asked.. "I'm not ticklish.. "
"Generally, I'm not," Emily gasped.. "But this... this is different.. " She writhed in the giant grip.. Circe tilted her head and looked her little self over.. "How?" she asked.. "Your touch, it's so... overwhelming.. I can feel the power, the restraint.. Something about... how you could... I mean, I couldn't stop you if... Oh, stars! Touch me again, please!"
Circe watched the little feet kick back and forth as her finger slowly approached the legs.. They moved furiously when she stopped and lowered her hands.. "What?! What!?" Emily cried.. "Me first," Circe said.. She unclasped her robes and opened them wide, then spread her legs.. The wriggling figure felt wildly energetic in her grip.. She wanted the energy inside her.. Emily spun in the air as the hand lowered, turning upside down as the huge breasts passed by.. The erect nipples looked like the cushions on bar stools.. She really wanted to sit on them.. But they were out of sight almost instantly.. The hand was aiming her head-first towards the giant pussy.. "No Mary Sue!" she cried.. The movement stopped.. "Mary Sue?" Circe asked.. "It's a fanfic term!" Emily said quickly.. "Self-insertion!"
"I know the term," Circe laughed.. She also changed her grip, holding the swinging arms tight to Emily's side.. "That's only bad self-insertion.. It's possible to do it well, if you're careful.. Willing to take risks.. " The hand resumed moving.. Emily closed her eyes as her face was forced against the inner lips.. She was stroked along the length of the slit, fluid covering her face and chest.. She sputtered and grabbed a breath at the end, just before the return stroke.. After a few passes the giant figure moaned.. The sound was so low Emily felt it in her ribs more than her ears.. The stroking sped up.. It was getting hard to breathe when she was suddenly raised clear..
She panted and sucked in air.. The grip on her changed and she risked opening her eyes.. Two fingers separated the lips of Circe's pussy.. She looked into pink darkness for a second then was thrust inside.. The wet surface flowed over her, streaming her hair back and pressing against her everywhere.. It was warm like a hug, slick like a mud bath.. When Circe gently pulled her back outwards, the suction made her imagine being French-kissed by a sleeping back.. Just before she was out far enough to breathe, Circe pushed her back in.. Emily started to wriggle and move, trying to satisfy her captor.. Sooner done, sooner released, or at least removed to fresh air.. She waved her arms, stroking as much of the skin as she could reach.. The grip on her calves tightened, then released completely.. Circe cupped her hands over the little feet to keep Emily inside.. Emily felt Circe's body buck and heave.. She pushed harder and moved faster.. Then everything around her squeezed down tightly.. Her last ounce of breath was squeezed out from her by the gigantic orgasm.. Just as she started to black out, fingers grabbed each ankle and gently but swiftly eased her into daylight.. She coughed and spat, lying in Circe's palm.. Circe rubbed her back a few times then rolled Emily over to lay face up.. She dipped a finger into a goblet of wine and allowed two drops to splash on the miniature face.. Emily sputtered and gasped, then swallowed.. After she did, she relaxed and breathed freely.. "That was... That was amazing, little one!" Circe said breathily.. "I thought I was turning inside out.. " She picked up a work sponge and dipped it into the restorative wine.. Then she squeezed it out over the body in her hand.. When her own juices were washed away, she licked Emily clean.. The little witch giggled and spread her legs.. "Keep going.. You're going to want to get every drop," she said dreamily.. Then she fell.. ------
Painting Circe looked up from her scifi scroll at the strange sound.. Her owner, Circe, Witch of The Dark Imaginings, lay sprawled on the work bench, still shrunken and quite naked.. She watched as the tiny figure lept to her feet, looked around the room and screamed.. "Didn't stop it, huh?" Circe asked.. The witch didn't answer.. She threw herself to the cushion, then slid down the leg of the stool.. Circe's eyebrows rose as the naked form ran across the room to her storage chest.. "My turn! My turn!" she was chanting as she reached the Time Flipper.. She threw herself across the panel and punched the button.. Once she was gone, the painting turned back to the adventures of Perry Hoster and the Mixed DNA Regent.. "Wonder what that was all about?" she muttered.. NEXT CHAPTER
Chapter 4
Circe, Witch of The Dreary Inventions, consulted the recipe one last time and verified that her ingredients were arranged.. There would be no time to search anything out once she started mixing the potion.. With everything to her satisfaction she began.. She lit the fire under the cucurbit, touched the brass alchemical symbols embedded in the oak work table, intoned the chant and poured the components.. Then she covered it with the alembic and watched the chemicals come to a boil.. Plaid smoke writhed above the fluid as red bubbles burst.. Then the fluffy contents started to climb the sides and flow out the retort.. A chain of oblate spheroids dropped globule by globule into the waiting cup.. She smiled in victory at her success.. Over the work table, a painting of the original Circe watched with concern.. "What the frell is that?" she asked.. Circe, Witch of The Dreary Inventions, turned with alarm to find a teeny, tiny figure crouched on her floor.. It gasped and panted as if from some great exertion.. Circe, Witch of The Dreary Inventions, watched closely, waiting to see if the creature spoke or disappeared.. When it finally raised its widdle head, Circe, Witch of The Dreary Inventions, felt that she almost recognized the figure.. It was a girl, covered in sweat and about the size of her athame's handle.. "Stop!" it said.. "Don't!" Circe, Witch of The Dreary Inventions, put down her beaker and started to walk over to the poor thing.. Suddenly there was another person in her sanctum.. A woman, her height and wearing her favorite robe, stood at the doorway before her.. The robe was open, displaying a nude figure that also looked remarkably familiar.. "There you are!" the new intruder said, reaching down to pick up the tiny one.. She closed her fist tightly around the head and shoved her into the robe's pocket.. When she smiled at Circe, Witch of The Dreary Inventions, the witch suddenly realized that it was almost like looking in a mirror.. Except the beauty mark was on the wrong side.. "What is going on?" she asked.. "Who is that and why is she naked? Why are you almost naked?"
The disheveled woman looked over Circe's shoulder.. A strangely greedy smile spread across her features.. "It's an amazing story," she said.. "I'll tell you all about it.. But, uh, you really want to drink that potion you made before it bubbles away.. Go ahead, we'll wait.. "
With a strangely compelling feeling that she could trust this version of herself Circe, Witch of The Dreary Inventions, turned back to her workbench and picked up the beaker.. "I don't know," Painting Circe started to say.. Her mistress ignored her and downed the notional potable.. Intruder Circe released Emily and started to walk closer to the local girl.. Emily climbed up the side of the pocket and looked out.. Strange red smoke curled out of the mouth and nostrils of Circe, Witch of The Dreary Inventions.. "Whoops," Emily said and dropped back down into the pocket.. "What?" her captor asked.. "Isn't this what happened to you?"
"What's happening?" Circe, Witch of The Dreary Inventions cried.. She ran out of the room.. "What the hell?" Disheveled Circe asked.. "Did you do that?" Painting Circe asked.. "I want to go home!" Shrunken Circe moaned.. The ground shook and there was a clap of thunder outside.. Circe stepped to the window and opened the shutters.. A flesh-coloted tentacle thrust through the panes and wrapped around her shoulders.. "YOU DID THIS TO ME!" Cthonic Circe thundered.. 'Crap,' Disheveled Circe said as her feet left the floor.. The Ending.. . |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: books
Chapter 1
The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic. This work is my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual). This list was inspired by the list "213 Things Skippy Is No Longer Allowed To Do In The US Army" (http://www.skippyslist.com), which has appeared in various places and been sent to me in more than one email. I made this stuff up, or had help, with the theme. I hope you enjoy this list, and the original.
The Bank Street area has been a difficult neighborhood for The Church for some years. Getting persons to live and work there had proven almost impossible, with ministers lasting anywhere from three days to ‘a month and a half, not counting therapy.’ Finally, The Church found their solution in Reverend Smitherson, or ‘Skippy’ to friends and congregation alike. While ‘Skippy’ is more than willing to face the difficulties of the neighborhood and populace, he’s been less willing to behave in a manner the church council feels appropriate to the office. So, while they never have been pushed to the point of firing him, it has become a regular event for someone to take the Rev aside and provide specific instructions for his behavior. Skippy has kept a running log of these instructions and provides it here, in the hopes that ministers of all denominations may someday benefit from the improvements offered.
1. Aftershave is not to be applied with a putty knife.
2. Black helicopters are not hovering over the Nursery.
3. Can’t comment on how sexy the organist looks today.
4. Church Officers should not use the phrase ‘from hell’ as a compliment, such as ‘That was the guest sermon from hell, wasn’t it!’
5. Delivering a sermon in mime is a bad idea.
6. Do not quote Sun Tzu as if reading from scripture.
7. Everyone is comfortable with the 10 commandments. My skill with binary does not make it easier for anyone in the congregation to like the 1010 Commandments.
8. For the last time, the Baby Jesus light in the nativity should not be a Black Light.
9. No one cares how cool the Mary figure looks under Black Lighting.
10. Genesis says the sun and moon were made ‘for signs and portents.’ Not the stars. Stop padding the sermon with horoscopes.
11. Get down off the altar.
12. Go outside until the sparklers burn out.
13. I am not qualified to diagnose psychological problems, and ‘shallow gene pool’ is not a diagnosis anyway.
14. I cannot spike the bible after a successful sermon.
15. If I cannot remove the ‘Human Head’ warning label from the cooler, I should not bring it to the picnics.
16. Iniquity is not best fought by infiltration.
17. It is possible to consume too much coffee before delivering a sermon.
18. It is wrong to alter the shape of the ‘We’re Number One’ foam hand into a cross for use at press conferences.
19. It is wrong to compare scenes from Job to the latest ‘James Bond’ movie.
20. Jehovah’s Witnesses are not ‘our nemesis’ and we need not knock on their doors ‘to get some back.’
21. Maniacal laughter is not ‘perfect stress relief’ during funerals.
22. Must not take collections for the ‘Tomb Of The Unknown Moron' every time the Deacon is more than a minute overdue.
23. Must stop padding the sermons with ‘You might be a redneck if…’
24. Must stop saying ‘noted’ when people point out errors in my sermons.
25. Must stop trying to get the choir members to take loyalty oaths.
26. Especially not the ‘Tomahawk Chop.’ The congregation are not Braves fans.
27. No hymn is improved by belching any part of it.
28. No Mosh Pit, smoke machine, or fog lights.
29. And no whining about it not being ‘show biz’ anymore.
30. No one cares how many men went into the bar, nor their professional positions within the hierarchy of their respective religious traditions.
31. No one is interested in what material my underwear is made out of.
32. No one needs to hear what Moses’ AD&D stats would have been.
33. No one wants to hear me go on about what they do to you in the drive-through.
34. No one wants to help me look for my invisible friend.
35. No ritual sacrifices...
36....even if they make a pleasing odor to the Lord...
37....even if you do them in the parking lot.
38. None of the commandments include the comment ‘Too Stupid to Live.’
39. Not allowed to add 'In accordance with the prophesy' to the end of answers I give to a question about the bake sale.
40. Not allowed to ask the Greeter where Beavis is.
41. Not allowed to attempt to appeal to 'The Vulgar' in fund raiser themes.
42. Not allowed to crucify the Easter Bunny to teach the children that all pagan symbols have died.
43. Not allowed to eat chili within 8 hours of a funeral service.
44. Not allowed to grant asylum to prostitutes.
45. Not allowed to refer to the church cat as my familiar.
46. Not allowed to replace Chick Tracts with brochures from the travel agency.
47. Not allowed to shoot rubber bands when everyone bows their heads for prayer.
48. Not allowed to snort Helium before quoting Jesus.
49. Not allowed to tell children God has a Noogie Patrol.
50. Nothing in the Tarot Deck is useful in spiritual counseling.
51. Pop quizzes to find out ‘who was really listening’ are not necessary.
52. Riding crops are not to be used in directing the choir or marriage counseling. Except the McSweeny’s, of course.
53. Speaking in Pig-Latin will not confuse Satan’s spies.
54. Suicide counseling never involves Heavy Metal lyrics.
55. The Articles of Faith do not include the phrase ‘in a blaze of glory.’
56. The Inspector General has not authorized me to enter any and all spaces without let or hindrance as a means of stamping out heresy, so I should avoid the girls locker room.
57. The Prime Directive is from Star Trek, not Leviticus.
58. The pulpit is not to be wired for ESPN, The Spice Channel, or The Cartoon Network.
59. The story of the Resurrection does not end with ‘…saw his shadow, went back in the cave, and we have six more weeks of winter.’
60. The voices in my head are not ‘in a position to know.’
61. The wages of sin are NOT ‘heaps and heaps of slightly smelly cash.’
62. There is no reason to carry a Super Soaker during services.
63. Turn off the propeller on your hat.
64. Valhalla is not the final destination of those that die owing more than a million bucks to creditors.
65. Verses about Adam and Eve discovering the shame of nudity are not made more clear by having the choir strip.
66. We do not end eulogies by saying ‘Nuff said.’
67. We do not ask the deceased ‘Whassup?’
68. We do not touch the little cups and offer a toast before partaking of communion.
69. Communion wine should not be served in "trick" paper cups.
70. "Goddamnit" is not, and never will be, a proper opening prayer.
71. "The Rapture" is a cosmo-theological event, not a description of my weekend in Vegas.
72. It is a 'baptismal fountain,' not a 'bidet'!
73. No Yiddish in the sermons.
74. God is sometimes compared to light. This does not mean that Jesus can be ‘set for stun.’
75. Stories of atheists being ‘saved’ are consistent crowd-pleasers. Just start from ‘I Was An Atheist until one day…,’ not from ‘I started questioning my faith when…’
76. Full immersion baptism does not imply the use of seltzer bottles or fire hoses.
77. I must not interrupt scripture readings to ask ‘Was he making this stuff up as he went along?’
78. Must not refer to prayer as ‘Opening Hallelujah-ing Frequencies.’
79. Not allowed to tell the groom he gets a 15-minute head start.
80. The traditional wedding vows do not include the words 'in a blaze of glory.'
81. It is wrong to tell the bride that in light of recent court decisions, she has the option of exchanging vows with the groom or a bridesmaid.
82. It is so my fault.
83. Concerning the 'Guest Sermon Of The Month Program:
----Representatives of our and other Christian Denominations: Good
----Representatives of Monotheistic Traditions sharing more than a few litany sources with the Christian Faith: Interesting
----Representatives of Satanism, Buddhism, Shinto, that guy with the sword, 'Street Preachers,' anyone ordained over the Internet, anyone that's been on News of The Weird, the 'atheist chaplain' from the hippie commune: Bad.
84. If I must develop a sermon idea from a TV show, perhaps a Monday or Tuesday night show would indicate something less last minute and slapdash than "Dada' see who was hosting Saturday Night Live last night?"
85. There is no such thing as a Two-By-Four of Penance, and it is wrong to hit the sinners with it.
86. Must not deliver sermons from back to front.
87. My job description is not to ‘winnow out the weak.’
88. Not allowed to answer questions with "You want the truth?! You can't handle the truth!!!"
89. Not allowed to initiate crises so I can feel needed.
90. The ‘Chipmunk Song’ is to be used in moderation, especially when I have access to Helium.
91. Not allowed to use the Kama Sutra as a reference.
92. Not to sing sea shanties with words I can neither define nor spell.
93. Not to say ‘so mote it be’ at the end of any question my parishioners ask.
94. Not to pick up the Bishop’s letter opener and say ‘Cool, you have an athame, too?’
95. I do not have the authority to send other people’s kids to military school, no matter what they did.
96. Not to imply there is a ‘code’ in the hymn selection.
97. Not to organize memorial services following the death of a parishioner’s: goldfish, hamster, imaginary playmate, or batteries.
98. My purpose on Earth is not to ‘freak out the straights.’
99. Not to organize teens into teams for ‘stupid testosterone tricks.’
100. Not to exacerbate my congregation's ongoing feelings of nameless dread.
101. No longer allowed to answer rhetorical questions, even if there really is an answer.
102. The caber toss may well be something from my ethnic heritage, but care should be taken in the throwing of telephone poles in public spaces.
103. If you must refer to Europeans, it’s not pronounced ‘you’re a peein’.’
104. Not to announce that we are engaged in the support of SDI testing and throw coconuts into crowds.
105. Not allowed to excuse my tardiness due to ‘prevailing headwinds’ in the hallway.
106. Not allowed to give awards to the best and worst missed-church excuses of the week.
107. Not to refer all questions to ‘the nearest ornithologist.’
108. Not allowed to leave in response to the ‘bat signal,’ no matter what dastardly danger threatens fair Gotham.
109. …and take that costume off.
110. Not allowed to hire mariachi bands to play outside the window.
111. I don’t care what you ate; gastrointestinal problems do not constitute a fire hazard.
112. It is wrong to hang choir members in effigy.
113. The fact that it was funny when Ernie Kovacs did it does not mean I can include it in my presentation.
114. It is wrong to attempt to achieve immortality through monumental stupidity.
115. Don’t hand out gauze and medical tape at the door ‘in case of an outbreak of stigmata.’
116. It is wrong to use the hold button when dealing with a suicide call.
117. Stop shouting ‘containment breach’ when someone farts.
118. The pulpit is not the ideal support for product placement.
119. The ‘Ten Commandments’ are well understood by everyone. Sermons on the 613 Commandments in the Old Testament just confuse the parishioners.
120. Just because the courts say I can, doesn’t mean I should. Or must. Or have a divine mandate.
121. The phrase ‘Golf is like sex, you perform better wearing cleats’ is not to be spoken in this building ever again.
122. Stop telling the professional wrestlers that bloodlust is a sacrament.
123. It is wrong to delay Easter Service because you’re sorting M&M’s from your Easter Basket by color.
124. Wrong to tell parishioners that flesh-eating bacteria was released in our bathrooms, while the cure is only available to those who tithe 15%.
125. A good sermon should be like a woman's skirt, long enough to cover the essentials and short enough to keep interest. Yours are more like a wonderbra…attention getting, but mostly built up on false pretenses.
126. Not allowed to compare the Bishop’s sermons to an eye patch (more for looks than for any usefulness, and limits perception).
127. Not allowed to hand out lightning rods to parishioners I think are at greater risk during the prayer.
128. Not allowed to spread itching powder in the back pews even if I’m trying to promote use of the front ones.
129. The three biggest sacraments are not “when they’re hatched, when they’re matched and when they’re finally dispatched.”
130. Not allowed to operate a ‘seminary by mail’ course out of the church.
131. Not allowed to put a tip jar at the door.
132. Not allowed to charge the government for a ‘faith-based’ antismoking campaign that only changes member’s cigarette addiction to chewing tobacco.
133. Not allowed to use sermons that are basically ham-fisted rewrites of old ‘Kung Fu’ episodes.
134. It is wrong to drive RC tanks around the pews while the choir sings.
135. It is, somehow, MORE wrong to keep playing with the remote, making ‘vroom-vroom’ noises, after they have taken away my tank.
136. I should own up to mistakes. I cannot invoke the 5th amendment when they ask ‘where is THAT in the Bible?’
137. …nor can I refuse to answer, saying I am ‘protecting my source.’
138. It is undesirable to write a sermon while watching CSI, asserting that “Every believer is a murderer. We all played a part in putting Jesus to death. Our sin…” and concluding that we should all turn ourselves in for conspiracy after the fact.
139. Revelation 3:2 does not indicate that we should get inebriated at the funeral of a loved one. It says 'keep awake,' not 'Keep A Wake.'
140. Moses wrote the book Numbers, that does not make him the first math geek.
141. The miraculous fish catches in Luke 5 and John 21 can provide a number of lessons for the congregation. None of them include speculation on what type of bait the Lord was using that day.
142. Not allowed to use ‘Thunderbird’ for communion wine.
143. Wrong to refer to Baptism as ‘a good god glug’ no matter how snappy it sounds.
144. Not to use Gary Larson cartoons as representative of actual conditions in Hell.
145. It is wrong to tell children that my collar "kills fleas and ticks for up to 5 months."
146. Despite the age and popularity of the joke, not allowed to baptize vermin in hopes of keeping them out of the church all year, except for Christmas and Easter.
147.
Not allowed to close a sermon with offers of free coffee, "...so you're all awake for the drive home."
April 1st occurs on a Sunday, on average, once every six years. This is way too often to indulge my sense of humor in the writing of a 'Fool's Day' sermon. I must apologize to all the balding men in the congregation for the topic of my April 1st sermon.
The following denominations and religious organizations are not candidates for our "sister church" program:
(note to the reader, I did not make any of these up. They are either on the internet or referred to in someone's "cult" literature. The sincerity or clarity of each is left to the seeker, although I will say that the guy who feels the song "American Pie" was predicted in Deuteronomy is frighteningly sincere, while the Second Church of Shaternology isn't as much.)
These organizations include:
1. Atheists for Jesus
2. Aesthetic Realism Foundation
3. American Pie and the Armageddon Bible Prophecy Home Page (the pop song American Pie, which prophesies the destruction of America, was foretold in the Song of Moses in Deuteronomy 32)
4. Armageddon Time Ark Base Operation
5. Association for Past-Life Research and Therapies
6. Bible UFO Connection (UFO-related)
7. Center for Alternate Realities
8. Church of Evolution
9. Church of God Anonymous
10. Church of the Apathetic Agnostic
11. Church of Virus
12. First Church of Jesus Christ, Elvis
13. First Church of PacMan
14. First Demonic Church
15. Fluids for Christ
16. God Saves the Earth Flying Saucer Foundation (UFO-related)
17. Great White Brotherhood (UFO-related)
18. Institute for Bio-Spiritual Research
19. International Assembly of Wizards
20. Jedi (The Force)
21. Jesus of Borg
22. Jews for Jesus
23. John F. Kennedy Worshippers
24. Jugglers Against Oppression (homophobes, racists, sexists, ableists, classists, ageists, and gender oppressionists - watch out, the jugglers are coming)
25. Luciferian Liberation Front
26. Nudist Christian Church of the Blessed Virgin Jesus
27. Peyote Way Church of God
28. Second National Church of Shatnerology
29. Spirit Electronic Communication Society
30. Temple of the Psychedelic Light and the Church of the Realized Fantasy
31. The First Satanglican Church of Wendall Corners (Satanism like Grandpa used to make)
32. The Saint John Coltrane African Orthodox Church
33. Twilight Crossing: Hecatean Theurgical group
34. Universal Life Church of The Seven African Powers
35. Womyn Healing
36. Zen Atheism
37. Zodian New Age
Sunday School lesson topics I can no longer use include:
1. **Carpentry Jargon**: Why dad says those funny words every time he uses a hammer
2. **Christian Rock Music**: Satan's Oxymoron
3. **Christmas**: Why the church outlawed it as a pagan practice until adopting it and telling everyone it's Christian
4. **Heresology**: Five thumb rules for determining how hell-bent your friend's religion is
5. **Marriage**: Why the church outlawed it as a pagan practice until adopting it and telling everyone it's Christian
6. **The Shroud of Turin...and the 25 other 'authentic' burial shrouds of Christ
7. **Witnessing**: why there's no such thing as an unfair advantage
8. **Sexual Perversion**: Tab "A" fits in Slot "A. Anything else is Sodomy
9. **Chick Tracts**: God's hate-filled coloring books
10. Duke University Medical Center's MANTRA study on the effectiveness of prayer on the recovery of angioplasty patients
11. 1 Samuel 15:3, God's Family Values
12. Hosea 9:14-16, God & Abortion
13. **Early Christianity**: Throwing pagans to the lions to 'get some back'
I am not allowed to direct the congregation to pray and/or fast in aid of:
1. Army beating Navy
2. Political movements in violation of our 501(c)(3) status
3. Yamulke in the third
4. Cardinal Law's Legal Defense
5. Cardinal Law's Prosecutor
6. 'something worth eating' at the next church supper
7. a less stultifying bishop's appeal
8. more cleavage on 'Seventh Heaven'
I am not allowed to excommunicate people just because they:
1. pronounce "sin" with two (or more) syllables
2. talk to people in King James English
3. argue that bar codes are satanic
4. carry a chart of the occultist symbols on the dollar bill
5. say Amen more than once an hour
6. maintain that evolution, money, television, or pornography are religions |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: games
Things Skippy the Dwarf Can't Do in the Dungeon
Chapter 1
The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic. This work is my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, 'you gotta read this' excerpts, the usual). This list was inspired by the list "213 Things Skippy Is No Longer Allowed To Do In The US Army" (http://www.skippyslist.com), which has appeared in various places and been sent to me in more than one email. I made this stuff up, or had help. I hope you enjoy this list, and the original.
Things Skippy the Dwarf Fighter has learned or been told while dungeon delving, or is no longer allowed to do while delving. Dwarf Snorri Snorrison, son of Snorrison's son ('Skippy' to friends and enemies alike), has been a party member of the "Lost Empire" campaign for several years. His adventuring behavior has been corrected from time to time, for not being appropriate for a dungeon delve. The list is almost entirely composed of the words he was given as a response to an action or event he was involved with.
1. After the "Dark Vessel" adventure, everyone who ever loved me is dead. I'm not allowed to brag about that anymore.
2. Aftershave is not to be applied with a putty knife.
3. Although I do think I could do a better job and I would like to lead, these questions usually turn out not to be sincere.
4. Anything I say after 'it's worth noting' is usually not interesting to anyone else in the party.
5. Basilisks cannot be hypnotized by winning a staring contest with them.
6. Battle axes are not the sniper's weapon of choice, so I should get off the roof and engage the enemy.
7. Battle axes don't have a stun setting.
8. Clerics can move in all directions, not just diagonally.
9. Clerics that are dragged to a tavern for a night of celebratory quaffing should be returned to their devotions within 4 to 6 working days (or within two High Holy Days, whichever comes first).
10. Dark Gods require virgin sacrifices; incantations do not require virgin spell components. It is wrong to ask the mage how he knows his frog's eyes come from a virgin frog.
11. Draft horses are not missile weapons.
12. Dragon breath is not funny.
13. Dragons do not dispense their hoard in lotteries, and there's no way I 'may already be a winner.'
14. "Dropping Trou" is not a fighter class 'special attack.'
15. Elf ears do not require sharpening.
16. For all that he's an illiterate man, the seneschal can read me like a book.
17. For customs inspectors, "Declare" has a specific meaning that does not involve reciting my heritage back to the 'Time Of Troubles.'
18. Get down off the altar.
19. Gifts from The Gods do not come with an exchange coupon for Harrod's Merchantile and Chandler shop.
20. God-calls are not protected as Free Speech.
21. He did not 'start it.'
22. He is not kidding.
23. He is not on "my side of the dungeon."
24. He really means it this time.
25. Holy Relics of Fantastic Power do not have a shelf-life date.
26. 'Hungry' is not an alignment.
27. Neither is 'stupid,' but in my case, they're willing to make an exception.
28. I am not allowed to make explosives, even if I do have all the supplies.
29. I am not allowed to render any member of my party to obtain those supplies.
30. I am not the default love interest and should stay away from any non-dwarf royalty we encounter.
31. I am not the evil twin, but only because I don't have a twin.
32. I am not the Grey Poupon distributor for the kingdom, and I cannot ladle it onto the illusionist and offer him to dragons as a free sample.
33. I am not the Grey Poupon distributor for the kingdom, and I should stop giving dragons a discount on the stuff.
34. I am not the rightful heir to the Burger King, I'm just telling a whopper.
35. I cannot improve my defenses by writing "-10 Armor Class" on my shirt.
36. I don't get to keep chaotic monsters that followed me home unless I intend to skin them.
37. I don't know what I was thinking when I said the longbowman was 'out of ammo' after six shots.
38. I don't want you to turn this adventure around.
39. I should stop screaming about 'the power of grayskull' and take cover from the crossbows.
40. I should stop writing 'Bite Me' in orcish on my party leader's shield.
41. Must stop writing ANYTHING in orcish on party members' shields.
42. "I was bored" is not an excuse for anything done with a loaded ballista.
43. I was not placed in charge of the prisoners so that I could slaughter them and 'the paladin wouldn't get his hands dirty.'
44. I was not seduced by the Demon Queen of Pormax, and the scars from that adventure are not 'love tattoos.'
45. If I sing "I'm A Lumberjack and I'm Okay" just one more time, they're gonna make me eat my axe.
46. If it looked like a duck, quacked like a duck, and tasted like a duck, but had a collar indicating it's sacred to a local goddess, we should skip dessert and start running.
47. In joining a group of adventurers, the party leader does actually become the boss of me, and I should respond accordingly in combat.
48. In my case, 'innocent until proven guilty' is an offense against the gods.
49. In my case, an aphorism indicating 'that's when you find out who your friends really are' is just noise in the wind.
50. Inquisitors have no sense of humor. They also don't like this fact pointed out to them.
51. It is wrong to greet Inquisitors by shouting 'stick to the story!' to other party members.
52. It is not motivational to talk about adventure parties that died in situations "just like this."
53. It is so my fault.
54. It is wrong to enhance my codpiece for dramatic effect.
55. It is wrong to make the evil sorceress cry by mentioning her biological clock, ticking away.
56. The cleric feels it is wrong to behead someone who's crying. Noted.
57. It is wrong to splice centerfolds into the mage's grimoires.
58. It is wrong to tell dying heroes they've been downsized and their valuables seized.
59. It is wrong to use exploding shuriken to gather firewood when there's a Druid in the party.
60. It is wrong to write 'First come, first serve' on the wagon when we're hired to protect the tax collector.
61. It would not have worked if it weren't for those meddling kids.
62. It's a Monarchy based on Oral Law. There is no Free Speech.
63. It's never too early to tell the others where I packed the healing potions.
64. Labels on the vials of potions are not the sign of a weak mind, they're really a good idea.
65. Labels on the vials of potions should be popular names in a common tongue, not pictionary graphics.
66. Evidently, I cannot draw a clear 'healer' to save my life.
67. It's not important who's right and who's wrong as long as the party leader is right.
68. Jousting is the sport of knights on horseback, not dwarves on dining tables.
69. Kilroy was NOT here and he'd better stop putting graffiti in the castle.
70. Knowing how to burp fire and NEEDING to burp fire are two different things.
71. Knowing three swear words in thieves' cant does not make me a dual-class fighter/thief.
72. Leave the animation of the dead to professionals.
73. Leave the noble art of chiurgery to the professionals.
74. Magic wands do not experience 'recoil,' so I don't need to brace the short-skirted sorceress every time she casts a spell.
75. Membership in the waterferryman's guild does not allow me to charge passengers for space on a lifeboat.
76. Mirrored sunglasses are not period wear.
77. Missile weapons and alcohol don't mix.
78. Most characters that claim to be invincible don't understand what the word means.
79. Must never use the word 'wanker' within 50 feet of a cleric attempting to invoke or influence her deity.
80. Must not delay the party's attack on the fire dragon while I 'get the s'mores ready.'
81. Must not hire a soapmaker to make a half-ton cake of soap, attach axles, and drive it to the king's castle as a gift 'from concerned friends.'
82. Ditto the alchemist, half-ton breath mint, the queen, 'loving but scandalised subjects.'
83. Must not hire ladies of negotiable affections to follow the cleric back to his temple and commend him to the bishop for the sexual healing he performed.
84. Must not make fun of high-level dark knights who run their own country.
85. Even if their knight order is named after a flower.
86. Must not tell the Amazon she needs to get laid.
87. REALLY must not tell the barbarian fighter that the Amazon needs to get laid.
88. Must not throw sliced fruit into gelatinous cubes and call it Jello.
89. Must not throw the NPC's into flame traps to 'see them sparkle.'
90. Must put the battle axe down before performing the ancient dwarven victory rite of 'The Barbie Girl Dance.'
91. Must remember that the time to point out flaws in the strategy is BEFORE we enter the Dark Abyss of Eternal Peril.
92. Must stop asking if he's making it up as we go along.
93. Must stop telling the goblins 'You might be a redneck if…'
94. Must stop trying to crossbreed the mage's familiar with the packmule.
95. Must stop trying to get the packmules to take loyalty oaths.
96. Must stop using the cliché: "Fool's gold spends just like real gold in an election year!"
97. Mustn't wear my 'tour guide' cap when we're forced to return to a dungeon for something we forgot.
98. Not allowed to describe the colorful history of a dungeon if that history was one of our previous adventures.
99. My horoscope for today does NOT say 'it'll be a cold day in hell before I take point.'
100. My mithril long johns do not grant me power over space, time, and reality.
101. My operatives will not avenge my death, and none of them are Vulcans.
102. My primary weapon is not a two-handed shield.
103. Never answer the question 'what else could go wrong' while the GameMaster is in the room.
104. Never ask a wizard if they'd rather be a 'real man.'
105. Next time I make that old joke about 'poison canyon...one drop will kill you!' they're throwing me off the bridge.
106. Next time we run out of torches because I used three of them to light my farts, they're going to set fire to my beard.
107. No character class has 'can o' whup ass' as a weapon of proficiency.
108. No longer allowed to ask the half-orc where Beavis is. The Oracle told him all about Beavis.
109. No more Mr. Nice Barbarian.
110. No one cares how they did it in the old, old, old days.
111. No one is interested in how I keep my beard so glossy.
112. No one is interested in who I'm going to hire as my court fool when I am finally rich beyond dreams of avarice.
113. No one wants to guess what's in my beard.
114. No one wants to hear about 'the lamentation of their women' from someone that's knee-high to a... well, to everyone.
115. No one wants to hear me go on about what they do to you in the drive-through.
116. No one wants to help me look for my invisible friend.
117. No one wants to know how the fight would have gone if we were playing with a different rules system.
118. No one wants to know HOW the velociraptor happened into the prioress' wine cellar, they just expect me to get it out.
119. No one wants to see a dwarf do a table dance.
120. No specialty action performed by the thief is improved or enhanced by jostling his elbow and telling him to 'get on with it.'
121. This goes more than double for a visit to the alchemist.
122. Not allowed to ask Death to prove he's really Death.
123. Not allowed to beat out the 'In A Gada Da Vida' drum solo on the paladin's breastplate.
124. Not allowed to carry the shoulder-fired catapult indoors every again.
125. Not allowed to chop an orc's arm off, then carry it on my shoulder as my 'familiar.'
126. Not allowed to confess my sins to the monk in the party. He's not interested, and he's not that kind of monk.
127. Not allowed to cut the ranger's warrior braid and leave clippings to mark our passage through the maze.
128. Not allowed to get thunder gods drunk in civilized areas.
129. Not allowed to give wounded comrades a hearty 'pre-cardial thump' before medical treatment is applied. Especially when wearing Gauntlets of Storm Giant Strength.
130. Not allowed to go on 'strike' in the middle of combat.
131. Not allowed to grant asylum to berserkers.
132. Not allowed to have Near Death Experiences when I'm not the one that nearly died.
133. Not allowed to hire bards to sing about the party leader's failures in every freaking bar, tavern, or inn in the kingdom.
134. Not allowed to hire someone to make marionettes of the party so I can restage our last adventure at the next tavern.
135. Not allowed to hire a voodoo priestess to make marionettes of the party so I can run our next adventure by remote control.
136. Not allowed to interrogate the thief in the party about crimes committed in faery tales.
137. Not allowed to open the drawbridge during a siege even if the enemy promises to let the pizza delivery elf through.
138. Not allowed to order were-chihuahua chili in the tavern anymore, never again, no way, no how.
139. Not allowed to eat any flavor of chili less than 6 hours before entering a dungeon or any other poorly ventilated space.
140. Not allowed to organize minotaur rodeos.
141. Not allowed to paint 'I'm with stupid' on my shield.
142. Not allowed to shout 'CLEAR!' every time the cleric starts to heal someone.
143. Not allowed to sign the cleric's name, in blood, on a contract offered by a guy whose eyeballs burn with an inner light.
144. Not allowed to snicker when the seneschal introduces the party leader to the king.
145. Not allowed to spoil surprise attacks by telling the orc platoon they should leave before they get roughed up.
146. Not allowed to start wearing taffeta over my armor and calling myself Rapunzel, Queen of the May.
147. Not allowed to suggest 'much better' riddles to the sphinx.
148. Not allowed to take fallen comrades to the taxidermist, even if I SWEAR it'll be a tasteful pose.
149. No one wants to discuss my idea of what's 'tasteful.'
150. Not allowed to teach obscene exclamations to the fighter's talking sword.
151. Not allowed to tell the paladin how sexy he looks in that armor.
152. Never allowed to tell the Amazon how sexy she looks.
153. Not allowed to throw cave rats at the back of the party leader's head and blame the wizard.
154. Not to repeat the Barbarian's comments on the usefulness of women adventurers to the cleric while she's treating his wounds.
155. Oh, stop screaming.
156. Our druid has never decided a wounded party member was beyond help and turned first-aid into a sacrifice to The Dark One. Well, not anymore.
157.
Paladin party leaders do not have to explain all command decisions, especially to chaotic, stupid dwarves. Putting cotton in my ears does not make me move silently in plate armor. Religious tracts should not be handed out every time we meet a party of orcs. Rescuers are there to rescue, not to shout about the cavalry to the rescue, or inquire who ordered extra cheese with anchovies. She's not playing with me. Stop adding the notation "forbidden zone" to the maps at random. Stop chanting "hobbits are the enemy."
The bishop is not a hood ornament, and when he stops screaming, I should untie him. The cleric did not join the party to discuss orthodox versus reformed theology with respect to the question of whether toothbrushes clean the souls of our teeth. The Happy Hunting Grounds do not have a "black tie" policy. The Healer is a cleric, not a paracleric. The Paladin's horse is off-limits to anyone with a meat cleaver and a bottle of bar-b-q sauce. The party wizard is not undead, and I must stop congratulating him for "passing" as a living being. The phrase "can't possibly miss" is way overused. The wages of sin are not "heaps and heaps of slightly smelly treasure."
There is no instant replay in the dungeon, and the refs will not vindicate my actions. There is no ominous "background music" telling me the monster's getting closer. There is no save versus "being an inbred jackass," and I must stop consoling the cavalier on his fumble. There is no such language as pig-druid, so stop practicing it. There is nothing under the sorcerer's gown that is of any interest to a fellow party member. There's no such thing as a Dwarven Death Grip. Throwing halflings off a cliff to see how big a splat they make is not a competitive sport. Not allowed to spend time on watch developing a scoring system for halfling-splat. Treason's such a harsh word.
Triage categories are not (1) Me, (2) You all, I guess, and (3) Those other geeks. Triage is performed according to the nature of the wounds, not the amount of gold they're carrying. Turns out, the Ranger does care what his deity-gift magical arrow was last fired at. Turns out, when I'm told "you wouldn't dare," they're usually wrong. Twenty-seven lice in my hair and beard do not qualify me as a leader of a guerrilla army of infiltration specialists. Under most circumstances, no one cares to see how many gold pieces I can fit into a goblin's skull. Unloaded crossbows should not be fired in jest. Valhalla is not the final destination of those that die owing more than a million gold to creditors. Violating treaties is not an "icebreaker" for diplomatic missions. Voices in my head are not "in a position to know."
War cries should be shouted, not delivered by messenger or sung by off-side cheerleaders. We did not recruit the halfling just in case we need a virgin sacrifice. Stop telling him that. We do not delay returning the princess to the king in order to solicit competing bids. We do not run credit checks on royalty when hired to rescue the princess. We do not shout "Circle of Life, Dude!" and leave the wounded behind. We will not laugh about all of this in a year or two. We're here to kill orcs, not moon them. When a party member is beset by multiple opponents, I will render all possible aid. I will never again stand by, telling the rest of the party "He needs to prove himself against the Dragon...and his own fears."
When carrying the wounded half-orc back to camp, I should not cut him in two to save the human half first. When cave bears hit cave bears, it means love. When cave bears hit party members, it means war, and I should not shout "get a room, you two!" When Death lets us challenge him in order to stay alive, we will pick a board game, not Whack A Toad. When small, harmless people shape-change to large, slavering monsters, my most immediate reaction is not to try to calculate just how much mass seems to have been hidden/ignored in the transformation. When someone says "It's Over," not allowed to tell the cleric it's her cue to sing. When someone says "some of you, and you know who you are," everyone in the party knows they're looking at me.
When the Oracle offers us the answers to any three questions, not allowed to pull out my Zen For Dummies book and ask about one hand clapping. When the party leader is hanging from the face of the cliff, I must find a rope before starting a "how long can he hold on" pool. When the reptiloids are sacrificing to their dark gods, and they don't know where the heart is on an elf, I should not whip out a grease pencil and provide visual aids. When they say "over my dead body," I should assume it's hyperbole until proven to be literal, not the other way around. When they say "fire at will," they don't mean Lord William. Wrong to tell the cleric she has exceeded her daily limit on whining. Xylophone music is not required in order to fight skeletons. Yes, the hierophant does worship Lacedos, God of Light; I should stop asking. Yes, there really are such things as innocent bystanders. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
More Disclaimer: I tend to work with size-themed fiction, which includes outrageous differences in scale.. Such disparate sizes between partners is not for everyone, so be warned.. This work is my own.. The characters are my own.. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, 'you gotta read this' excerpts, the usual).. ------------------------------
Nonconsensual shrink, nonconsensual transformation, SW, Mini, nudity, rape, SW as captive, magic, a little tormenting
---------------------------
Tiny chimes announced that Freyja had a visitor.. She was in her kitchen at the time and turned to see how it reacted.. The kettle swung over the stove, so it was someone she knew.. The banked embers of the stove burst into a more energetic burn.. "Someone I know very well," Freyja murmured.. She waved her hands over the house-dress she was wearing, changing it to something more appropriate for company.. As she looked herself over in the mirror, the smell of troll cakes permeated the room.. "Essabar," she said with a wicked smile.. The charmed oven only made those when her wizard friend visited.. Her thoughts of her on-again, off-again boyfriend expressed themselves in her blouse.. The décolletage plunged, revealing a substantial amount of cleavage.. She purred at the new image and made her way to the vestibule.. The doors swung open at her gesture and she found herself facing a stranger.. A woman swept into the castle from outside.. She was a tiny bit shorter than Freyja, dark haired, with features that looked strangely familiar.. But the sorceress knew no woman that traveled about in trousers.. Especially such bulky ones as were hanging off this woman's slender frame.. She was bitching about something as she entered.. "It's wrong, it's all wrong.. Everything's gone all soft! It's the furry rodents in the wheat bins all over again.. "
Freyja stood and watched the agitated woman storm back and forth for a bit, trying to figure out either who she was or what she was talking about.. "You have to help me, Freyja!" she finally finished.. The sorceress shook her head.. "I really don't think I do," she said quietly.. "At least, not without an introduction, Milady….. ?"
"What?" the intruder screeched.. "Freyja, it's me! Essabar!"
"No," Freyja shook her head.. "Essabar is about four inches taller, much calmer, wears a goatee and, oh yes, is a man.. "
"Exactly!" she shrieked.. "I'm supposed to be a man! You have to help me fix this!"
"Oh dear.. " The hostess stepped closer and looked at her guest.. Beyond the fear, the fury and the rather heavily applied mascara, she did realize that the features resembled her lover's.. "It really is you, Essabar? How ever did you do this?"
The woman blushed and turned away.. "Oh, now I have GOT to hear the whole tale.. " Freyja took Essabar by the rather dainty elbow and escorted her to the dining nook.. ----
"Well, I was casting a horoscope when I had this idea," Essabar explained over troll cakes and tea.. "Oh, dear," Freyja said.. "You're lousy at horoscopes.. "
"Shut up.. I am not ashamed to say that I'm not terribly familiar with divinational magic.. It's not like it's real magic.. "
Freyja merely raised an eyebrow, gesturing at Essabar's petite body with her pinky finger.. "Shut up," the wizard repeated.. "Anyway, I had this idea for a permanent love potion.. We make those with transitory ingredients, but we schedule the distillation by the planet Venus, and we invoke Aphrodite to fix the materials in the fleeting matrix.. "
"Yes?"
"Well, I thought, what if we cast a spell to invoke Venus directly upon the recipient? The transitory effects would be permanent! Instead of one spell per affair, the subject would be eternally appealing.. A demigod of seductive powers.. "
"Which you cast upon yourself?" Freyja asked with a wide smile.. Essabar blushed deeply.. "I learned my lesson in school.. "
"When you tested the love potion on the lab mouse?" She giggled.. "The house matron was ready to kill you over that one.. Once she could walk again.. "
"Yes.. " The following growl was very much her old friend's growl, but it sounded odd in the higher register.. "I didn't want to be attracted to any of my assistants, or risk…anyone else being seduced by them.. "
"I appreciate that," Freyja said, reaching over to squeeze Essabar's hand.. "It's just weird to look at you, as you've lost your signature goatee.. "
"I didn’t lose it," Essabar admitted.. "It's just not on my face any more.. " The sorceress' eyes opened wide in surmise.. "I don't want to talk about it.. "
"Okay.. Well.. It seems fairly straightforward.. We just recast the spell, but we invoke Mars instead of Venus.. That takes the feminine out of the mix, replaces it with masculine.. "
"Oh, could it be that easy?"
"Won't know until we find out.. "
Two hours later, Freyja staggered out of her workroom, coughing out green smoke.. Billows of the stuff coiled out of the doorway and up into the rafters of the common room.. "Essabar?" she asked.. "Essabar? Did it work?"
An especially thick curl of smoke burst out of the room, resolving into Essabar's new form.. He was still a she.. But a short she.. Freyja covered her mouth but couldn't silence the giggles.. Essabar stood no more than three feet tall.. She stamped her tiny foot on the flagstones and glared up at her friend.. "What the hell are we doing wrong?" she asked.. "I don't know, but there are two things we are going to find out," Freyja said.. She closed the distance to stand beside the now-halfling maiden.. "What are those?" Essabar asked.. Her voice trembled the tiniest bit as she looked up into the sorceress' eyes.. Little hands clutched at the formerly-tailored robes that now billowed around her.. "One, we will figure out exactly what the spell does.. " She placed her hands on the quivering shoulders of her friend.. "The other…" She pushed and Essabar fell backwards.. She sprawled in the bundle of rich fabric.. Freyja was reminded of nothing so much as a prostitute caught on a campaign, as a general's expensive tent collapsed.. The sorceress knelt and grabbed two bare ankles.. "The other? I want to find out where your goatee went.. "
Essabar squealed and tried to kick herself free.. Freyja bore down on her ankles, spreading the legs as she smiled wickedly.. Essabar's legs were a far cry from the hirsute trunks Freyja remembered.. Creamy, taut thighs flexed but parted in the sorceress' grip.. The wizard tried to cover herself, but mostly just flopped around under the now-voluminous robes.. Freyja had no difficulty gaining a view of the new location of Essabar's goatee.. Among the natural looking auburn curls around her pussy, a triangle of stiff black hairs thrust straight up and out.. "It looks like the prow of a quinquireme," she said, reaching forward.. "Tickle, tickle!" Essabar squealed and kicked.. "Aw, but you're all sweaty," Freyja went on.. "You know what that means.. "
She shouldered her sometimes lover like a particularly lithe sack of turnips and stalked towards her bath room.. Essabar considered cleanliness an interruption in his wizardly activities.. After an accident in his lab, he'd as likely smell like the essence of boiled bat balls for a week as to take a bath.. Freyja considered cleanliness as a sacrament.. Her bath compared to Essabar's as a king-commanded cathedral to a roadside chapel of an unpopular deity.. A furnace was dedicated to heating the water that entered the sunken reservoir by means of a waterfall.. The southern edge of the pool was a gentle slope that allowed walking in and out, while the eastern and western sides had a variety of one- to three-person perches for comfortable soaking.. The sand that covered the bottom, cushioning bare feet from the marble flooring, also served the functions of soap and pumice.. Freyja carried her burden to the northern side, standing next to the overhead flowing water.. "Want to undress for me, Essie?"
"Don't call me that!" Essie snapped.. "And, no! I don't want to-"
Freyja popped the little woman off of her shoulder and into the bath.. The pounding force of the waterfall tumbled her over and over, while water soaked into her clothes and dragged her down.. She managed to claw her way out of the sodden mass, then out of the current.. This was the deep end of the bath, so her climb to the surface took a lot longer than her lungs would have preferred.. She burst into the air, coughing and sputtering.. Swimming wasn't much of a wizardly pursuit in Essabar's eyes, so she had to fight hard to keep her face above water.. Essie was almost grateful when the conniving, giggling bitch of a hostess gathered her into a supporting hug.. She relaxed as she was tugged over to one side.. "Isn't that much better?" Freyja asked as she stood her guest on a submerged bench.. "Oodles," Essie snarled.. "Now, let's get you clean.. " She scooped sand up from the floor and started to rub Essie's back with it.. "We need to get me back to normal!"
"And our first attempt made things worse, hmm? So we need to take a break.. " She worked her way down to the ass cheeks.. Essie braced herself with a hand on the side of the tub.. "Washing and soaking and relaxing will clear our minds, and allow us to start fresh.. "
Essie moaned as the hands, far stronger than she remembered, pushed and pressed, slid and scrubbed.. Freyja's voice lowered and described all the benefits of a clean body and its affects to cleanse the mind.. Essabar's philosophy tended more towards 'fire is the cleanser,' but she was starting to see her big friend's point.. She widened her stance as hands scrubbing her thighs circled around to the inside.. Suddenly fingers parted her sex and a digit stole inside to places she hadn't even realized existed.. "Ahhh! Hands in new places!" she squeaked.. "Well, I was just thinking, sex could do just as much to clear the mind.. " Freyja's matter-of-fact tone surprised Essie as much as the penetration had.. Freyja stepped up, grabbing Essie at neck and crotch.. She walked up to the shallow end of the bath and set herself down in a cozy seat.. She set Essie on her lap, legs straddling the large hips.. The firm brush of crotch-beard tickled Freyja just below her belly button.. "How about we get me back to normal," Essie offered, "then have sex? I'll let you be on top! I'll shave off my beard! I'll do that thing you like!" She negotiated desperately.. "That thing I like?" Freyja asked, one eyebrow lifted.. "You mean…bathe?" She grabbed both the wizard's shoulders and pushed the body briefly under water.. Then she lifted it back up.. Essie sputtered as water cascaded down her front, dripping off of her chin and nipples.. Freyja leaned forward and licked at the wet throat in the hollow of the shoulder.. "Mmmm.. Tasty," she murmured.. "No, I think I'd like to try this first.. If you're lucky, it's my only chance for this.. I don't want to waste it.. "
"Luck, hmmph.. " Essie scowled as the sorceress worked her way down, kissing and sucking at throat, shoulder, breast and nipple.. "Luck has nothing to do with it.. I will be back to normal, dammit, else I shall never again..." Her oath was interrupted by a sharp gasp of breath.. Her nipples had never before been as sensitive.. She wondered if it was the gender switch that made it so, or if it was getting attention from a giantess.. That might bear repeating in a more clinical effort, she thought.. Then Freyja switched to the other breast, keeping the first nipple excited with finger and thumb.. All thoughts of scientific investigation fled.. "Oh, oh, please," she moaned.. She pressed her feet down on the marble, standing to push her breasts against Freyja's face.. Freyja took the opportunity to lick her way down the accessible torso, hands lingering on the breasts.. Licking the pussy turned out to be a bit of a logistic puzzle.. Any approach that got her tongue in the right place shoved stiff hairs up her nose.. She remembered watching a cat trying to lap up beer, with the bubbles popping in the poor thing's nose.. Sparkles had ended up turning her head to the side and drinking in a sort of side-saddle.. That kind of worked, technically.. The hairs pressed into her cheek were distracting, but didn't prevent her from reaching the pussy.. But the angle wasn't great for penetration.. Essie was merely gasping, not screaming.. She pulled back to think about it.. "You're…you're stopping," Essie complained.. "Why… Why are you stopping? No stopping!"
"I'm just wondering of we might have to shave you, dear," Freyja explained.. "No! You'll never take my beard! That'd be emasculating!" The sorceress just looked up at her friend.. She tweaked on the nipples of the full breasts under her hands.. "Well, uh," the petite woman cast about, "it's the principle of the thing!"
"The principle," Freyja calmly explained, "is that I want to lick at your pussy and your beard prevents that.. It's got to go.. "
"NO!" Essie cast herself backwards and tried to kick off of the seat.. She sank like a big pink stone, flailing and twisting in the water.. Freyja stepped up, grabbed the first body part she saw and hauled away.. Essie ended hanging upside down in Freyja's arms, legs waving in the air and her face pressed into a huge thigh.. "Oh," Freyja said in a musical lilt.. "What a wonderful idea!" She lifted Essie higher, arms clamped around her at the waist.. Lowering her face, her tongue found the slit completely free.. A tickle beneath her chin was all the goatee could accomplish.. She smiled and set to with a will.. "Freyja! Set me down! I'm feeling faint!" Waves of pleasure started to course across her from where that tongue was delving, exploring her virginal sex.. "This is not what I meant by you being on top," she muttered, but without much rancor.. Freyja continued to worry at Essie's little pussy as she waded up out of the pool.. The soft thighs were hugging her head, knees just bent around her skull, pulling her face down.. Nearly blind, she navigated the poolside tiles almost entirely by memory.. For her part, Essie found herself dangling by two breasts she remembered well.. But areolas that used to be a mouthful now she couldn't cover with her palms.. She gripped at each one, moving her head back and forth to lick and suckle as she could.. The salty taste of her lover seemed familiar, if stronger.. But that might be an illusion caused by the great arms holding her around the waist.. Freyja tried to lift her face clear of the exquisite pussy, fighting the leggy clasp around her head.. Essie resisted, pressing with her calves and sucking desperately at one nipple.. The sorceress simply eased her supporting grip.. The wizard's head dipped an alarming three inches towards the tiles below..
Essie squealed and tried to wrap her arms around Freyja's chest.. She could reach as far as just below the shoulder blades, but her hands wouldn't clasp together.. "Stop kicking," Freyja muttered, "or we're both going to hit the floor.. " Essie forced herself to be still.. Her captor spun her around and set her down on a shelf behind the waterfall.. She sat, legs swinging in the air, and gazed across at Freyja's face.. She reached out with her arms, spreading her legs to encompass that wondrous torso.. "Now, now," Freyja said with a shake of her head.. "You don't lead this dance.. Don't try.. I'd hate to have to discipline you.. "
Essie felt a tingle in her pussy at the thought of being punished.. But she wasn't sure if she could trust Freyja to stop punishing her if it stopped being fun for Essie.. She let her limbs relax for safety sake.. For now.. "That's better," Freyja purred.. She gently took Essie's ankles once more and lifted them.. Essie rolled onto her back obediently.. She found that she was upon a soft surface.. Soft and heated.. It was like hot mud in a leather sack.. It matched her curves, supporting and warming her without pushing too hard.. She smiled and closed her eyes, melting to the sensations.. When Freyja started lapping at her pussy once more it seemed like the woman's giant tongue just wrapped around beneath her, like she was being held in a giant mouth, lovingly explored by the very tongue she lay on.. The attention moved down, to her ass cheeks, parting them and gently probing her intimately.. "That's a no-no place," she said.. "I'm sure," Freyja purred.. "That's why you're fighting me off so vigorously.. "
"I am," Essie protested.. "I'm giving you the count of five hundred to stop, or I'll beat you about the knees!"
"Duly noted," Freyja said, her last coherent words for quite a while.. -----
Essie woke to find herself cuddled in the arms of the sorceress.. They were in a woven bower of living plants.. The leaves matched some she'd barely noticed lining the room with the bath.. Tropical heat slithered into her every time she breathed the humid air.. A different heat permeated her form from the giant body she lay against.. When she identified two heat spots as her lover's breasts, a different sort of heat started to build in her.. She rolled inside Freyja's arms to find herself face-to-boob with the sorceress.. She licked at the top one.. Freyja moaned happily and slowly rolled onto her back.. She lifted the shrunken wizard on top of her torso, guiding the head to her other breast.. "Can I… Can I… lick you?" Essie asked haltingly.. Freyja giggled.. "I thought you said you'd never do that?" she teased.. But she put hands on both shoulders and eased her lover towards her feet.. "I said real men don't do that," Essie replied.. She swiped a lick across the belly button as she went by.. "Figure I have a loophole, thought I'd use it while it lasts.. "
"Well, you're welcome to try," Freyja said.. She spread her legs and her lower lips.. "Wouldn't have anything to do with my making you scream out all the names of the Triple Goddess, would it?"
Essie stared at the familiar, yet strangely novel sight before her.. The increase in size wasn't the only thing that made it seem strange.. She'd kissed at it a time or two, but gone no further in oral foreplay.. She'd preferred to use fingers here, so her mouth could reach breasts and lips.. She'd thought herself well-versed in the mechanics of sex but hadn't understood just quite what it felt like to a woman.. Now she wanted to give as she had received.. She lowered her face and licked gently at the shiny flesh.. "Oooh, that's nice," Freyja said.. "Very nice for a beginner.. " A gentle hand cupped the top of her head and pushed.. "Maybe a little more to the… Oh.. OOOH! That's it, little one.. That's…"
Freyja leaned back and sighed.. Her arms relaxed and her legs spread even wider.. Essie paused, lifting her face to smile across an expanse of flesh.. The sorceress did not smile back.. She gasped and raised herself up to force contact.. Essie started licking again, but her mind was on that reaction.. A giant lover wrapped around her finger, almost begging for her to play.. It was amazing to realize how much power she was exerting over her captor.. It was definitely something she'd have to take precautions against, later on.. She marked the thought in her memory and increased her efforts.. She explored Freyja in ever direction, as far as she could possibly reach.. There were pauses as she innocently asked if she was doing it right.. Freyja screeched louder with each interruption, which only guaranteed another one would follow.. She finally deigned to let Freyja come, pressing her face down and lapping extra hard.. There was a scream, an oath, and very forceful quivers under her hands.. Face flushed, the spent woman pulled her little pet up onto her chest and smothered her with kisses.. "Oh, we'll have to do this every day," Freyja promised.. "Or something like it," Essie giggled, fingers exploring erect nipples.. "Something very like it, I hope.. "
"We'll have to see, won't we?"
They cuddled for a long, timeless interval.. Gentle hands lazily explored each other's curves and hollows.. "If I put you back to normal," Freyja asked after a while, "are you going to go back to how you were?"
"Isn't that the whole 'point' of back-to-normal?" Essie teased.. "You know what I mean!"
Essie nodded.. "I don't think so," she said after a thoughtful moment.. "I always kinda found that… gross.. In theory, at least.. But now that I've actual practice under my belt.. Or under your belt, as it were…"
"Well, that's the educational model of the sorceress guild: Learn, Practice, Explore.. "
"Hmmm.. Ours was: Learn, Meditate, Demolish.. "
"Wizards," Freyja muttered, in a tone half the population sometimes used to say, 'Men.. '
-----
Two days later, even the combined healing might of two eldritch disciplines could not fully restore chapped lips, chafed thighs and rug burns.. "So we might as well get back to the counter spell," Freyja said, limping towards her laboratory.. "Mmm," Essie replied, a passive lump over the sorceress' shoulder.. She grunted as she was rolled off and down onto a cushioned chair in a corner of the eight-sided room.. "So I was thinking," Freyja said, "maybe we should cast the next spell on me.. " She was sorting through her cabinet of components.. Behind her, Essie sat up a little bit with wide eyes.. "Seriously?"
"Yes," Freyja assured her.. The little wizard held a hand in front of her eye, holding her fingers as if to pinch the other woman between them.. She squinted and examined the image.. "So I get to carry you around for a while?"
"Well, I wasn't going to pick Mars or Venus," Freyja said as she turned around.. "We know they can change gender or size.. I was going to cast the spell to connect me to Mercury.. Oh, put that down.. " She gently pushed Essie's 'gripping' hand to her lap.. "You might bruise me.. "
"Mercury? That's speed?" Essie considered the choice.. "You want to heal faster or run faster?"
"Wisdom," Freyja replied.. She was arranging the icons around her star.. Essie stood and limped around behind her.. As the author of the spell, she wanted to double-check everything.. "Mercury is the intellectual influence in astrology.. "
"So even if this spell….. " Essie paused, looking for a word.. "Fucks up," Freyja supplied.. "It's okay.. We girls can swear when it's just we girls.. " She pat her friend on the head.. "Especially we girls wee.. "
"Fuck you," Essie snarled, slapping the hand away.. "Been there, done you, tore the t-shirt," Freyja replied with a laugh.. "So, even if this casting of the spell fucks up," Essie said, "you'll be smart enough to know what to do to fix it! Great idea!"
"Thanks.. I've been known to have one or two.. Now, back to your perch.. "
Essie frowned but moved out of the casting area.. She sat on a wicker bench, hissed, then placed a cushion between the furniture and her abused flesh.. She watched carefully as the spell built up, then light burst from the sorceress' hands.. Freyja's mind rose up and out of her body.. Her castle shrank in her view while the true nature of the Solar System was revealed to her.. The wandering lights of the sky were quite distinct from the stars that kept their place.. She perceived the planets as dark spheres that only reflected light, not sourced it.. The biggest surprise was that the Earth was merely one of several such objects.. Essabar's size changes became clear.. When he had invoked the characteristics of the spheres, he'd linked his proportional size to those planets instead of Earth.. Venus was a little bit smaller than Earth, Mars half as big.. She also realized that by invoking tiny little Mercury, she was going to be about two-thirds the size Essabar currently stood, about two feet tall.. She giggled at the thought of looking up at the tiny woman.. Then she realized that the spell shouldn't have changed Essabar's gender.. It just didn't have that power.. So what was going on?
"What's going on?" she murmured.. The light faded and she staggered.. She was a little woozy, but mostly she was burdened by her robe.. Omar the tent-maker, indeed.. She fetched up against something and used it to steady herself.. It turned out to be Essie.. The sorceress found herself standing face to belly-button with her former captive.. She smiled and looked up.. "Oooh, I guess you're in charge, now.. "
"You have no idea," Essabar replied.. In his normal, manly voice.. There was a ripple to his features and he stood up.. And up, and up.. The man loomed over Freyja, in all his masculine, hairy glory.. He'd even recovered his facial hair.. His great cock started to stiffen in place even as Freyja tried to look around it and make eye contact.. She couldn’t help but lick her lips, though.. It did look to be quite the feast.. "What, uh, what, what is you doing?" she stammered.. "I mean, what are going on? Urrrr! What the hell, Essabar? Just what the hell?"
"You're the superior intellect in the room," he said as he leaned down.. "You tell me.. " He grabbed her robe and shook it out.. Freyja tumbled to the floor, naked and tiny.. He placed the big toe of one foot over her knee, pinning her in place as he examined her garment.. "It's a trick," she said after a moment.. "All the spell does is change sizes.. You got me to shrink myself for you.. Why the subterfuge, though? Why not just suggest shrinking and sex?"
"That's not all it does," he said.. He pointed his finger at the fabric and changed it to something more appropriate for his wardrobe style.. "Hey! That's mine!" She aimed her hands to cast a hex upon the arrogant bastard.. Nothing happened.. She couldn't feel her power.. "THAT is what the spell does.. " He slipped the robe over his shoulders and adjusted the belt.. "The main thing it does is to put you under my power.. The planet thing, that's just a distraction.. "
Essabar reached down and grabbed Freyja by the waist.. He cuddled her in the crook of his arm, gently fingering one bare breast.. "But I cast it on you!" she protested.. "You should be under my control!"
"No, the planets are variable.. " He turned to walk towards the courtyard, already calling up the winds for his return home.. "The control isn't.. You put me under my control, which didn't change anything.. Then you cast it upon yourself…" He ran a finger behind her knee.. "I believe the quote goes: Tickle.. Tickle.. Tickle.. "
Freyja screeched and kicked.. Essabar held her tightly against his chest as the winds started to lift them.. "And tiny Freyja," he said, "was wee, wee, wee, all the way home.. ". |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: television
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: Star Trek, the Enterprise, and her crew, the Federation, are all property of Paramount. Winnie the Pooh and the other characters from the 100-Acre Wood are the property of Christopher Robin. Christopher Robin is the property of Mr. and Mrs. Robin. This exploration of a Trek episode with plushie characters is only for entertainment. This work is my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, 'you gotta read this' excerpts, the usual). The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic.
Captain Pooh's Log, Stardate, oh, a little past lunch but not quite siesta. Kanga tells me that we have received a Priority Top Oh Help call from Deep Woods Station K7, so we went really fast and got here. K7 is between the territories of the Federated Woods and the Klingger Empire. Both sides are attempting to develop Sherman's Planet, in accordance with the peace treaty shoved down everyone's throat by the Organics. Whichever side does the best for the Giant Space Bees on the planet gets control of the place.
Roo, at the helm, reported, "Captain, we're approaching K7." I, sitting in the CO chair, replied, "Let's go to that shiny state, Mr. Roo." Roo asked, "Red alert, Captain Pooh?" I responded, "Sounds good. So what's happening at K7? Is it the Klinggers?" Robin chimed in, "Pooh, you big silly. There's nothing out there but K7. Long-see-thingy's show the station is at rest, space is quiet, and nothing bigger than a space barge is even in orbit around Sherman's planet." Roo added, "Doesn't look like anything's out there to justify a Priority Top Oh Help call, sir."
I pondered, "Oh, bother. I hate it when trouble plays hide and seek. That means we have to go looking for trouble." Eeyore, at the navigation station, commented, "Yep. And we usually find it." Kanga, at comms, informed me, "Captain, K7 is hailing us." I asked, "Do they know we're here?" Kanga replied, "Yes, sir." I decided, "Oh, very well. Change the TV to their channel."
The screen showed a very irritable Rabbit pacing back and forth. Rabbit exclaimed, "Ah! There you are. It's about time you got here." I introduced myself, "This is Captain Winnie T. Pooh, of the starship Acreprise. We received a Priority Top Oh Help call and flew here as fast as we could. What's the problem?" Rabbit retorted, "What's the PROBLEM? Pooh, are you a congenital idiot or is your brain full of fluff?"
I responded, "Well, actually?" Rabbit continued, "I mean to tell you, Pooh, this space station is the single most important station in the quadrant!" I countered, "Not counting the 23 stations lining the NoNo zone with the Heffalumps, I'd guess?" Rabbit snapped, "Oh, to heck with the Heffalumps, Pooh! This is WAR!" I asked, "Are you under attack, Mr.?" Rabbit replied, "Nilz Hare, Undersecretary in Charge of Agriculture for the Federated Woods Effort to Relieve the Settlers of Sherman's Planet and Put One In The Eye of the Klinggers! Heck YES I'm under attack."
I inquired, "It's just that our far-seer's don't detect any general nastiness on anyone's part." Rabbit explained, "Well, it's not an actual attack, per se, but we're in real danger." I asked, "From what?" Rabbit replied, "I'm responsible for eleventy thousand barrels of quatrotrintiwheatabix!" I turned to Christopher Robin and asked, "Christopher Robin, is there anything in that big word I really need to know?" Robin responded, "Not really, Pooh."
Rabbit demanded, "You have to help me protect the quatrotrintiwheatabix, Pooh. It's vital to our efforts to improve Sherman's Planet." I asked, "Have you identified any threats to the big word stuff?" Rabbit replied, "Not yet." I questioned, "So, you sent out a Priority Top Oh Help call for.... for nothing?" Rabbit stated, "Pooh! I've been authorized by the Federated Woods to use any and all means at my disposal to protect the quatrotrintiwheatabix from all menaces. Especially the Klinggers. And if I have to dragoon your ship into the express service of Wheat Security, I certainly will!"
I asked, "Do you want to take over my command?" Rabbit responded, "Of course not! I just expect you to follow the orders I give you concerning your command!" I sighed, "Oh bother. I really like being shunted off to the side by those that are so sure they already know everything. Okay, I'll send over two garden gnomes. Put them next to the big word stuff and hang a sign: 'Under Protection of Pooh. Stay away or I shall be very cross.'"
Rabbit objected, "POOH! That's just NOT good enough!" I suggested, "Oh, well, if you know better, you can change the wording on the sign. Well, I have to go, there's an internal matter that needs my direct supervision." Rabbit protested, "Pooh, you can't..." The view screen changed to an old B/W test pattern, with a high-pitched humming noise.
I instructed, "Roo, stop that." Roo stopped humming and replied, "Yes, captain." Robin asked, "What was the internal matter, Captain Pooh?" I responded, "Lunch. Robin, you had lunch, silly old bear." Robin reminded me, "Yes, and it was a good lunch. I think I should do it again. Do we have any of those Honey Mustard hot wings? Without the mustard? And without the wings?"
Kanga offered, "I'll have some sent to your stateroom, dear." I requested, "Thanks, Kanga. And not so hot?" Kanga assured me, "Of course not, dear. Run along now."
Later, in my quarters, I was humming happily to myself, spread eagle on the bunk in my stateroom, with an empty, but messy, honey jar and an empty, and sterile, bone plate on my table. Eeyore's voice came over the intercom, "Cap'n." I asked, "What is it, Eeyore?" Eeyore reported, "Just thought you should know. Didn't wanna disturb you, but Kanga felt we should. Roo doesn't think we should..."
I inquired, "What is it, Eeyore?" Eeyore informed me, "Well, there's a Klingger Mayhemcruiser approaching the station. Oh, and that undersecretary is calling you again. Should we fire phasers?" I decided, "Well, I don't know. We might hurt someone. And they'd only send out another undersecretary, eventually." Eeyore agreed, "Yep. That's what I was thinkin'."
The scene shifted to the bridge, where I arrived and nodded at Kanga. The screen image of Deep Woods Station K7 was replaced by the Supreme Klingger. Tigger, dressed as a pirate, exclaimed, "Arrrrrrrrrrr, matey-boy! Who's up for a little swish-buckling good time?" Robin corrected him, "Tigger, you silly. Take off that eye patch. You're a space alien, not a space pirate."
Tigger removed his eye patch and put on a bumpy forehead, saying, "Oh, sorry. Grrrrrrrrrrowl! So, Pooh, we meet again. I demand..." I interrupted, "Would you like permission to use the recreational facilities of the Deep Woods Station K7?" Tigger replied, "Um, yeah, I, I mean, The Klingger Empire will not tolerate..."
I suggested, "Okay by me. I hate being cooped up in spaceships, and yours are a lot smaller than ours. Have a good time. But you have to promise only 20 men at a time on the station. I'll send 20 men and it'll be a good balance." Tigger agreed, "Yeah, okay, that sounds reasonable." I added, "You were going to demand that I be fair, right? And this is fair, right? See you on the station."
At a signal to Kanga, the screen went off, leaving a rather nonplussed fuzzy tiger-striped alien. Robin asked, "A good idea, Pooh, but why only 20 men?" I explained, "That's as high as I can count. Kanga, secure your station, round up 19 crewmen, and go to the station. Have a good time, but be quite visible doing it."
The scene shifted to a candy store on Deep Woods Station K7, where Piglet and Roo were sharing hot cocoa at a table in the corner. Kanga was scanning the jars of candy behind the counter when a rather scruffy-looking Owl sidled up to her. Owl asked, "Looking for something new? Something different? Something you've never seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen?"
Kanga replied, "Oh, like what?" Owl pompously announced, "Like THIS, my dear!" Owl heaved a display case onto the bar, opening it to reveal an eight-foot-tall Woozel. The Woozel popped up from the case, its eyes bloody, fangs dripping with drool, and claws glinting in the light. It leaned over Kanga, who leaped up, planted both feet in the Woozel's gut, and punch-kicked it clear across the page.
Later, in the same scene, Owl tried again, heaving the display case onto the bar and opening it to reveal two dozen furry balls with black and yellow stripes. The creatures trilled and rolled out of the case. Kanga asked, "Oooooh. They're so cute. What are they?" Owl explained, "They're a type of Moon Bee, a Tribble. They make honey. Lots of honey. And they make more Tribbles."
As Kanga cooed at the Tribbles, a group of Klinggers entered the candy store, drinking root beer floats at the table behind Piglet and Roo. One of the Klinggers boasted, "So, you saw how quickly that puff-pastry of a captain folded when he saw us!" Roo defended me, "Piglet! He's talking about Pooh!" Piglet calmed him down, "Now, Roo, you know the captain's not one to get upset being compared to a flaky treat. He'd just get hungry."
The Klingger continued, "And did anyone else see him on the screen? Hard to believe they gave the flagship of their fleet to such a, little, short, rolly, polly, rouncey, bouncey officer." Roo stood up for me again, "Piglet! That's not nice!" Piglet tried to reason with the Klingger, "Ex-ex-ex-scuse, m-m-m-me, gentlemen?"
The Klingger sneered, "Yes?" Piglet asked, "Well, I'm the the the the engineer on the Acreprise. D-d-d-do you maybe th-th-th-ink that you could re-re-re-rephra-rephar-prehase... say that differently?" The Klingger mocked Piglet, "You're right, I meant that the Acreprise should be towed away AS garbage!" Piglet stood up, adopting a fighting stance, and faced the Klingger.
Just as the situation escalated, the Woozel flew in, smashed into the Klingger, and swept him offstage. The traditional sounds of breaking and smashing backstage faded into the distance, along with snarling and screeching. Then silence resumed. Piglet blinked at the empty spot where the Klingger was and said, "Well. We-we-we-we-welly, well well." The Klinggers downed their drinks and bounced out of the bar.
Roo exclaimed, "Piglet! That was AAAAAAAAAAAAAwesome!" Piglet sat back down, saying, "All's well that ends well, I always say. I think I need a dark chocolate hot chocolate, please. Make it a double." The scene shifted back to the bridge, where I sauntered in, noticing Tribbles everywhere. Christopher Robin sat at his console, stacking them into pyramids.
I asked Kanga, "Did I order any redecorating?" Kanga replied, "No, Pooh, these are Tribbles. They seem to really like it here." I inquired, "Did I order any Tribbles?" Kanga assured me, "No, sir, they're a kind of pet." Robin chimed in, "Pooh, that silly old rabbit wants to talk to you some more."
I put Rabbit on the screen, and he scolded me, "Pooh, you can't ignore your responsibilities this way! What way would that be?" I responded, "What way would that be? Yes, it's EXACTLY as if I don't know. I don't even know what I don't know." Rabbit complained, "It's your crew! They're beating up on Klinggers!"
I defended my crew, "Um.... um, isn't.... isn't that exactly what you WANTED them to do?" Rabbit protested, "I can't have Woodfleet starting an interstellar incident under my nose! Think of the scandal!" I decided to investigate and lined up my crew, asking, "I suppose, hum de hum de hum, I suppose I need to find out who beat up the Klingger."
Piglet admitted, "It was me, sir." I asked, "No, Piglet, I was asking about the fight someone had with a Klingger." Piglet clarified, "It was me, sir." I inquired, "Really? I didn't know there were Klinggers that small." Roo jumped up, trying to describe the Klingger's height, and I caught him mid-air, holding him up.
Roo finally managed to convey, "He was THIS tall!" I asked, "Oh, my. So you beat him up, Piglet?" Piglet explained, "Well, sir, i-i-i-i-i-if you don't mind my saying so, he-he-he-he really deserved it." Roo added, "He called you a puff-pastry, Captain?" I replied, "You ordered me a puff pastry, Piglet? Well, thank you." Piglet clarified, "No, sir. The Klingger insulted you by calling you that."
I concluded, "Oh. No pastry? Piglet, no pastry?" Piglet assured me, "No, sir." I decided, "Bother. Roo, then he called you a little, short, rolly, polly, rouncey, bouncey officer!" Roo added, "Then he called the Acreprise a GARBAGE SCOW!" I asked, "Were you writing this down? You don't usually get this kind of detail about insults." I proudly stated, "Well, Piglet. You against an Klingger. I'm proud of you. I think this has worked up an appetite for lunch for everyone."
Later, I walked into the candy store, looking for Owl, who was trying to interest the candy salesman in something shiny. I asked, "Hello! Owl, I hope so. I just learned that these Tribbles you're selling are supposed to be making honey. I've been watching them and watching them, and there just hasn't been one drop of honey." Owl explained, "Well, they only make honey in their hive." I asked, "Where's their hive?"
Owl replied, "Well, they have to make one. It needs to be someplace they feel secure, minimal lighting, lots of food, no people walking by bothering them all the time?" I inquired, "Lot's of food, huh?" Owl confirmed, "Why, yes. Loads of it, if they're going to make any honey." I asked, "Any particular KIND of food?" Owl assured me, "Oh, any sort of vegetable-based product will do. Nothing particular." I smiled, "Oh. Nothing particular?" Owl repeated, "No."
Well, I should say, really, that for the best-tasting honey, and for the most productive sort of hive, one should have a large quantity of a certain substance.
Pooh: You're going to say that big word stuff, aren't you? And get the Undersecretary all excited again, aren't you?
Owl: Oh, no, nothing an important man like the Undersecretary would be concerned with.
Pooh: Whew!
Owl: It's just that tribbles really, really, really, really, really, really like their quatrotrintiwheatabix.
Roo: D'OH!
Pooh: Roo, I told you to stop watching that cartoon.
Roo: Yes, sir, sorry, sir.
Pooh: Well, let's plod along with thematic certainty to the confrontation with the antagonist of this piece.
Roo: You're gonna beat up a Klingger?
Pooh: No, I said antagonist, not the enemy.
The scene cuts to a passageway on the starbase, where two garden gnomes stand sentry in front of a large door. The sign on the door reads, "Bulk Storage Bay: Currently Empty, so STAY AWAY or Captain Pooh will blast you to smithereens." Pooh reads the sign and then looks up.
Pooh: I really don't think I would... not for someone sneaking into an empty storage bay.
Rabbit: It's not empty, Pooh, it's full of quatrotrintiwheatabix!
Roo: Wanna bet?
Rabbit: What are you talking about?
Pooh: Well, about that? We think there's a distinct threat that some cute and furry critters have invaded the grain storage lockers, possibly through the air vents that run through every advanced form of space habitat, no matter the air reproduction technology available. And, well, they might have eaten it.
Rabbit: The air vents?
Pooh: No, the quattytantrumwheatbakes stuff.
Roo begins opening the storage bay.
Rabbit: What? You are going down, Pooh! You let the single most important station in the quadrant be overrun by...
Roo finishes opening the storage bay, and tribbles bounce out and across the passage. The gnomes are quickly buried under the furry flood. When it's over, Pooh is swamped up to his armpits, Rabbit is pressed against a wall, and Roo swings from a handy light fixture in the overhead.
Rabbit: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!
Pooh: Yes, such a shame. Now, let's find the honey they've been making! Yum, yum.
Pooh starts swimming upstream through the furry flood. Roo bounces down and disappears into the bay.
Roo: Pooh? I don't see any honey in here.
Pooh: (picks up a tribble, sniffs) I don't smell any honey on this one. In fact, I don't think he's well.
Roo: Pooh! All the tribbles are dead!
Pooh: (turns to Rabbit) So, Undersecretary! The hydrotreaclehoneybucks you escorted here was poisoned!
Rabbit: You don't know that!
Robin pops out of the storage bay: Captain Silly Old Bear! I just did a chemical analysis of the quatrotrintiwheatabix, purely by coincidence, and find that it's chock full of a deadly toxin.
Rabbit: Okay, NOW you know that.
Roo: But who could have done such a thing?
Pooh: Well, it'd be too easy to blame it on the Undersecretary. He's been a right pain all episode. We'll blame it on his aide.
Rabbit: I don't HAVE an aide! We never introduced a secondary character for the purpose of fixing blame without sullying the reputation of the greater government we all represent.
Pooh: Not a problem. Rewrite!
The scene cuts to the bridge, where Pooh is talking to Rabbit via viewscreen.
Pooh: Are you under attack, Mr.?
Rabbit: Nilz Hare, Undersecretary in Charge of Agriculture for the Federated Woods Effort to Relieve the Settlers of Sherman's Planet and Put One In The Eye of the Klinggers! And this is my aide, Darvin! Heck YES I'm under attack.
The scene cuts back to the bulk storage at the end of the episode.
Roo: But who could have done such a thing?
Pooh: It can only have been Rabbit's aide, Darvin! Take him away, and book him for obstruction of... well, of murder of... of attempted wheaticide! (kicks a few dead tribbles at his feet) And littering.
Rabbit: Well, Pooh, you seem to have saved Project Relieve the Settlers of Sherman's Planet and Put One In The Eye of the Klinggers! I'll get on Ebay and order another eleventy thousand barrels of quatrotrintiwheatabix.
Pooh: Well, one thing bothers me, Roo. If the wheat was poisoned, how did they ever manage to eat all of it before they died?
Roo: Oh, they didn't eat ALL of it, sir.
The scene cuts to inside the storage bin, where Eeyore stands knee-high in quatrotrintiwheatabix leftovers, nosing the odd tribble to the side and munching away.
Pooh: No, Eeyore! Don't eat that stuff! It's poisoned!
Eeyore: Hmm... Figures...
And the credits roll over before the little gray donkey does. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: anime
009-1
12:15 is on family intriguing drama caption in letting go of the past
*Chapter 1*: 12:15 is on family intriguing drama caption in letting go of the past
12:15
The new day opened up to me, and I embraced it with gladness. As I opened my eyes unconsciously, I saw the light. With my head buried on the pillow, I felt lazy, but I didn't skip murmuring thankful words to the one responsible for showing me grace. I could not continue keeping my mouth shut, so I gave gratitude. "I thank you, Lord, for today," I said verbally, looking straight at the window's curtain. Just then, approaching footsteps stopped, and there was a knock at my door. I knew it was my mom. "Brave," she called briskly. I ignored her first call, prompting her to make a second one. "Ma," I answered boldly.
As I thought about it, I gave some consideration to the history of my name, Brave. I wondered why, as a newborn, I didn't dominate the atmosphere with crying while coming out of my birth mother. My curiosity was responded to. "I didn't experience any stress the moment I had you, till the day I birthed you. The doctor and nurses were caught up in surprise at your silent birth. The doctor called you 'Brave Boy' with an impressive smile," my mom said. I was left smiling, paying attention to our conversation. "I was a fine show," I felt proud.
I climbed down from the medium-sized bed reluctantly and picked up my black hoodie from the clothes stand, putting it on to cover my singlet. I went out of the room, walking down the corridor to the empty cushion, my regular spot, with my head pointing down. My cotton material couldn't cover my entire adult face. Morning devotion couldn't wait for me, but I wasn't left without receiving the blessings of the day. It was a valuable time spent, and the family members dispersed one after another after "Amen" was vigorously chorused. I was the last of the two siblings to head back to the bedroom.
On my bed, I suddenly remembered something and quickly put on my navigation to head to the kitchen. I took out water from the heating pot in a big rubber cup and calmly drank it down with one hand. It was just the way I liked it – warm. After attaining hydration, I headed back to my room. The house was filled with music from Urban TV, shuffling through tapes. I lay backward on the bed, reminiscing about yesterday. "*Kai..*" I exclaimed enthusiastically. Understanding my condition, I knew going out of the house was a necessity, but I couldn't, at least not now. I would have looked suspicious. The best decision I took was to go out after completing my chores.
Unconsciously, I got caught up in thoughts, but fortunately, I came to realization in no bad time. It was just the time Julia, my immediate older sister, finished sweeping and cleaning both the parlor and the dinette. I went past her in the kitchen, heading out the door. I gathered mopping water inside a bucket, and since the mop wasn't within my reach, I asked Julia about its whereabouts. I didn't have time to waste, so I went straight to where I was directed.
"Thank you, my son. God bless you," my mom said, smiling at me. "You're welcome, Ma," I reciprocated. I couldn't snub her smiling face. Coming out of my parents' room, I couldn't hold my face; time had really gone far. My intended destination didn't change, so I headed there in no time.
After burning two joints of starch weed with sticks of tobacco, I began to feel alright, which prompted me to start writing using my Android device. I finished writing in due time and paid attention as I cross-checked through. When all was good, I posted it on Mira's social platform. Not too long after posting, she called, expressing gratitude over it. Receiving warmly thankful words from my cousin made me feel so cool.
"The write-ups tripped her, naso. Burst everywhere, my nigga," Kay-dee, my neighbor and friend, commented. "Ah, tell you, she really deserves the very best," I said ardently. "Okay, Boss, let me read it out," I responded to Kay-dee's whining. "Nice one, my man," Kay-dee said, stretching his fist at me, and we locked fists.
Hunger came by, and we couldn't resist its presence; we had to be enchanted by it. We left our usual spot and walked back home, getting separated at Kay-dee's house gate. Arriving home, bathing had to wait as the enticing hunger took its place in my feelings. After I finished eating, I leaned back in the dinette chair, tapping on the keys of my phone. Writing again? I know my joy, and its liberty is legal.
Going through my existing writings, after dropping down an understanding that prompted the inspirational composition of "Blessings and Curses" on my social media page, I went smiling at the particular write-up sent to my cousin. The joy of life is me, the blessings to others. Words are blessed, not cursed. That's the wonder of time; that's me.
Epilogue
The glory of others shines our path when darkness comes. We are the light from old, destiny helpers. Every deed of the past that causes regret should be left alone; what has died has got to do with life? Whatever has gone in time can never be seen in eternal darkness because the understanding of today gave us light to live in and grow. The better we are today, the brighter the path, and that is the promise of tomorrow. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: anime
009-1
Jose and Lizzie: Story 1
Chapter 1: The Crybaby
This may seem like a "Cat in the Hat" ripoff, but trust me, it's not. It has nothing to do with the Cat in the Hat. It's actually based on a book I made when I was in 3rd or 4th grade. And I had trouble pronouncing José at the time, because I was 9 or 10 years old. And I often pronounced "José" as "Juh-hose", so his name is now Jose (it's pronounced the way it's spelled), just because that is more memorable to me. And it's nostalgic.
It was a normal day. Jose was up early in the morning, making himself some breakfast. He loved fish and grits, so he made that for breakfast.
"JOSEY!" yelled a mysterious, annoying girl or cat girl.
Jose stopped cooking what he was cooking and went to his front door to see who it was. It was Tina, the irritating brat. He hated her more than anything. She called him "Josey", which annoyed him, and she constantly bothered him. She broke his stuff, she spilled her juice a lot, and she often got tantrums whenever she didn't get what she wanted.
So, instead of answering his door because he saw Tina, he slammed the door on her and locked it. He went back to cooking his fish grits. But when he turned around, he saw Tina again, so he threw her out of his window, then closed it. He also locked all of his doors and closed all of his blinds. And so, he continued making his fish grits.
Meanwhile, Tina, who was outside of Jose's house, was very upset that Jose didn't want to play with her, so she started tearing up and cried. She cried so much that she caused a flood that was nearly the size of the Arctic Ocean, which flooded Kitty City.
Little did people know that Tina caused the flood just by crying.
Anyway, let's begin! But many of the Jose the cat books I made when I was younger are lost, so I will pretty much change it and just make it be called "The New Jose the cat series": Jose was lost at sea. But the sea was actually Tina's tears. She cried because Jose was ignoring her. Tina was annoying to Jose, so he thought ignoring her would be a good idea, but no, Tina is a crying machine. Tina can create a whole hurricane or tsunami just by crying. Jose didn't mean to make her cry, but he just hated how irritating she is. But before we go into the present, where Tina is flooding the place with just her tears, this is what happened before she did that:
Chapter 2: Tsunami of Tears
Okay, this chapter is a different story but same universe, but instead of taking place in Kitty City, it takes place in Doggy Town, where many were poor and got harassed by the cats on a daily basis just for being poor. Lizzie, the most optimistic out of all of the dogs, was happy despite living in poor conditions along with being poor. So anyway, let's begin this already.
Lizzie was messing with the cats by going into Kitty City and throwing baloney in their mailboxes, which angered them.
"HEY!" shouted Mr. Whiskers.
"STOP!" screamed Ms. Neko.
"AUGH!" shouted Mr. Gatito as he tasted the baloney.
Both the majority of cats and dogs hated baloney. Even the ones who liked baloney were angry that Lizzie just threw food in their mailbox. But no matter what they did to prevent Lizzie from doing this, it always backfired.
As everyone groaned and complained about Lizzie throwing baloney in their mailboxes, the police came. The police cats were also annoyed just by hearing about the Lizzie situation.
"This pooch again? Really?" said Officer Bailey.
"Well, we really should stop trying at this point because no matter what we do to attempt to prevent it, she always comes back," Officer Milo said, while eating a doughnut.
"Why are you eating a doughnut with rainbow sprinkles and pink frosting? That seems like a doughnut a little girl would order and eat," said Officer Bailey.
"Shut up, Bailey. Doughnuts don't have ages nor genders," said Officer Milo as he was finishing his doughnut.
But while they were talking, Lizzie covered their cop car with baloney.
"UGH! NOT AGAIN!" groaned Officer Bailey as soon as he noticed the baloney on the car.
"The baloney prankster does it again!" joked Officer Milo.
Suddenly, a huge wave appeared and flooded everything. It was strong enough to destroy houses by dissolving them.
Lizzie saw the wave and started running towards Doggy Town before the wave caught up to her.
"DAD! THERE'S A WAVE!" hollered Lizzie as she continued running away.
"I'll go ring the bell," her father said.
But by the time he went to the tower to ring the bell, it was already too late.
The wave crashed into the town. No one was safe from the wave. Even Lizzie, who managed to outrun the wave, eventually got splashed by it.
But then, they landed on a random island, where the cats and dogs started arguing and fighting each other because they didn't get along with each other.
To be continued...
And the wave destroyed Kitty City and Doggy Town and everything in those places. But then, they landed on a random island, where the cats and dogs started arguing and fighting each other because they didn't get along with each other. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: anime
07-Ghost
Broken Dreams
Chapter 1: Broken Dreams
The snowflakes fell from the sky, creating a thin white blanket on the ground. He looked around, noticing that the entire scenery was draped in snow. A gust of wind came, lightly caressing his silver locks. Despite the temperature, he didn't shiver. He suddenly heard light laughter behind him.
He whirled around, but saw nobody there. Despite that, there were footprints in the snow. Narrowing his amethyst eyes, he gripped the hilt of his sword. He suddenly heard some bells tinkling, and he quickly turned around again. Nobody was standing there. Again, a pair of footprints were etched into the snow, and he called out, "Who's there? Show yourself!"
Silence greeted him, and the wind began to howl. He gripped his hat, grimly staring into the swirling snow. The snowflakes suddenly changed into flowers. "Pretty...like snow..." When he heard that voice, he stiffened. His eyes widened, and he looked around warily. "Why did you change into that face so suddenly?" "No...It's not her," he muttered. "Despite everything...you're a kind person...kind..."
He slowly drew his sword, and menacingly said, "This is not a very good joke. I suggest you stop it right now before I kill you." More laughter was heard, and he swore he felt warm breath tickle the shell of his left ear. "I'm Eve, the Chief of Heaven's daughter...who are you?" "Shut up!" he yelled, "She's dead, goddamit!" "Will you tell me where I can go?" He started to run—he didn't care about his pride, power—far away. He didn't care that his boots were getting spoilt, or that he would have to iron his uniform again—he had to get away from there, from that voice, from everything.
"Well, these signs weren't very clear..." "Go...away..." he gasped, "I don't care..." Musical laughter filled the air, and he suddenly stumbled. He held out his hand to stop himself from falling, and knelt in the snow. Suddenly the snow changed in color from white...to red. "You killed my precious daughter!" "No..." he whispered, "It wasn't me..." "There's clear evidence! You're the god of death too!" "You don't love her! If you did, then you wouldn't have killed her, would you?" The scenery changed from the red snow...he was surrounded by human bones. There were several figures that had surrounded him—the 7 ghosts.
"Verloren! This madness has to stop now!" "I'm not him," he muttered, "That's not my name..." "By orders of the Chief of Heaven, we are to forever seal your powers!" Blinding light encased his vision, causing him to quickly shut his eyes. He lifted his hand to shield himself, and after a few seconds, he saw her. "You..." he muttered. She stood there, smiling, holding out her hands towards him. He stood up, and started to walk to her...he increased his pace—he was running...but he couldn't reach her.
Her body slowly dissolved into white feathers, and he gasped when he saw Teito Klein floating where she was standing. His eyes immediately narrowed, and he angrily exclaimed, "You are not her! Where is she?" Teito Klein merely gave a mocking smile, and his eyes glowed red. He realized that Mikhail had possessed the boy, and Mikhail spoke, "Why should she come to a lowly criminal like you? You murdered her after all..." "Silence!" he yelled, "You are in no position to tell me what to do!" Mikhail threw back his head and laughed. "Time is ticking, Verloren...if you don't hurry, then your wish will never be fulfilled," he remarked.
He drew his sword again, and threatened, "Don't forget Mikhail, you may no longer be with your host, but that doesn't stop me from my own intentions. I will still capture your master, no matter what." Mikhail looked at him, amused. "You can't hurt my master, despite anything," he remarked, "After all...he does share some similar features to her, correct?" Before he could do anything, Mikhail had dissolved into the air. He sank to the ground, slowly closing his eyes. Laughter was all around him, light and dark...images flashed in his mind... "No," he muttered, "I'm not him...I didn't do it...I'm not him...I didn't do it...I'm not him...I didn't do it..." Darkness enveloped his vision, and the last thing he heard was an ear-piercing scream.
"Aya-tan?" Hyuuga softly asked, "Are you okay?" There was a bout of silence. He yearned to open his mouth and tell his subordinate everything, to pour out his pain, to cry on his shoulder. He quickly sat up, and climbed out of the bed. He laced up his boots, and strode out of his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He noticed the hurt and shocked expression on Hyuuga's face, but didn't care. He had work to do...he had a wish to fulfill. "I will have you back, no matter what," he whispered. As he sat at his desk, a faint voice echoed, "Time is ticking, Verloren..."
1) At the end of this fanfic, what did you feel? Sad? Scared? Why?
2) Did Ayanami remain in character? In your own words and thoughts, what is Ayanami portrayed to you as?
3) Am I even doing a proper job at portraying Ayanami? Should I bother writing similar fanfics like this, or explore other characters? |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: anime
07-Ghost
Feelings
Chapter 1: Feelings
Sigh. How did everything manage to simply boil down to sex with this man?! It was frustrating, and Teito didn't want any of this. But he needed Frau. Lately, he found his heart pounding when he should be feeling furious. What was it about the blonde that he was so nervous about?!
The bishop was nothing but a stupid, giant pervert... And he knew that. Though Teito knew there was more to Frau than met the eye. But last night was something he never could have prepared for.
Last night -
"Yo, brat," the blonde said as Teito walked into the Bishop's bedroom, clutching a pillow.
The brunette stared at his feet for a few moments before making eye contact with Frau. "Well... I... Hakuren and I had a fight, and I have nowhere to sleep," Teito said, looking at the blonde as the Bishop sighed and made room inside the large black coffin.
Teito hesitantly filled the empty space and rolled onto his side. "Frau...?" he asked, feeling a little confused since Hakuren had never kicked him out of their room before.
Frau ruffled Teito's hair before responding. "Yeah, Brat?" he asked, sounding a little tired.
Teito brought his hands to his chest, shaking a little. "This place is cold," he said, feeling Frau's breath down his neck. "Would you mind turning up the heat?"
Frau did not respond. Teito turned over to see if Frau was awake still, and found that Frau was wide awake. "I know how to make your body warmer," the blonde stated, like he knew what he was talking about.
Teito thought about this. He was freezing beside Frau, and needed to become warmer before he got sick. He was exhausted and decided he could trust Frau for tonight. "S-sure," he said, "I'm trusting you."
The brunette found that as soon as he agreed with Frau, the bishop had his lips pressed firmly on his. One thing he noticed about Frau's kiss was that it wasn't aggressive. It was soft, gentle... But this was Frau! He shoved Frau away as best he could and ended up pressing on Frau's groin, which horrified him. Was this what he was supposed to be doing?! He didn't want this!
After he got over the shock, he realized Frau smelled really nice.
But maybe a kiss wouldn't kill him.
Teito leaned in and kissed the blonde. This kiss was as gentle as the previous, but the taste of Frau was of cigarettes and cheap alcohol this time. But it didn't make him want to gag; he found this taste comforting, almost. Almost.
The teen was completely out of breath and red in the face when he pulled away from Frau's face. Frau's calm expression had changed to a dumbfounded one once Teito had pulled away from him.
The duo continued to smash lips together until one very obvious problem rose for the both of them. Literally.
Awkwardly, Teito pulled away from Frau and looked away slightly. "Yo-you're poking me..." he muttered softly.
Frau blinked and noticed that his lower half was indeed poking the teen. "I know how to help with that as well," he smirked, since the said teen was poking him in return.
Confused, Teito stared at Frau. "How...?" he asked, completely oblivious to what he was saying.
Frau made a blunt explanation of what would happen soon, receiving a smack across the face in return. "WE'RE IN A CHURCH!" Teito hissed.
"Not like it's stopped me before," he said, leaning over Teito a bit. "Nothing bad will happen to you; to us... I promise it won't come with consequences."
Teito was starting to lose his mind again... What was with Frau tonight? Why did he smell so... attractive? Teito's mind was running a mile a minute while he tried to make sense of things. Could this be a Kor? No. This was definitely Frau. Just what was going on?! He couldn't make sense of the floor or ceiling at this point.
The confused apprentice nodded and let his mind wander.
Teito soon found himself on his feet, pushed down to his knees just as fast while Frau sat on the edge of the bed. "Is there any specific way to do this?" the brunette asked, watching for a response.
Frau thought for a moment. "Don't choke," the blonde answered.
The apprentice blushed, feeling like he should hit the bishop but found himself complying with the instruction. His body did feel warmer from the amount Teito was blushing. A dark crimson blush was stained on his face.
Convenient censor -
Both Teito and Frau were exhausted by the time they finished with their "activity". When they cleaned up and settled back in the coffin, Frau pointed out that they had less than an hour to sleep. Teito grabbed his pillow and left the room quickly, he wanted to see if Hakuren was willing to let him back into their room.
Breakfast -
Teito sat in silence, eating his oatmeal and staring at Frau. The bishop's gorgeous blue eyes finally met his emerald ones, and Teito felt... happy somewhat. Not like before when he wanted to kill Frau for little things. But, in the end, it all boiled down to them having sex.
Finishing his meal, Teito looked out of the stained-glass window and smiled a little. Was this what "love" felt like?
If so, he liked it.
~End~ |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: anime
07-Ghost
Hearts Luv
Chapter 1: Hearts Luv
Hearts Luv
Disclaimer: I don't own 07-Ghost or its characters, just this fan fiction.
Since the blond became close friends with the brown-haired boy, he always wandered about his own sexuality. His own sexuality questioned his feelings for the brown-haired boy.
In the room shared with Teito, he awaited his return as he looked through some papers. In serving under Bishop Castor, he wandered about the papers in hand. He sighed, throwing the papers to the side, still wandering about Teito and when the brunette would be coming back to the room.
"Damn it. I definitely need to get out of this room." He left the thrown papers on top of his desk, leaving his room and closing the door from behind gently.
Library
Bishop Castor was deep into his work, not knowing his intern was coming inside the library a few minutes after him.
"Hakuren, what's the matter?" he asked.
"Have you seen Teito?" Hakuren asked, crossing his arms.
"Teito must be with Frau somewhere in the courtyard," Bishop Castor answered, looking up curiously at the blond.
"Thanks, Bishop Castor."
Hakuren bowed, then took a quick leave out of the library, heading in the direction of the courtyard. He wanted to ask Teito's opinion about two guys being together and how it would feel if it occurred to either of the two friends.
Courtyard
"Teito, you still need more training to do," Frau announced, annoyed by the brunette's attitude.
"Can we do it later? I just want to relax here, looking up at the sky and thinking about Mikage."
"You know he's long gone."
"Watch your mouth and what you say about my best friend!" Teito clenched his fist, wanting to hit the perverted bishop.
Hakuren reached the place in time, before Teito made any kind of violent contact towards Frau. The blond coughed, getting the attention of both males.
"Bishop Frau, is it alright if I take Teito out of your hands?"
"Don't take too long with him. He needs to continue his damn training!" Frau spat at the small brown-haired boy.
In response, Teito stuck his tongue out annoyingly at Frau, who left them. Hakuren saw how pink his friend's tongue was, visualizing what he would love to do with it.
Teito looked back at Hakuren, confused. "So, what is it that you need?"
Hakuren was still in a dazed trance as Teito snapped his fingers a few times, getting his attention. He sighed, scooting closer to the long-haired blond. "What's going on with you?" Teito shook his shoulders.
The long blond-haired male shook his head, stopping his thoughts, and blinked a few times at Teito. His face was a burning red as Teito laughed a bit.
"Your face is red."
"Oh, shut up. I didn't come here to talk about my face!"
"Alright, is there anything you want to tell me?"
"Okay, it's serious now. I want your opinion about something."
"Okay, go on ahead..."
"I want to know what you think of two guys being together, honestly."
"Well... isn't that against church rules?"
"Yes, that's true, but sometimes neither gender can control how they feel for the same sex."
"You're right about that... and I guess it doesn't matter as long as both guys or girls feel the same way and love each other, no matter what obstacles come between them," Teito answered, looking up at the sky.
"I couldn't agree more with your response, Teito."
"Why the sudden thought of asking me this question?"
"It's because I have feelings for another man," Hakuren answered truthfully.
Teito was shocked and smiled, wanting to know who and to tease his friend about his unexpected crush on another man.
"Who is it?" Teito smiled, taking hold of the blonde's face.
"I'm not really ready to tell anyone about whom I've fallen for..."
"Does the guy know?"
"No, he's too oblivious about my feelings towards him..."
Hakuren swatted Teito's hand away from his face, upset.
"You should let him know soon, unless someone else, either guy or girl, has an eye on him."
"I know someone else who does have an eye on him... but it's too much for me to handle at this time."
"I guess all I have to say to my friend is good luck," Teito sympathized with the blond.
"Is there anyone you like, either male or female...?"
"...yes, I like someone and have always been crushing and in love with him for years..."
"Is it Mikage...?"
"Yes, it's him. Even though he's gone for so long... I'm still in love with him," Teito answered, sadly looking up at the sky.
"Were you ever going to tell him how you feel...?"
"Yes, there was a time, but it was too late... because he was gone right before my eyes!" The brunette stood up, excusing himself. "I should go ahead and look for Frau and continue my training. I'll see you in the room later tonight, Hakuren."
Hakuren watched the love of his life walk away. He clutched his fists together onto his own uniform, looking up at the sky angrily. "Look what you've done to the man I love, Mikage! Why couldn't it be me? It will never be me!" he spat, crying his violet eyes out.
The end.
Beta'ed by MysteryPT.
How was it? If there are mistakes, let me know.
Leave good reviews, ne?
Ja'ne. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: anime
07-Ghost
Chapter 1: Phantom X Chapter 1: Welcome to Dometh
Welcome to Dometh
It was a new day for the young phantom, and his first day at a new school. It was about 9:30, and most of the students were already almost at school. As for Yama, he was still lying in his bed, snoring, with drool running down his mouth and a snot bubble in his nose. The alarm clock was only two seconds away from ringing, and as soon as it hit zero, it buzzed loudly. Kanae's eyes opened quickly, and he jumped up, landing on the cold floor with a thud. He got up, rubbed his head, and mumbled a few swear words. "God damn!... shit!... that really hurt..." Before he could finish his sentence, he looked over at his alarm clock for a brief moment, and then he started running to his closet.
He pulled out a school uniform that he had been given a couple of days ago from the school. It was a black button shirt with the letter D on it, and he had a pair of khakis that he also had to wear. He also had some black sneakers that he wore a lot. He put them on his body, then went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Afterwards, he grabbed his backpack and his keys, and he also grabbed a ghost trapper that he had made, which looked like a tazer. He was now ready to go, and he ran out of the house. Before he left, he yelled inside his empty home, saying "Bye, I'm leaving now!"
He ran off to his school at a fair speed, pulling his phone out of his pants pocket to check the time. His eyes widened, and then he stopped for a brief minute, took a deep breath, and clapped his hands together. His eyes turned blue, and smoke formed around him for a minute, and he was in his ghost form. He got into a running position with a big ghost-like smile and began to run. He was running as fast as the speed of light, making sure not to trip over anything. Moments passed, and most of the students were already there. Kanae just arrived and was out of breath as soon as he touched the door handle of the school. He walked in, and his eyes returned to their natural state. He couldn't believe how huge the school was; he felt like an ant in the whole school.
He walked around to see if he knew anyone from his other schools. While he continued to walk, he got a little sidetracked as he was looking at a poster with a picture of his hero, Kyojin, on it. The poster said, "I became a ghost hunter, why not you!" Kanae continued looking at it, and then he fell to the ground and began to rub his head. He looked up and saw another kid who looked about five feet and twelve inches tall. He was only taller than Kanae by three inches, but that wasn't anything significant. Kanae waved his hand and smiled, signaling that he didn't mean to run into him. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going! My bad!" Kanae said, dumbfounded.
The kid looked down at him and glared, extending his arm and grabbing Kanae by his shirt. He looked him dead in the eye and said, "To hell with the apologies!... Hmmmm... do you know who I am!" Kanae nodded and then glared at him a bit. "I guess you must be new then... I'm Kazuha Tagashi! The top nightmare of everyone in this school!... and you are?" Kazuha said. Kanae glared at him and then barked, "None of your damn business! That's who I am!" he yelled at him. Kazuha smirked at him evilly and then slammed him against the wall. "Aren't you tough!... Now listen, I know who you are, Kanae Hagashi! You're the phantom who wants to become a ghost hunter... well, guess what! That will never happen because a phantom cannot and never will become a ghost hunter, no matter how much you try! Now, tell me what I just said!" Kazuha said, still eyeing him.
Kanae gritted his teeth a bit, clenched his fist, and then glared into Kazuha's eyes. "Let go of me!" Kanae said with a stern voice. "Not until you say you give up on your dream!" Kazuha said, still smirking. Kanae's eyes flared up wide open, and then he gritted his teeth and head-butted him in the face, causing Kazuha to drop him. Kazuha covered his face for a minute and then glared at him, smiling evilly with bloodlust, and began to walk up to him. "Oh, you're dead, Casper!" he yelled angrily.
Before Kazuha could get his hands on Kanae for head-butting him, Kazuha ended up hearing a loud, deep voice say, "HEY! YOU TWO STOP IT, AND YOU, KAZUHA, GO TO CLASS!" The voice yelled, and then Kazuha glared at Kanae and said, "Oh, your luck is friendly, ghost! Because I was gonna send you to your grave under!" He said as he began to walk away. Kanae glared at him for a moment and then looked up and saw a very tall man who looked like he could be in his forties or fifties. He had a long black goatee and was wearing a black suit. He looked at Kanae with a smile and then reached his hand out to Kanae. "Mr. Hagashi!... please come with me to my office," the man said to the curly-haired hero.
To be continued...
(I hope you guys are enjoying this chapter, because this chapter will have a part 2 to it, or maybe 3. But yeah, this will be a great series, and don't worry, I'll try to get a computer drawing pad so I can draw the characters and show what they look like. But yeah, guys, I'll try to put out the 2nd part of this chapter tomorrow or the next day, ok... peace.) |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: anime
07-Ghost
The Death of Krowell
Chapter 1: The Death of Krowell
I have so many feelings about Ayanami, and this is what happened. I also wanted to write about big brother Krom.
"Krowell, are you alright?" Krom watched his little brother with worry. Ever since they had returned from Barsburg, his already withdrawn brother had closed himself off even more, barely interacting with the rest of the family anymore. The only one he still seemed to talk to was his friend Yukikaze.
Sometimes Krom saw both of them scurrying through the library, borrowing mythology books as well as fairy tales. This was a little strange and out of character for the usually serious Krowell, who had always regarded myths as unnecessary and childish.
"Where are you going?" Slowly, Krowell turned around, his violet eyes flashing with badly hidden pain.
"Just to the gardens," Krowell replied hesitantly.
"In the middle of the night?" Krom asked, taking a step forward. Seeing that his brother wasn't moving, Krom crossed the distance between them entirely and came to a halt right in front of his brother. "And with a bag?"
Krowell was still a head and a half smaller than him, unlike Kreuz, who, despite being younger, had always been nearly Krom's height and was more of a twin than a little brother. Krowell appeared so young and frail compared to them, wise beyond his age and strong enough to be tutored alongside his brothers for most of his life despite their age differences. Nevertheless, Krom worried. Krowell was still a child, and as his older brother, and for once not as the crown prince, it was Krom's duty to look out for him.
Krom opened his arms and carefully pulled his younger brother into a hug. Krowell tensed at first but then eased into the embrace, going as far as resting his head on Krom's shoulder.
"You know you can talk to me about everything, right? And Kreuz too, he worries enough about us as it is."
"Ich bin Verloren, Krom," Krowell whispered in old Raggs. (I'm lost, Krom.)
"Eh? You're not lost. You know the castle better than me and Kreuz together, and you can always come to us if there's something wrong," Krom replied calmly, wondering what he had missed in Krowell's life that had made his brother feel alone like this.
"You misunderstood me. I'm Verloren."
Krom frowned. That sounded impossible, ridiculous, and he would have thought it a joke if not for the way Krowell's hands dug into his shirt. "So what? You're still my brother-"
"I've been exiled from Raggs by the king," Krowell interrupted him. "I'll be going to Barsburg together with Yukikaze and joining the military."
Then Krowell pulled away from Krom, fixed his appearance, and looked his older brother straight in the eyes.
"Please don't attempt to stop me."
"Krowell-"
"Brother, please. I have to be gone by sunrise, and I'd like to have passed the border by then."
Krom mustered his brother, taking in the dark circles around his eyes, the trembling of his hands, and how hard he forced himself to breathe flatly. Then Krom reached behind his neck and took off the necklace he was wearing, only to put it around Krowell's neck.
"What are you doing-"
"Give this back to me when you can come home," Krom said, smiling. "It's a promise, alright?"
Krowell nodded and then turned around. He lingered in that position for a while before raising his left arm and rubbing over his eyes with the back of his hand. Then he marched forward, away from his brother and towards his friend waiting for him at the end of the hall.
Imagine you're a 14-year-old and get hit by the fact that you're a freaking death god who is to blame for the death of the only person you loved, and now everyone hates you, and also God - who you know is real - killed you. Never mind that there's something wrong with your mind; you're still confused by love as a concept, and your father throws you out of your home, leaving you alone to cope with that. I'm sure he had a hell of a hard time, with nightmares, trauma, and everything else included.
Even though I don't agree with the things Ayanami did, I feel very sorry for Krowell and want to keep this small baby safe. Also, nobody can tell me that Krom didn't know who killed him, and that old Raggs wasn't German - fight me. And Ayanami probably did feel some familial attachment to Teito (the whole coat thing?) and Krowell actually did love his family before his life got messed up by memories he shouldn't have gained.
So, Krom named Teito after his precious little brother; that's a thing here too. And for those who didn't get it, "verloren" (adjective) is German for "lost."
I'm wondering if I should continue this. Maybe some good end or the canon bad end. Well, it depends on you. Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you think!
And with that, Wahrheit Krowell Raggs died. Okay, so imagine you're a 14-year-old and get hit by the fact that you're a freaking death god who is to blame for the death of the only person you loved, and now everyone hates you, and also God - who you know is real - killed you. Never mind that there's something wrong with your mind; you're still confused by love as a concept, and your father throws you out of your home, leaving you alone to cope with that. I'm sure he had a hell of a hard time, with nightmares, trauma, and everything else included. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: cartoons
Chapter 1
Title: One To Embody Power, Another To Crave It, A Third Along For The Lulz
Author: pronker
Era: Movie-Verse, fifty minutes prior to the film's beginning.
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this fanfiction set in Dreamworks' franchise The Penguins of Madagascar, which I do not own.
Summary: Survival of the fattest.
A squabble didn't last long in a March of the Penguins. For one thing, adults had learned by a certain age how to defuse, contain, and laugh off their differences for the thirty-mile trek. It remained for the youngest to heed their elders' example, and some of the youngest took longer to pick up hints on how to play well with others.
Skipper, for instance, was one of them. "What's the holdup?" he asked.
Kowalski eyed his new friend. "Statistically, Skipper, we all waddle at an average speed of—"
"Aw, you're going over my head again, Smarty Beak," Skipper said, pacing in circles because scowling at the towering black back in front of him didn't work to hustle it along. "I just want to move."
It had taken only two minutes after making his acquaintance for Kowalski to figure out that moving formed Skipper's raison d'être. There was probably a song to be written about that, but for the moment, he was more interested in a rotund penguin their own age, belly sliding up to them past adults waiting in line like patient bowling pins due for a seven-ten split.
"Ahgrommtzmoooov," said the newcomer.
Kowalski noticed the recent scar savaging the edge of the left eye, scoring through the beak as it ripped down into newly regrowing neck feathers. He didn't want to stare and focused on the words instead. "What's that you say?" What dialect was this? He thought it was Hamarskaftet Nunatak, but he'd need more research to confirm his hypothesis. He could tell that the voice had changed some time ago, like his own.
Skipper pounced on the bird as a distraction from inactivity. "Hi! My name's Skipper! I know kung fu!"
A grin big as all outdoors split the beak of the half-grown penguin. "Rico."
Skipper seemed untroubled by any strange accent as he plunged into what he did best. "Well, Rico, this here is Kowalski, and we're bored stiff. C'mon, let's you and me change it up." He bobbed and weaved like Chayaphon Moonsri, surprisingly light on his feet for such a chunky young penguin, as he punched the air. He caught Rico's glance askance at his shorter stature. "Aw, don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."
The small bird, with an ego the size of the Pantanal at full flood, analyzed Kowalski as reality tempered the glow of new friendship. Nevertheless, he wanted to do something, as well. "I'll be umpire."
Both of the other penguins burst out laughing. "Umpire?"
"Yahumpirehawhawhaw!"
Kowalski tried again. "Shimpan?"
There was dead silence as Rico and Skipper traded glances. "Um, yeah, Rico, Kowalski is the brainy one, so I just throw his big fish words like 'recalcitrant' back into the gobbledygook pool."
This might kill a friendship, new or, um, newer. "Take that back!"
The audience factor likely played a big part in the tussling takedown of all three by all three as they spun out of the line: Kowalski smarting over being dismissed by Skipper in front of Rico, while Skipper wanted to show Rico the ropes about how to fit into 'tween penguin society, at least the way he saw it, with Rico simply pining to show off what he could do. Soft snowflakes flew everywhere in the flurry until the scuffling threesome reached harder-packed snow, and Rico had had enough. He coughed, wheezed, and hacked after he toppled over until both Kowalski and Skipper stopped throwing wild punches. They gathered around in concern.
"What is it? What's the matter, buddy?"
"Do you have asthma? Where is your inhaler? Show me quick, Rico!" Kowalski always knew his nurturing instinct would push him into a leader's position if the situation called for it.
Rico ceased breathing. He added a convincing rattle.
"No!" Kowalski pounded on Rico's chest, or meant to; in his panic, he hit the belly again and again.
Skipper edged away, noticing for the first time that the three of them had moved the venue of their bout quite a distance from the stalled March of the Penguins. "I'll get backup!"
Before Skipper could belly slide for help, a rainbow-colored silk parachute blossomed out of Rico's gut. It ballooned over the three birds to trap them inside, and it was only long after the incident that either Kowalski or Skipper could piece together what happened next. Kung fu-ing with both flippers inside a gaily colored straightjacket that fuzzed his sight, Skipper registered that some penguin upended him with what seemed like super strength and slammed his head upon the gritty ice underfoot. "Gah! Wh-What? Stop it! Emergency! Got to get backup—"
Kowalski heard the desperate words as he concentrated on stop-drop-rolling upon the ice, thinking to spin out from under the enveloping shroud. What occurred was that he tangled himself further. Shroud, he thought, they'd need a shroud for Rico if he didn't free himself so he could search for Rico's inhaler, which must have fallen along their squabbling path. "Eeeeeeeyurgh, I'm trapped! Rico, hang in there! I'll give you beak to beak if I can't find your inhaler—"
Grunts, thumps, and a series of "ouches" in Skipper's voice that hadn't changed yet reached Kowalski's earholes. He bellowed back in his premature baritone. "Skipper, I'm your backup! Oh, if I only knew better curses than 'dang it'—"
Something resembling a laced whalebone corset compressed his flippers and squeezed them against his body. Kowalski felt his breath sluice out of him until he couldn't breathe, either. The pressure kept up until he saw spots. Ooh, pretty little bubbles like dolphins make, he wondered in amazement. I wonder how they taste? He stuck out his tongue in a daze, and then air pumped into his lungs. The bubbles popped.
Between Skipper's angry mutters and Kowalski's befuddled "huhs" came the whisper of rainbow silk whisking off to drift away in the stiff Antarctic wind. Kowalski and Skipper gasped like babies in a gale as Rico posed before them, hale and hearty.
He fixed them with an arched brow and disciplinarian gaze. "Nuffnao, Kwoskii. Nuffnao, 'Kippaaahhh." He patted his gut. "More where zhat came from." He started to say something else and settled for batting his baby blues at them before rumbling "thanx."
"So you're okay? And you can do weirdo stuff with your blubbery belly?" Kowalski halted at a warning frown. "Um, well, it is. Sorry if the truth hurts."
Rico glowered before breaking into a sunny smile that showcased his good nature. He bounced his spare tire with a gleam of pride. "Eh, whayagonnado?"
"What was this, a lesson—oh, I get it." Skipper rubbed his head. "You pounded some sense into us." Rico and Kowalski swiveled to stare at him. "Okay, okay, mostly into me." He nudged Kowalski. "Science Boy, he squeezes like grinding pack ice, doesn't he? You look like a pipefish."
Kowalski sized up Skipper. "And your head is a—"
"All right, point taken."
"Taken off, you mean," Kowalski jabbed back. He was willing to be a friend and follow this dynamo of a penguin, but that didn't mean he diluted his own spice. He passed some sauce along to Rico just to be fair. "What did you do to your top feathers? Did your mama fix them this morning?"
Rico drew himself up as he curled a flipper into a fist. "Aye, she did."
Skipper stepped in fast to lead them from the brink of disaster. "Guys, guys, mamas are off limits, agreed?"
Kowalski thought of what other tummy contents might lie in wait for anyone who crossed Rico and gulped. "Agreed."
The three melded into a trio by the time they waddled back into their place in line. After five minutes that seemed like five days to Skipper, the March resumed. The three 'tweens passed the time marching by playing the dozens until they came into view of the ocean. From an icy cliff two hundred fifty feet above the floes that dotted Weddell Sea, the water gleamed as blue as a wetter version of the sky. The view took their breath away as much as any lung-squeezing asthma.
"That's a beautiful sight, boys."
"Aye."
"It's cerulean as anything gets on our good earth, I think." Kowalski forgot to use a smaller word and winced as he waited for the figurative knock-out punch. He was pleasantly surprised.
"Cerulean or not, it's as lovely as a new-laid egg."
"FEEEEEEESH!"
"Right, Rico, or lovely as a freshly caught smelt." Skipper did a double take. "Wow, you can sing? All we need is one more penguin, and we could do barbershop!"
As the March continued, Fate eavesdropped to grant the request in four... three... two... one...
The End. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: originals
Chapter 1
The first and only threesome I've ever participated in took place shortly after I turned eighteen. My girlfriends and I were newly minted high school graduates, and we were spending the summer partying, getting high, and killing time until the fall term at our respective colleges got started. Jane lived two houses away from a group of guys who all shared a house, and we'd been partying with them off and on since May.
I'd slept with Tommy once or twice, and then I'd had sex with his roommate, Tyler, in a barn in the countryside on the night I'd graduated from high school. I was born and raised in a major Midwestern city, so surprisingly, having sex on a sleeping bag in a barn is something I've only done once in my life, and I'm really not that keen on doing it again. A friend and I were recently talking about the most random places we've had sex in our respective lives, and while he'd mentioned having sex in Art Deco hotels on South Beach, I for some reason answered with an encounter in a Motel 6 bathroom while a girlfriend watched Harry Potter on the other side of the door. I'd clearly blocked out how I'd celebrated graduation, but bathroom sex is always random when it occurs.
Anyway, it was the middle of the week, and us girls found ourselves partying with the guys, much to the chagrin of Jane's older brothers. Looking back, we had no business being there – especially me, since I'd already had sex with two of the housemates – but when you're young, tight, and horny, all bets are off. The guys knew it as well, and I think that's why they kept letting us come over. We kicked off the evening by playing drinking games, sitting around the dining room table, wondering when the real fun would start. A pipe full of subpar weed had been making the rounds, so while we were tipsy on illicit beer, we were also blazed. It was that kind of pleasant buzz you get where the edges are softened, and you just feel good. Nothing hurts, and sound comes in clips and phrases. You might have a shit-eating grin on your face, but you're mostly harmless. Come sit by me, and we'll nod along to the white noise that's playing on a loop in our heads.
Fast forward to a few hours later, and I found myself in the kitchen with my former paramour Tommy, and this dude named Isaiah, who happened to be his manager at a local eatery. To this day, I don't know what started any of it, but I found myself being kissed by Isaiah while looking at Tommy like he was the only guy in the room. He and I had nothing in common, but I was in lust with his lean body, and his pierced nipples. He once had sex with me against the wall of his bathroom while the glow of a streetlight filtered in through the window's frosted glass. It was entirely forgettable, but the encounter provided me with masturbation fodder until we hooked up again, which was also pretty forgettable. Somebody once pointed out to me during that particular time that I tended to "fuck white trash, and date total losers," and while I was offended by that statement, I now know that it was true. I did that. Standards didn't seem to matter when it came to whom I was getting off with. Were these guys going to call me afterwards and ask to take me out on a date? Hell no, and it took me a long time to realize it. I've since reconsidered my value and worth, and I'm now married to a wonderful guy who loves me for who and what I am. It's clichéd, I know, but it's true. He really adores me. To paraphrase a couple of fairy tales, I had to fuck a lot of toads just to find my prince, and I still say it was worth it. And though it's not a random place, my husband once ate me out while I was lying in bed watching Fantasia on DVD. I don't know why I feel the need to share that, but just know that it was hot, I came especially hard, and he still mentions it from time to time.
So, I'm in the kitchen being kissed and fondled by Isaiah when Tommy finally joins in. While our friends watch, I soon find myself being passed back and forth between the two guys. I lean forward to kiss one guy, and then lean back to kiss the other. I have hands stroking my tits, hands squeezing my ass, and two different sets of lips dappled with kisses along my neck and shoulders before plundering the depths of my mouth with their tongues. It's hot in the room, and I'm aware that Tommy has lifted up my shirt to reveal my hard nipples poking through my sheer black bra. One of my girlfriends decides to step in and advise me that I don't have to do anything that I don't want to. She's clearly worried about what's going to happen and is also annoyed by my lack of discretion. I definitely pick up on a sense of "Great, Andrea's acting slutty again and needs to fuck all the boys in the room," but do I heed her advice? Not really, since I continue playing sexual ping pong with Tommy and Isaiah. She goes to sit back down on the couch while I give in to the need to have my pussy filled. "Do you want to do this?" Tommy asks me while licking along my cleavage. "Yes," I sigh, one of my hands fondling Tommy's crotch, while the other one feels up Isaiah. "Are you sure?" Isaiah asks, his fingers pulling the back of my jeans away from my body to get a peek at my panties. He can't see it, but the crotch of my panties is soaked.
Their foreplay is driving me crazy, and it takes all of my restraint not to moan or whine when I say, "I'm so fucking sure."
That's all the permission the guys need before they're taking me by the hand and leading me down the steps to the basement, which is practically a different setup from the house itself. There are three rooms, and all sorts of debauchery takes place there, from getting high to hooking up. I only know this because I'd had sex with Tommy in one of the rooms about a month ago. They take me to a room outfitted with a twin bed and nightstand; besides a lone curtained window, the space's only adornment is a giant cloth poster of Pink Floyd – The Wall tacked up next to the bed. Once the door is closed, a sensual sort of hell breaks loose. Isaiah strips me of my clothing, revealing my tits and tan lines; palming my wet pussy, and slapping my ass while Tommy watches, his own hand stroking himself through his jeans. For once, I don't feel shy about my nudity, and I'm enjoying being put on display for their collective pleasure. I know we're going to fuck, but I'm also curious as to how that's going to go down. They lead me over to the bed, shedding their own clothing along the way, and Tommy motions for me to recline back along the foot of the bed. He immediately kneels down on the floor and starts eating me out, his tongue plundering my wet entrance, one of his fingers tracing along my clit. Isaiah kneels on the mattress near me, the foreskin of his uncircumcised cock retracted and the head glistening wet with precum. I know exactly what he wants, and I waste no time taking him into my mouth, my tongue exploring the taste and shape of his cock while getting it wet with my spit.
I'm somewhat put off when people use spit as lube in pornos because I think it's gross and not very sexy. Seeing a dude pull back to spit right into a girl's pussy can kill my mood, or seeing a hard cock pull out of a girl's throat with thick strings of spit hanging from it makes me gag. I've never made it through any of Bonnie Rotten's videos because after about ten minutes, she's basically slathered in her own spit, and I'm grossed out. I will say that sometimes in my personal life, if I'm really feeling the blowjob, I'll pull off, discreetly spit on the cock, and stroke it really good before taking it back into my mouth. I'll want that thing covered in my spit before I decide to coat it in my cunt's natural lubricant. I'm a fucking enigma at times. Anyway, I'm sucking and moaning around my mouthful of cock, and all I can think about is how this is the hottest fucking thing that's ever happened to me. I can hear Isaiah gasping above me, and Tommy making slurping noises between my thighs. If I'm a sexual buffet, then these dudes are gonna get their fill. "Switch me," Tommy suddenly says to Isaiah. "You gotta eat her pussy."
"Right on," Isaiah replies as I let go of his cock. They switch places, and not once do I think it's odd that not only are these guys going to fuck me, but they're also manager and employee. I'd say it's a good working relationship, but I also have it on good authority that Tommy and most of the male staff at the eatery he works at are bisexual. Hot.
By this time, Isaiah's spread my legs even wider, and has his face buried in my cunt, alternating between sticking his tongue inside me, and just lapping at my clit. It's so fucking good, and my moans become throatier when I feel him slowly insert a finger inside me. "Suck my dick," Tommy softly instructs, and I happily do as he asks. He's leaking pretty good, and I savor the taste of his precum. He shallowly thrusts his cock in and out of my mouth, and I fondle his balls while he does this. I'm not quite sex-drunk, but I'm moaning and reveling in the twin sensations of being eaten out by one guy, while sucking the dick of another. "I can't wait anymore. I need to fuck you," Tommy says, and I watch as Isaiah brings his head up from between my legs and wipes his mouth off with the palm of his hand. He stands up, and strokes his cock for a moment, the foreskin rolling up over the plump head before being rolled back down to rest on the shaft. Between you and me, I've never been with an uncircumcised guy before, and I'm fascinated by it. Having rolled on a condom, Tommy pushes me further back on the bed, takes a hold of his cock, and slowly enters me. The three of us moan in unison, the smell of sex thick and heady. Isaiah lies down next to me and begins palming my tits, his fingers gently tugging on my nipples to make them harden. He kisses me deeply, his tongue practically thrusting in time to the pounding of Tommy's hips. "Oh fuck!" I cry out as I pull my mouth away from Isaiah's, my legs wrapping around Tommy's waist as he fucks me hard. My right hand has slipped between our sweaty bodies, and my middle finger is rubbing my clit. "That's it, baby, touch yourself," Isaiah encourages me, his own hand wrapping around his dick. "You're so damn hot."
Tommy's thrusts pick up speed, and I can feel myself starting to get closer to orgasm as my hips try to match his rhythm. He grabs a hold of my ankles and puts them up over his shoulders, his cock sinking deeper into me. The new depth makes me groan, and at this moment, I can feel Isaiah's mouth sucking on my left nipple. The combined pleasure of being fucked by one guy, and teased by the other makes me gasp, and I cum hard. I can actually feel my pussy gush as I spasm around Tommy's dick. My orgasm is so intense that my body is practically convulsing, my face turning red as I cry out. I dimly hear Tommy announce that he's going to cum, and Isaiah leans in to kiss me hard as it happens. "You're not done yet," Isaiah says to me as Tommy pulls out. "Now it's my turn." I nod my head as I try to catch my breath. Tommy leans over and kisses me, his tongue swiping around my mouth for a brief moment. "Enjoy yourself," he says as he pulls away. I watch as he pulls on his jeans, and leaves the room.
I turn back to Isaiah, who's rolled on a condom. He wastes no time in going down on me again, and I'm so sensitive from my orgasm that his tongue swiping over my clit feels like delicious torture. He inserts a finger, and I softly hiss at the intrusion as he gently works it in and out of my cunt. "You're so fucking wet," Isaiah breathes, and I laugh softly at his awe. He suddenly removes his finger and gently pats my labial lips, the sensation making me jump and groan. "Let me ride you?" I ask as he stretches out on the bed beside me. "Hell yeah," he replies as he reaches over to move me onto him. I hold his cock in place and slowly sink down onto it, the sensation of being filled making me wince slightly. It feels good, but at the same time, the strenuous sex with Tommy took quite a bit out of me, and I'm a little sore. I'm glad that being on top allows me to control the depth of Isaiah's cock inside of me. I lean back on his cock, my hands gripping his legs behind me, and I lazily roll my hips forward, making him groan. He gently thrusts up into me, and I suck in my breath. "Sore?" Isaiah asks, and I nod my head. "Take your time, baby. Enjoy yourself."
I smile and relax, bringing my hand around to idly play with myself, my fingers seeking out my clit and gently tracing around it with my fingertips. I moan softly when I feel his hands cup my tits and gently roll my nipples with his thumb and forefingers. I'm starting to respond again to the pleasure, so I pick up the pace. For the next few minutes, Isaiah and I create a perfect symphony of gasps and moans; a synchronized performance of my cunt sliding up and down on his cock, as he gently thrusts up into me. The pleasure builds and builds as he encourages me to touch myself, showing him how I like to be touched and handled when I'm fucking. We finally crack my second orgasm, and I cum again, the rhythm of my rocking hips becoming erratic as I ride out the pleasure. "Oh my God," Isaiah groans as he scoops me up in his arms and lays me out on the mattress beneath him. I'm tired but smiling as I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck. He takes a moment to kiss along the edges of the orgasmic flush that's staining my chest, and I bury my sweaty face in his throat as he starts to pump himself in and out of me. I adore the fragility with which he's treating me, but I kind of wish he'd hurry up since I don't know what time it is, and I'm positive my friends have given me up for dead. "You can go a little harder," I tell him. "It won't hurt me."
Isaiah groans and starts snapping his hips, driving his cock into me. I moan and raise myself up to meet him again and again, practically grinding myself against him. I rake my nails down his back, being careful not to break the skin, and I feel him stiffen. "That's it!" Isaiah gasps. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna-" and he buries his face in my neck as he climaxes. I feel his fingers dig into my skin, and I'm secretly thrilled that I'll most likely have bruises tomorrow. He collapses on top of me, and I laugh, running my hands over my sweaty face. "Thank you," I say when he finally gets up. We dress in silence, and before heading back upstairs to face our friends, Isaiah pulls me back and kisses me passionately, his tongue pressing against mine before exploring the hotness of my mouth. His kiss is deep, and I love the little smacking sound our lips make when we pull away.
I know I won't see him or Tommy again. I know that by hooking up with both of them, I've crossed an invisible line, and I know I won't be invited over again. The last thing everybody wants is drama, and I'm very aware that since I've now slept with three of the guys in the house, I've basically signed my own death certificate. I couldn't explain it, but I knew I'd overstayed whatever welcome I thought I'd initially had.
A week later, I would learn that I'd been banned from the house. Jane would rightfully inform me that I'm a shitty friend since she'd had feelings for Isaiah, and I'd disregarded them by sleeping with him. A few weeks after that, our now-tentative friendship would implode in a huge shouting match in the driveway of my home, with my parents demanding that I get back in the house before the neighbors called the cops. Jane would unexpectedly show up in my driveway two days later and demand back all of the things that she'd given me for my birthdays, and my mom would threaten to press trespassing charges against her if she came by again.
Do I regret my actions? At the risk of sounding cold and unfeeling, not very much. My friendship with Jane had been unraveling for months, and while I'm not sure if I was looking for a way to end our association, I know that sleeping with her crush definitely did the trick. We'd grown apart, her interests becoming increasingly weed-related, while I was hoping for a fresh start at the community college I was about to attend. I knew our friendship wouldn't last beyond high school, and I'm positive that my actions were the final nail in its proverbial coffin.
I attended a mutual friend's bachelorette party years later, and Jane was there. We made friendly small talk, and while it was nice, I realized that I didn't really miss having her in my life. She was still smug, looked down on everybody, and was actually trying to hustle her sex toy business while the lady hired to do my friend's Pure Romance party was still in the room. I felt that she hadn't grown up at all during the ensuing years, and I think ending things when we did was definitely for the best. I just hope to God that if I happen to die before her, she doesn't respond to the news by saying to whomever is with her at the time, "Did I ever tell you about how Andrea fucked my secret crush, and got banned from partying at my neighbor's house? It's a good one!"
It's a good one, indeed. |
This is a fanfic story.
Genre: cartoons
Chapter 1
Ok guys I got another Smut filled story for ya, and I hope that ya like it, be warned if you DO NOT like this shit, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS, and those who do, well you’re in for a treat.. A/N: This all takes place in Glove World, the ride Tunnel of Glove.. Spongebob and Sandy were both leaning against each other, aweing their surroundings, “Wow, Sandy, this is so beautiful.. ” he awed while looking around the romantic room, “I know, isn't it?” she asked, “and I can't believe y’all were scared ta go in with me.. ” Sandy shook her head in amazement, “Hey, it was a horrifying moment for me, you can even ask Pearl, she was scared too, but now that the rides fixed and I have you to protect, I don't think anything can ruin this moment between us, well maybe when this rides over.. ” he said while lowering his voice.. Sandy looked down at him, “Y’all know I love it when y'all tell that story, oh y'all were so brave.. ” she softly spoke.. The way she spoke it was as if she had flipped a special switch on him, he began to sweat, his palms became moist.. Sandy leaned into his ear, “I love a man whos.. .. Brave.. ” she whispered so hot in his ear, his face began to darken, he couldn't help but feel trapped he couldn't help the moan that escaped his throat.. Sandy pulled back and cocked her eyebrow, “Spongebob? Hey what's wrong?” she asked, almost worried, but that worry was quickly replaced with a smirk, “Squirrel caught’cha tongue?” she questioned, Spongebob just shook his head, “I just.. .. It’s nothing.. ” he shook his head and put on a fake smile.. “Well.. .. if it's nothin, then kiss me.. ” she whispered in his ear one more time as she rubbed her chest against his, Spongebob pulled back, shocked, “Wh, what?” he asked while sweat dripped down his forehead.. Did she really say what he thought she said? Or was it just in his head? All his life he’d dreamt of kissing her, wrapping her in his two strong arms around her, and bringing her into his lips and then some.. She couldn't have said it, she couldn't, there's no way in the world this woman just said, “Please kiss me, huh… I’ve waited for so long for y'all ta kiss me, and now that we’re here, alone, for the first time in a long time, in the most romantic ride in all of Glove Universe.. .. Huh oh.. .. Spongebob I can't wait any longer!” she cried out, “I’ve dreamt of y’all, and me.. .. Huh, Spongebob don't tell me y’all haven't had those dreams too, Spongebob.. .. I… mmph.. ”
Spongebob latched onto her lips, pulling her deeper into his kiss, for so long he’s wanted to do this, and he could, and he was, and she was.. .. Moaning.. Sandy wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him tightly while they kissed.. Their hands roamed around each other’s bodies, Sandy's hand rested on his leg just below his pant leg, her index finger just rubbing under it, as her other hand held his face.. One of Spongebob’s hands hands rested on her inner thigh under her skirt, his other pushed on her back forcing her into him.. His shorts were incredibly tight around his groin, maybe he should loosen his button and zipper, no.. .. not here, he wanted to but… they only had ten minutes until the ride was over and it would take longer than 10 minutes to get it out of them.. Sandy let out a loud moan as Spongebob instinctively pushed her against his erection.. Sandy pushed herself off of him by his chest just a couple inches to see his face, he was looking at her almost worried, she then looked down to what was jabbing her, “Eh, sorry about that Sandy, That thing has a mind of it's own, I, I guess he likes you.. ” Spongebob nervously laughed , “Sandy? I, I'm sorry!... wh, what are you doing?” he stuttered as she placed her hand on his bulge and slowly began to rub it.. Spongebob instinctively spread his legs and laid back to give her more access, “Sandy.. .. Huh.. ” he moaned, “Th, this is an unfair game you’re playing.. ” he groaned as he pressed his hand into her, she let out a loud gasp.. Spongebob pushed himself between her legs, he pushed her further into him by her hips, she was now perched on his lap, his hand tickled up her back, they both stared at each other with smiles on their faces, Sandy's hand brushed down the side of his head, she stared into his eyes before he brought her into another kiss.. Their lips brushed against each others, his breath hot on her lip, the hairs on her back stood up, he opened his mouth slightly to let his tongue slide out of his mouth.. He slid his tongue in her mouth to play with her, and she did too, they began to pick up again, as they sucked on eachothers faces, he sucked on her tongue getting a small moan from her.. Sandy brought him in closer as close as they could get.. She let out a yelp as the sponge bit at her bottom lip, he slowly made his way down her neck, his hand acting as a guide, his touch was soft and gentle, his lips were also soft, warm and moist, he glanced up at her face while not losing contact, her eyes were closing.. Once he reached the top of her breast he begins sucking and licking, but then he slowly licks his way back up her neck,, his tongue dragging slowly behind before he reaches her lip he nips at her lip once again before attacking them with his own, his tongue once again invading her mouth.. He hadn't expected This Kiss to go this far he hadn't expected it at all he hadn't planned this.. Who was he to complain, he enjoyed this more than anything nothing could stop them except for the remaining seven minutes.. Sandy pulled out of their kiss, she looked at the confused and disappointed sponge, who sat back wondering why she stopped.. When she smiled he smiled back and lunged toward her opening his mouth slightly did bring her in for another wet kiss, but was pushed back with Force making him hit the back of the seat he looked up at her confused as ever.. “What's wrong, did I do something wrong?” he asked her, Sandy looked at his face before looking down, the bulge never disappeared, thankfully.. Sandy threw a seductive glance at him before she began to slide down between his legs.. Spongebobs eyes widened, “wh, what are you doing!” he shouted, she didn't say anything she just stared at the bulge.. Sandy looked at his face one more time, she began walking her fingers down his chest, tickling him when she got to his stomach and then stopping at the belt.. Her finger slowly circled around his belt buckle before attempting to undo it.. Spongebob cautiously looked all around him before looking at Sandy who was already pulling down his zipper.. Sandy looked at the yellow hand that rested on hers, she then looked at his face, “A, are you sure we should be doing this.. .. Here?” he asked her, Sandy looked down at his bulge and back at him, “I don't mind.. ” she shrugged, Spongebob breathed heavy, “Wh, what if we get caught? I mean we only have five minutes left before the rides over.. ” Spongebob said, Sandy smirked we might not be able to do much with four minutes but I can make you cum in two.. ” Sandy cooed as she grabbed his hand and began to suck two of his fingers while moaning, she then began to touch her breasts.. Just as she planned he gave in, right now he didn't give a damn if they were caught, he was going to feel her around him.. Sandy yanked his shorts down around his ankles just leaving his briefs behind.. Sandy then grabbed his shirt without wasting time.. .. She ripped his shirt open, buttons shooting off in every direction, in and out of the boat.. Spongebob leaned back as she started placing kisses down his bare chest, her nails scraped down his chest, he gripped onto her shoulders as she got lower, nipping at his sensitive skin here and there to make sure he was still with her, she then stopped at his briefs.. Sandy glanced at him as her finger touched the top of the mountain in his briefs, her hand slowly rubbed him, making to man even harder then before, he wanted her, she was teasing him, they only have three minutes left.. Sandy then lowered her mouth on it, and began sucking on it, soaking the material with her saliva, Spongebob threw his head back this couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening.. Her hands held the band of his briefs, ‘here comes the big reveal.. ’ she thought to herself as she slowly pulled his underwear down, his eight inch cock sprung free.. Yellow as ever, with it's rigid texture, the only part of him that was actually as hard as a bone, length wasn't the only thing he had, Sandy bit her lip in temptation as so many new ideas flowed through her mind, this would be fun to ride.. Sandy took a deep breath in, she wanted to taste him, she wanted to feel him.. All this time, she always thought of him, at what made him a man.. How big is it? What does it look like? Was is porous like the rest of him? Not really, it was just one big smooth piece of meat, however it was rigid, like the rest of his body, but that would make it fun.. The first time they went to the beach together, and he had no briefs on under those… shorts.. When he came out of that water she couldn't help but to stare at the bulge in his shorts, neither could the other women.. Sandy looked up at him, “Y’all have no idea.. .. How much y’all mean ta me.. ” she shook her head, Spongebob opened his eyes and looked down at her, “I’ve wanted y’all… for.. .. So long, y’all can't possibly understand.. .. ” she said while looking away, “How can you say that I can't understand?” Spongebob asked, Spongebob turned her head towards him, “I love you too Sandy, more than anything, and I want you… I’ve always wanted you, and me.. .. Sandy.. .. I need you, now more then ever, I need you.. ” he said before he brought her in for a kiss.. While they were kissing, something strange happened.. Sandy flew backwards, hitting the front of the boat a few feet in front of Spongebob, and Spongebob fell forward, catching himself between her to keep from smashing into her.. The two sat back up and groaned, Spongebob’s eyes widened, “The ride stopped.. .. ” he noted, Sandy looked around, “Why did it stop?” he asked, Sandy turned to Spongebob, “Who cares.. ” Sandy smirked, “It stopped” she said as she got closer to him, “Do y’all know what that means?” she asked him, Spongebob shook his head, “Crawly clowns?” Spongebob asked, Sandy shook her head, “That means we have a lil more time ta do stuff.. ” Sandy cooed, Spongebob’s eyes widened, he smiled, maybe this time will be different.. “Attention Lovebirds, we are experiencing technical difficulty, please remain seated inside the boat at all times, while the ride is being repaired, this may take about an hour, so, hang in tight.. ” the announcer said over the intercom.. Spongebob and Sandy were left staring at each other as the man over the speak spoke, after the man was finished, the two rushed in for each other, kissing and hugging, roaming and groping, rubbing and squeezing.. Sandy had her leg wrapped around Spongebob’s hip.. Spongebob reached around Sandy’s back and unhooked her bra and then tossed it on the floor.. He brought her into him, he began sucking on her tits, one after another while he rubbed himself.. Sandy arched her back to give him more access, but she then sunk back down between his legs once again, this time she grabbed his member and began rubbing it as fast as she could and then rubbing it between her chest.. Spongebob fell back as she toyed with him, Sandy was also panting, as she started sucking him, starting by licking the tip, and then going lower, she held his cock in place as she began to rub herself.. Spongebob held her down by the back of her head, tugging at her ears, he began to slowly thrust himself in her direction to match her movements.. Spongebob looked down at her pleading face as she sucked him, she gave him an innocent look, oh she was anything but innocent, she was a naughty, naughty girl who needed to be punished.. His eyes rolled to the back of his skull as she did the impossible, she was now deep throating him while she played with his balls.. “Oh Sandy… huh huh… w, wow… huh... “ he moaned, Spongebob brought his fist to his mouth, he put his fist in his mouth to keep him from saying anything stupid to ruin this moment.. He wanted more, as if this wasn't enough, he wanted more of her, he wanted to be the one in control, but for now, he’d just enjoy the moment.. Sandy sat up with her hand on her mouth, she looked at him and then swallowed his seed.. Spongebob just stared at her as she stood up and sat on his lap once again, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in a kiss.. Spongebob and Sandy started to pant once again as they grinded against each other, Spongebob held tightly onto her arms as he thrusted into her, “Huh, huh, huh, Sponge, huh… please, huh, ooh, I, Huh want, huh you.. ” she cried as she tugged at her bottoms.. Spongebob while not losing contact with her lips lays her down on the bench, he continues to kiss her while he glides his boner over her clothed pussy, she was so wet, that her panties were soaked through.. Spongebob began to kiss his way down her body, sucking and nipping her skin, when he reached her breasts he took one of them and put it in his mouth and began sucking on it, his tongue twirled in circles around her nipple while his right hand squeezed the breast he left behind.. He began softly kneading his hand over it, and pinching her nipple between his fingers, and then he’d switch.. He found his way to her underwear, he slowly slid it off her, pressing the soft fabric against his nose to smell, he then threw them on the seat behind him and lowered his head between her legs.. Taking another whiff of her, he pressed his thumb through her lips and began rubbing between them before sticking a finger in her pussy and slowly moved it in and out before sticking two more in, the more he added the faster he went.. Sandy raked her claws on the seat, ripping holes in the leather, she wrapped her leg around his head as he began eating her.. Sandy turned her head away from him, she began moaning out his name, “Huh ooh, Spongebob.. ” she would cry, she arched her back in response to his touches, he was good, very good, he’s had to have done this before, he just had to, as much as she hated the thought of some sleaze taking her man’s virginity, she couldn't complain, as she came faster than she normally would while masterbating.. Spongebob stood up, sucking the juices off his fingers and wiping his mouth, Spongebob looked down at her, the aura that he put off sent chills down her spine, her nipples hardening in the process.. He held onto her knees while he pulled her closer, he continued to stare in her eyes, “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked her, Sandy stopped panting, she then stood up and began to push him down by his chest, she climbed over him, “Only if y’all wanna do this.. ” she said as she slowly rubbed his cock..
Spongebob let out a moan, he held onto her hips, “Show me that you love me.. ” he said as he brought her down to meet his member.. Sandy let out a loud moan mixed with a gasp, once in she started to slowly move herself on him, soft pants came out of their mouths.. Spongebob threw in a hard thrust to get her to go faster, and harder.. Their moans began to fill the room, “Oh, Spongebob!” Sandy cried out as she moaned, “Huh, huh, huh, huh.. .. Y, yes.. .. Huh huh, this feels, huh so good!” she said as she played with her bouncing tits.. Spongebob pushed her back down on her back and forced her legs open, he stuck his member inside her once again.. What started off slow had quickened, they were literally rocking the boat side to side, getting some of the water inside the boat.. He leaned down and began kissing her, his free hand began rubbing her chest, “Uh.. .. You want more.. .. Huh.. .. You like this.. .. Huh.. .. Huh yeah.. .. This.. .. Huh.. .. Is huh.. .. Huh great… huh Sandy.. ” he moaned as went harder before flipping her on his lap.. “Huh, oh Spongebob.. ” Sandy moaned as he continued to thrust himself in her, she bit down onto his neck as he pumped in and out as fast as he could, she was on top of his lap being held down by her hips as he thrusted.. Spongebob then pushed her off of him, he then stood up and pushed her again, making her fall backwards on the bow of the boat, he then forces himself between her legs, her legs wrap around his back as he reenters her with force.. Sandy let's out a loud yelp of pain as he continued to fuck her, shortly after he pulls out and turns her around and forces her into the bow of the boat, her head is held down as he shoves himself in her, Sandy is clawing at the wood on the bow, screaming out his name as he pounded into her.. Sandy could barely function with him fucking her the way he was, and damn did it feel good, oh when did he become so strong?
She wasn't the only one crying out, he was too, he was picking up the pace, how could that be possible? Their skin was becoming raw, the sound they both found pleasing got louder each time his skin came in contact with hers.. *Pat pat pat pat pat.. .. *
They were sure that other people stuck on the ride could hear them, but they didn't care, they still wanted each other, it was spreading like a wildfire that needed to be put out, one of them would eventually give in, or both of them would.. Spongebob leaned over her back as he still rocked her, he pulled at her hair, “Huh, huh you naughty girl… huh, huh you need to be punished.. ” he said, Sandy moaned, “Oh yes Spongebob, huh huh… punish me.. .. Huh huh, i want ta be….. Huh huh, punished.. ” she cried as she fingered herself, “Huh, huh… d, do you like this?” he asked, “Oh yeah… huh, huh you’re huh… so big….. .. Huh huh, you’re huh huh, hun, amazing ahh oh.. .. Yeah like that, hit it like that.. ” Sandy cried as she reached for one of his hands, “Huh, huh… Oh Sandy.. .. What's my name.. .. Oh say my name… huh huh, motherfucking.. .. Say it!” he shouted while pulling her hair even harder while going harder.. Sandy cried out, bringing her head down, “Huh, Sp, Sponge… huh oh dear god… Spongebob….. Huh… huh, please…” she begged, Spongebob smirked, “huh.. .. Sandy.. .. I'm close.. ” he informed, “Huh, m, me too.. ” she said, Spongebob turned her back around again, he was panting and she was panting, he still held onto her hip as he continued his movements.. Spongebob looked up at Sandy’s face, her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, “Huh, huh, huh.. ” she moaned, Spongebob groaned, “Huh, whos is it?” he asked, “huh huh.. .. Sandy, whos is it?” he asked again as he dug his face in her shoulder.. Sandy looked down at him, “huh huh, I, I'm yours, huh huh, yours” she moaned, Spongebob bit her neck before he latched back onto her lips, Sandy kissed back wrapping her arms around him and pulling him in further.. Spongebob let go of her lips and went back to biting her neck as he went faster and harder again, “Huh, huh almost there.. .. Sandy I'm gonna cum.. .. Huh, huh.. ” he warned her, “Huh, me too.. ” she cried as she dug into his back.. Loud screams echoed through the tunnel, the two collapsed onto the floor, Spongebob stared up at the ceiling while he searched for air, he looked at Sandy who was looking at him, she smiled, “That was amazing.. ” she said, Spongebob smiled back and laid a soft kiss on her lips.. Sandy kissed back placing her hand on the side of his face.. “Attention Lovebirds, the ride is now fixed… sorry for the troubles, please enjoy the rest of the ride, thank you.. ” the announcer said as the boat kicked in motion.. The boat pulled up to the entrance and they were met by the ride operator, “Sorry for the delay guys, please come again.. ” he said, Spongebob and Sandy looked at each other, “We will definitely be back for another ride.. ” Spongebob laughed as he and Sandy stepped out of the ride, fully clothed.. Well… Thanks for reading guys….. Now tell me what you think.. . |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: television
Chapter 1
1. The Internet Is For Porn - Avenue Q
Teresa sat, her face bright red, staring at her computer in shock as a picture of her consultant stared back at her. Several thoughts rolled through her head: "How the hell did he get this on my machine?" "Damn..." and "That stupid, childish, sexy pain in the ass!"
She was in so much shock that she didn't notice the very person whose picture had her so captivated standing right behind her until he whispered in her ear, "If you wanted to see me like that, all you had to do was ask."
Her head whipped around as she glared at the blond-haired man behind her, asking in a deathly soft voice, "Why did you put a nude picture of yourself on my computer, Patrick?"
2. Chicago - Sammy Davis Jr.
As Patrick twirled Teresa around the dance floor, he couldn't help but think that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. The thought sparked desire in his belly, and a smile bloomed on his face. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Let's get out of here, my dear wife. It is our honeymoon, after all."
3. You Can Do It - No Doubt
"Come on, Patrick," Teresa said teasingly, "or are you scared?"
Patrick grinned, and his eyes flashed with amusement at her challenge. "Okay, my dear Teresa, you are just asking for it." He laid down his cards and said, "Here they are. Beat that."
Teresa grinned and laid out her losing hand before leaning forward to whisper in his ear, "I never said that I was trying to win." She sat back properly in her chair, pulling her tee shirt off over her head. "What about you?"
4. All Black - Good Charlotte
A three-member team of black-clad agents stood in the back, watching the small crowd. The mood was somber, but there was also a sense of anticipation as the team walked forward to confront one of the mourners.
"Dr. Sophie Miller, you are under arrest for the murders of CBI Agent Teresa Lisbon and Consultant Patrick Jane," said a stone-faced Agent Kimball Cho as he reached for his handcuffs.
As Cho led the murderer away, Agents Wayne Rigsby and Grace Van Pelt addressed the headstone: "We caught her, boss. We caught her and will make sure she pays for what she did to the both of you. And Jane, you take care of her."
They turned and headed back to the car, leaving behind the stone that read, 'Here lies Patrick Jane, Psychic Extraordinaire, and Teresa Lisbon, His Keeper'.
5. Roses Are Red - Aqua
The team stopped and stared as they entered their office area, where they could see nothing but roses at the moment.
Cho saw a bit of white and pulled it out of the sea of red next to him. He read the card before showing it to the redhead next to him.
"Boss," said Van Pelt after she read the card and turned her eyes to gaze in awe at all the red flowers, "these are for you."
Cho passed the card to his boss, who read, 'I love you, Teresa Lisbon. Will you marry me? Jane'.
6. My Bloody Valentine - Good Charlotte
He stood in the hospital bathroom, scrubbing the blood from his hands - her blood from his hands. He kept scrubbing until his hands started bleeding, his blood now running down the drain with the water.
The door opened and closed, but he just kept scrubbing away at his hands. The person who had just come in remarked, "Figured you would be in here." He vaguely recognized this person as his friend Cho, but he just kept scrubbing. He finally stopped when his friend grabbed his hands and said, "She's going to make it."
His legs gave out at those words, and his friend was just barely able to catch him so he didn't bash his head open on the sink. His mask fell, and he was sobbing as he realized just how close he had come to losing his Teresa to his obsession with Red John.
7. Country Fair - Lonestar
Patrick dragged her from one booth to the next, one ride to the next. He bought her a cotton candy, corn dog, pretzel, and soda. She smiled and laughed as he introduced her to some of the older carnies, and they in turn recounted some stories of his youth. By the end of the night, she was exhausted, but he had one last thing to talk to her about. He held her tight and pressed a kiss to her lips before kneeling in the middle of the fairway and asking, "Teresa Lisbon, will you please do me the honor of marrying me?"
8. Long Way To Happy - Pink
Nine years... it had been nine long years since they were torn from him. He never thought he would ever be happy again, but he was. The monster that took them from him had been dead for two years now. He had killed him. He didn't kill him like he always said he would - by slicing him open like he did them. Instead, he shot him. He was going to hurt her, kill her like he killed them. He found her gun on her side table by the door, where she always put it when she got home, and he used it to shoot him in the back. He wrote this down in his notebook, which lay on his lap as he sat up in bed.
"Patrick, go back to sleep. It's far too early to be up," she murmured as she rolled over to cuddle up with him as much as her swollen belly would let her.
He chuckled softly, put the notebook away, and slid down so he was lying next to his wife. He pulled her as close as possible and pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he mumbled into her hair, "I love you so much, Teresa."
9. Out of the Blue - Aly & AJ
"Jane, my office now!" snapped Lisbon as she glared down at the consultant. Jane opened his eyes, a cat-got-the-canary grin on his face. He stood and stretched before walking into Lisbon's office. Lisbon followed him and closed the door.
"What did I do this time?" Jane asked, "I haven't hypnotized anyone, been held at gunpoint, or pulled any of my stunts in the field."
Lisbon stepped up so she was staring him right in the face, growling, "You are driving me crazy," poking Jane's chest with every word.
"Oh? How so?" Jane teased.
"Like this," Lisbon replied as she grabbed his vest and pulled him down into a heated kiss, causing Jane's eyes to widen in surprise.
After the kiss, Lisbon smiled widely and cheekily said as she walked out of her office, "Bet you didn't see that coming."
Jane watched her walk out of her office in slack-jawed shock, and when he finally processed that Lisbon had just kissed him, he raced to catch up with her, his normal cat-got-the-canary grin back in place. "Hey Lisbon, show me again!"
10. Candyman - Christina Aguilera
Jane pushed Lisbon against her locked office door as he pressed hurried kisses all across her face. His hands pulled her shirt from her pants before going to work on the buttons.
"Come on, Patrick," she whispered as she fumbled with the buttons on his vest and shirt.
"I know, I know, but damn woman."
"Patrick," she moaned as his hands had now worked their way into her pants.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
"Hey boss, you in?" called Rigsby.
"Damn it!" whispered Jane under his breath, his head resting against the door, his hand still in Lisbon's pants. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: harry_potter
Chapter 1
Written for Stolen Sunshine's 10 Things I Hate/Love about you, I chose to do Bane/Harry, and please don't criticize me because, in this story, Harry is a Centaur.
10 Things I Love About You
Reason 1: Your Eyes
The way your eyes seem to glow, how they look into my very soul, is captivating. I feel that they are the most precious jewels on this planet, brighter than Mars or the stars could ever be. Those bright emerald jewels seem to see into my very soul; through your eyes is the door to your own soul. I can tell everything you think and feel, while you can do the same to me.
Your eyes make me weak at the knees; it's the first thing I notice.
Reason 2: How You Treat Others
My love, you treat others with just the right amount of familiarity and compassion that I have never seen others display. The way you treat those below you with kindness and compassion, without talking down to them or belittling them, is admirable. You don't treat those who are not full humans like beasts and animals; instead, you treat everyone as an equal. You don't judge; you allow others to act before you make your mind up.
They say that if you want to see how much a man is worth, you should see how he treats those beneath him. And what do I see? A man who is worth more than this world.
Reason 3: Your Courage
I see how they treat you; I see how they beat you down. They kick you, punch you, and shout at you; they even turn their backs on you when the going gets tough. Yet, you never give up; you always get back up. No matter what they do to you, or how many times they push you down, you always get back up. I have faith in you that you'll always find the courage needed to carry on; I know you are not a coward, for you are a hero. I see you cry; I see you face your fears time and time again. Unlike others, you have the courage to go far.
No one can defeat you, for you have the courage of a hundred men. It takes a brave man to face what he is scared of, but it takes an even braver man to admit that he is scared and still face what he is scared of.
Reason 4: Your Kindness
You treat everyone with kindness and respect, whereas humans often treat others as if they are below themselves. You treat everyone with equal kindness; you do not treat us with harsh words that break our hearts. Your kind words build us up; simply remembering our names gains you our respect. Your kindness gives us all faith in the future, faith that others may follow your kindness and not the naivety of the past.
In our hour of need, your kindness seems to burn like a bright light to us all.
Reason 5: The Way You Move
The way you move seems almost as if you are dancing with every footstep; the way your hips sway from side to side is captivating. The way you perform even the simplest tasks, such as moving your arm, is like poetry in motion. It's as if you are an unearthly, angelic spirit before us, moving with just the right amount of grace and beauty, which should not be possible.
The way you move reminds me of an angel, a very sexy angel.
Reason 6: The Way You Speak
The way you speak seems to captivate me; your laughter sounds like silver bells chiming beautifully together. When you speak in anger, you hold a fiery passion inside of you; when you're happy, your voice seems to hold a note that makes others just as happy. You hold just the right amount of passion for those you love, and when you speak about them, your voice shows others that passion.
When you yell my name, I know whether I should sweep you up in my arms and make love to you, hold you close as you cry your eyes out, or just run for the hills.
Reason 7: The Way You Kick Death Eater Butt
The way you battle is just like the way you move – poetry in motion. It's as if I'm watching a dance as you kick some Death Eater butt. I know from watching you in action that you can handle yourself, which is one of the many reasons I like you. I don't have to worry about protecting you all the time, and yet, I find myself worrying still.
Even with this knowledge, I find myself thinking that if a single one of those Death Eaters thinks they're going to get their hands on you, then they'll be sorely mistaken. No one harms a hair on your head, let alone gets close enough to touch you.
Reason 8: The Size of Your Heart
I'm amazed by the size of your heart; you seem to have so much room in it for hope, life, love, and forgiveness. Your heart is big and strong, filled with love and strength, rather than bitterness and hate. Many men would have broken by now and become bitter and cruel, but not you, my love, not you. The size of your heart helps to keep you strong; the amount of love you hold for others should have left no room for me.
Yet, somehow, you do have room in that big heart of yours for me. I marvel at how you make me feel over this simple thing.
Reason 9: The Fact You Became a Centaur Just for Me
I still can't believe you did it, my beloved; you died on the battlefield because of that man's soul inside you, only to come back as a Centaur for me. For me, of all people. I'm blown away by the fact that you became a real Centaur just for me.
You choosing to become a Centaur makes me realize just how deep our love runs.
Reason 10: Everything
Oh, my love, oh, my star, I couldn't find a single thing about you that I hate. The way your eyes glow, how you treat others, the size of your heart, your courage, and love – my love, my mate, you mean so much to me.
Without you, I wouldn't feel what I do; then again, if you weren't at my side, I wouldn't have a heart.
The End.
Note: If you haven't worked it out, my pairing for this was Bane/Centaur Harry. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
100 Beautiful Words: Assemblage
Chapter 1: 100 Beautiful Words: Assemblage
Assemblage (n.) - A gathering.
Clarke hears the bell ringing and she knows what it means. The sound has her brain firing signals throughout her body, and her stomach fills with dread. She wants to pull the fleece blanket over her head and ignore the repeated ringing that keeps coming in threes. After the fifth time, it stops.
"Shit!" Clarke rolls over and opens an eye. Seeing Raven Reyes scrambling around her room shirtless, she remembers. They don't gather for that reason anymore. It hasn't been necessary for one whole year now.
Her relief is short-lived. "Get up, skanks!" Raven shouts, and Clarke sees she has located a shirt. Raven pulls the fleece blanket off the bed. "Hey," Octavia grumbles, but only pulls a pillow over her head to block out the sunlight.
"Give us the blanket back," Clarke demands, her voice hoarse. She turns back over and cuddles into the warmth provided by Octavia. "Your wedding is in less than an hour!" Raven shouts, grabbing both of their legs and shaking. Clarke shoots up in bed. "Shit! I know!" Raven widens her eyes at her. "We overslept!"
Clarke groans and clutches her head. "Not so loud, my head hurts." "Oh. My. God!" Raven yells. "Clarke! Octavia! Harper! Get your asses up. We have a wedding to get to. Octavia, you promised -" "Yeah, yeah," Octavia throws a hand out behind her to wave her off. "Big Brother knows I'm good for my promises."
Bellamy grasps Clarke's hands in his own, his smile so big it hurts. If someone had told him all those years ago that one day he'd be marrying Clarke Griffin on planet Earth, he probably would've been speechless, the idea of anyone getting married on Earth so far-fetched and crazy. Here they are, though, after five years of constantly fighting to stay alive and one whole freaking year of peace, where the most contention they had was when Clarke decided to move in with Bellamy instead of her mom.
"You may kiss the bride," Chancellor Kane announces. Clarke jumps into his arms, and somehow her mouth finds his. He holds on tightly, his hands clasped behind her. The kiss is all teeth; they're both smiling too much for it to be a proper one. Cheering erupts around them, a reminder that this union was much looked forward to by everyone in Arkadia. At last, he lets Clarke slide down until her feet touch the ground, and hand-in-hand they turn to face their people.
Bellamy still can't believe they made it. He looks around, and it's a rare moment where he doesn't watch his friends and only think about those they've lost. He revels in how light he feels and the fact that all these people are gathered to celebrate the Chancellor's step-daughter's marriage to a man who once shot a man holding the same title. Jasper whistles loudly with his fingers in his mouth. Monty cheers and claps. Harper, her baby cradled in one arm, and Raven toss flower petals over their heads as the newlyweds walk back down the aisle. Octavia has tears in her eyes, but her smile matches his.
"Can I tell you a secret?" Clarke asks, her fingers trailing lightly up Bellamy's spine. He studies her face through half-closed eyes. He nods. She traces her fingers back down his spine, and he smiles softly, sleepily, contentedly. His gaze sweeps over her bare shoulder and up to her face again. When she opens her mouth, he closes his eyes and listens.
"I was terrified when I woke up this morning," she admits quietly. "Of marrying me?" "No." After a moment of silence, Bellamy opens his eyes to look at her expectantly. He moves a little closer, waiting for her to explain. She sighs and eliminates the little space left between them, pressing her face into his arm, and mumbles, "Every time I hear the three bells, I - my body still braces itself for something horrible. A war meeting. A funeral."
Bellamy puts an arm around her back and shifts so her cheek rests against his chest. He waits patiently, knowing she has more to say. "It's been a year since we used the bell for either of those things, and I still freak out when I hear it. I don't know how anyone can hear those bells and not think death is coming." "We've all been through a lot," Bellamy starts off slowly. "It's safe to say you've had to bear more than the rest, and it's safe to say there are others who feel the exact same way you do."
Clarke scoffs. "Like who?" she asks in disbelief. He kisses the top of her head before answering, "Me. Jasper. Monty. Harper," he adds. "When the bells rang this morning, I swear Jasper turned paper white. And Monty said the time before, Harper started crying uncontrollably." "Really?" Clarke sits up and searches his face for any hint that he may be kidding. "Honestly."
Clarke nods, then says, "Well, good. I couldn't have you thinking I'm weaker than anyone else. I am Wanheda." She lets out a laugh, and it's the loveliest thing he's ever heard. He quickly flips her so she's on her back, and he pins her wrists down, his knees pressing into her hips. "Not anymore," he tells her. "Not anymore," she agrees. "Never again." And Bellamy can't believe they're here. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Augustus
Chapter 1: Augustus
"You pick him up and carry him home. You wanted to have him," Clarke said, glaring at Bellamy as she huffed.
Bellamy looked at her, unfazed. "You were just as excited as I was when we picked him up. You were the one who cuddled with him the last three times we went to visit him at the animal shelter. You gave me ten minutes before you called him again."
Clarke raised an eyebrow. "That is no valid argument. I couldn't say no to his cute face. But you wanted a dog first, and I was being the amazing boyfriend I am, and said yes, because we're in a long-term relationship and I plan to spend my life with you. I couldn't help it if he looks like the dog I always imagined having. But there's - there's still - look at him, Clarke. He's supposed to be a happy, active Labrador, not the laziest dog humanity has ever seen."
Bellamy smiled as he sat down beside their dog again. "You even named him, and was I the one who went to look at him when we visited the shelter first? I think that was me, babe. And you're way stronger than me, and you look way hotter when you carry a puppy."
He looked around the park, watching a young couple discussing while their kid lay on the grass, seeming to have the same type of argument as Clarke and Bellamy. He turned back to Clarke, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Is that so? Should I get rid of my shirt, too? Let all your fantasies come true?"
Clarke rolled her eyes. "Not in public, Bell. I already have a photo of that, and it's my background picture now. I don't want to give them a show, or let all those girls look at you."
Bellamy chuckled and took her hands. "Aww, princess, there's no need to be jealous."
Clarke sighed and sat down beside him. "Look at them, Bell. The man is nice enough to pick their kid up, because as much a part of the decision to conceive one as she was. Because obviously, they're wearing rings. We both decided to get one, and you should carry him, not your lovely girlfriend who loves you very much."
She knew he couldn't resist her when she talked about being his girlfriend and how much she loved him. It wasn't the first time she used this weakness to her advantage. He always got rewarded, after all.
Bellamy lay on his back and looked up at her. A moment later, he took one of her hands and pulled her to him. She laid her head on his chest and sighed, lacing their fingers together.
"I couldn't believe this works every time," he told her, frustrated with himself.
"It works because you love me and our puppy and our life together. And your reward," she replied, smiling.
Bellamy smiled back. "Mmm. I think the latter is the one I look forward to the most. And I do love all those things. Don't worry, princess, I'll carry him home if he doesn't wake up soon."
He looked at her, and realized she was already looking at him. He smiled and leaned in, and she kissed him back happily. After she leaned back, she laid her head back on his chest.
Bellamy rubbed her up and down her back. "You look really beautiful, princess."
"Thank you," she whispered.
She was wearing a white sun dress that day, with flip flops and her hair down in soft waves, no makeup. She usually didn't wear any, and she looked so beautiful that she didn't need it. She only ever applied it when they met their friends at a bar or when they went to her mother's fundraisers or gallery openings.
He pressed his lips against her hair and lay back down, closing his eyes. Something rubbed against the side of his stomach, and Bellamy stirred. He saw their dog rolling around, trying to find a comfortable place to continue sleeping, and kissed Clarke awake with gentle kisses over her face.
She made a disapproving noise and tried to turn around again. "Oh no, princess. We can sleep at home, in a bed. Our backs would approve of that very much. Well, at least mine. You sleep like you always sleep," he said, smiling.
She rubbed her hands across her face and kissed him on the lips before sitting up. "You want to get out of here?"
"Yeah, August is waking up and wants attention, although he's still very sleepy. He can relax while I carry him," Bellamy replied.
Clarke let out a loud laugh, surprising him. "I couldn't believe you. You're the cutest thing ever, you know that, Bellamy?" she asked, looking at him with a fond smile.
Bellamy smiled back. "Well, I do my best."
"If you talk like this about a dog, although he's a cute one, what will you say when we have kids? I'm melting right now, and if I were ice, there wouldn't be any left after that sentence. You're going to be the best dad, Bell," she said, her eyes shining with amusement.
He seemed surprised at her words, but his expression quickly turned into a smile. "Glad we settled that. Thank you, princess. You know I think the same about you, don't you? You will teach our children so much and love them endlessly, just like you love our dog."
She blushed and nodded. Bellamy pressed another kiss against her temple and stood up. "Let's go."
He helped her up before picking August up. "That was one of the most pointless discussions we've ever had," he said, chuckling.
Clarke smiled. "Don't worry, Bell, there will be more. Just wait until we have kids."
He smiled back at her and kissed her temple while adjusting the puppy, who was now fully awake in his hands. "I couldn't wait."
They didn't have to wait long. Four months later, she gave him one of the best birthday presents he had ever received. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Battle Scars
Chapter 1: Battle Scars
The firelight bathed his skin in hues of amber and honey-gold as he lay stretched out on the furs next to her. Her hands skimmed lightly over the muscles of his shoulders, tracing their lines and valleys with a careful touch. He held such strength in those arms, such power, that it seemed impossible he could be as gentle with her as he was. Her hands dipped lower, playfully brushing over his ribs. The muscles there twitched, and he pulled in a slow, languorous breath.
"Careful, that tickles," he said.
Placing an apologetic kiss against the skin of his shoulder, she continued her exploration. Her fingertips eventually ghosted over the rows of carefully marked scars on his left shoulder blade and stopped.
"What are these from?" she asked.
He opened his eyes slowly, all lingering drowsiness gone. "Each mark represents a kill," he answered, his tone even.
He had spoken the truth so matter-of-factly that there was little she could do at first but blink and resist the urge to count them. He began to sit up, and she knew what he must be thinking: that the scars repulsed her, that with so much evidence in front of her eyes, she could no longer deny the monster that he was.
She stopped him with a gentle hand against his back, and he slowly lowered back onto their bed. "Do all of your people have such scars?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied.
Her eyes studied the scars in detail now. They were small, shaped like a large grain of rice, and arranged in rows of six. Some rows were straighter and neater than others, she noticed, as though they had been carved immediately after a particular battle or war. With the violence she had witnessed in this place, it was a wonder he didn't have dozens more.
"Lincoln," she said carefully, "I need you to give me scars like these."
He sat up, his features drawn into a frown. "If all of your people have scars like this, they'll never believe I'm one of them if I don't have some too," she explained.
He had been teaching her about his people for weeks now, in an effort to ease her transition into Grounder life. His people were reclusive, xenophobic, and paranoid. They didn't tolerate outsiders, certainly not ones that came from the sky. If she was to have any hope of passing as a Grounder, she would need to be as convincing as possible.
Lincoln had taught her about his people's wars, their language, and their various groups and colonies. He had taught her the ways of his people as well – how to hunt and fight, how to move silently through the forest, and how to go in for the kill. She felt stronger and more powerful than she ever had before, but it wasn't enough. If she was going to pass as one of them, if she was going to be one of them, she needed to commit fully.
Lincoln did not look pleased with this development. He slid into his pants and hastily tied them up before getting to his feet. He paced a few steps back and forth and then stopped with his back to her. The firelight danced across his skin, making his scars appear to move and shift about.
"You know I'm right," she pressed.
"That doesn't mean I have to like it," he countered, turning to face her. "Octavia, there's no going back if we do this."
"I know," she assured him with a patient look. "There was no going back the moment I met you."
A reluctant smile pulled at his lips, and he dropped to his knees next to her. He pulled her to him for a slow, lingering kiss that left her head swimming and her lips wanting more.
"We don't have to do this now," he said sincerely, his eyes searching hers as he pulled away. If he was looking for any signs of doubt, he found none.
"I want to," she insisted, holding his gaze until he exhaled a quiet sigh and nodded in agreement.
She lay down on her stomach atop their bed. His hands were warm on her skin, and their touch was gentle as he brushed her long, dark hair off to one side and bent to kiss her shoulder. He reached over her to retrieve a knife from his jacket, and she pulled in a long, slow breath to calm her racing heart.
"How many?" he asked quietly, and she opened her eyes.
"One," she replied.
She could hear the unspoken question in his silence and answered, "It was during the fight with the Grounders. A Grounder was trying to kill Bellamy, so I killed him with your sword."
Lincoln was quiet for a long moment. "I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner," he said sincerely, and the pang of regret in his tone was clear.
"But you did find me," she reminded him, and listened as he breathed a quiet sigh. "I don't regret it, Lincoln. Any of it."
"Someday you may," he said.
"Or I might know it was the best decision I ever made," she countered.
She sat up and kissed him to banish his insecurities and doubts. She knew exactly what he was asking, and she wanted to be just as clear with her answer. How could she regret him when he was the best thing that had ever happened to her? She touched her forehead to his and was relieved to see a shy smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
"Alright," she said encouragingly, and returned to her stomach with her heart still racing. "I'm ready." |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Cold Nights and Warpaint
Chapter 1: Cold Nights and Warpaint
"Now, we fight," Lexa said, looking at Clarke. Lexa had waited for this moment for a long time. She was finally able to go to war with Mount Weather, and the best part was that she would do it with the one she loved by her side. The Grounders had decided to rest the night to ensure their energy. Clarke and Lexa were in the same tent, Lexa in her bed and Clarke at the war table.
"You need your rest, Clarke," Lexa said in her monotone voice. At first, Clarke didn't want to lay with Lexa. She wanted to make sure the plan was correct, and she didn't want it to be awkward.
"We need to make sure the plan is perfect," Clarke said, hovering over the table looking at the battle plans.
"Don't worry. Tomorrow morning, we will take the mountain, and all will be well," Lexa said, her eyes still closed. She opened them only to see that Clarke didn't move. "Clarke."
"I don't want to rest!" Clarke snapped. Lexa lay there, not moving.
"Alright, then," Lexa said, shifting over so there would be room when Clarke finally did decide to rest. Lexa wasn't wearing many clothes, only an animal skin band across her chest and black knit shorts. It was freezing outside, and the light tent walls didn't help the situation. It was about an hour into the night, and Clarke was still thinking, while Lexa was shivering. She would put on her battle clothes, but they were too uncomfortable. Clarke noticed that Lexa was shivering, and to be honest, Clarke was freezing too. She looked at Lexa. The brunette's eyes were clenched tight, a fur blanket clenched in her fists, shaking in the fetal position. Clarke blew out all the candles, and the only light was from the moon. Lexa opened her eyes and saw Clarke moving towards her. Clarke took off her jacket, boots, and pants, so that she was left in her bra and her long boy shorts. Clarke climbed into the bed with Lexa, under the fur blanket, and faced her. Lexa had closed her eyes again.
"Lexa, are you asleep?" Clarke asked.
"No," Lexa replied, shivering. Clarke got cold, but not very often. Tonight, she was cold, but she could handle it. Lexa, on the other hand, could get hypothermia.
"Here," Clarke said, grabbing Lexa's hands. "You're freezing." Clarke blew into the brunette's hands and put them on her neck.
"How are you so warm?" Lexa asked. Clarke shrugged in response. Lexa still wasn't getting any warmer. Clarke moved closer to Lexa, pressing their bodies together, pulling the fur blanket above their heads. Lexa nuzzled her head into Clarke's neck and instantly got warmer.
"Is this helping?" Clarke asked. Lexa shook her head in Clarke's neck, and they both fell asleep.
Clarke woke up that morning very early, before they were going to attack. She was still cuddling Lexa. Instead of side by side, Clarke lay on her back with Lexa half on top of her. Clarke gently kissed the top of Lexa's head, hoping not to wake her. Luckily, she didn't. To wake Lexa up, Clarke shifted her position a little, and Lexa's head shot up. The brunette got up off the bed and put her clothes on.
"It is time, Clarke," Lexa said. Clarke soon put her clothes on and watched as Lexa did her warpaint.
"Can I do that?" Clarke asked. Lexa looked at Clarke and smiled her little smile.
"Of course," Lexa replied, handing Clarke the paint after she was done. Lexa watched Clarke paint one of her eyes. The blonde got it everywhere and made a mess out of her makeup. Lexa chuckled a little.
"No, no, no," Lexa said, walking up to Clarke, their faces a few inches apart. Lexa smudged the warpaint off of Clarke's one eye with her fingers. Lexa dipped her finger in the paint that Clarke was holding and slowly started to paint her design over Clarke's eyes. Lexa cupped one side of Clarke's face as she did both eyes. Clarke liked her touch.
"Thank you, for last night. I would have never been able to sleep," Lexa said, as her fingers swiped back and forth over Clarke's left eyelid.
"Don't thank me. It was nothing. We needed our rest," Clarke said. Lexa was hoping that Clarke would say something else or something more, but the blonde didn't. When Lexa finished, she gave Clarke a little mirror. The warpaint was smudged all over her eyes, but came to a point above her eyebrow. The blonde had little streaks down her cheeks, but one big one on each eye that went vertical from the middle of her eye all the way down to her mouth. Clarke admired Lexa's work.
"Thank you. It is beautiful," Clarke said.
"Don't thank me. It was nothing," Lexa said, mocking Clarke from earlier. Lexa looked at Clarke's paint. "Oh, I missed a spot." Lexa dabbed her finger in the paint and went down the long streak to Clarke's mouth. Lexa's other clean hand, which cupped around Clarke's face, ran over Clarke's lips. Clarke stared at Lexa's eyes and then lips. This time, it was Clarke who leaned in for the kiss. Clarke dropped the paint to the floor as she grabbed Lexa's hips.
"Heda! Heda!" someone called from outside. They broke the kiss.
"Let's go win a war," Lexa said, before placing another small kiss on Clarke's lips and taking her hand, leading them both out of the tent to war. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Chapter 1: Finally
As Clarke watched the guards escort Finn to the Grounders, she turned and began to walk into the trees, her pace increasing with each step. Abby took a step forward, but Bellamy held out a hand to stop her.
"No, I'll go," he said. He hoisted his bag across his shoulders and slowly set out after her.
He followed with a measured tread, knowing that she was heading towards the bunker, but also knowing that she would need time too. As he neared the bunker, he heard a quavering breath on the other side of the clearing. And there she was: Clarke. She sat at the foot of a large tree, legs drawn up, hands on knees, head on hands, her blonde hair cascading beside them.
He dropped his bag and walked heavily towards her. He knew she knew he was there, but she did not lift her head. He slid down the tree beside her, just a few feet away, and waited.
"They sent you after me?" she finally said.
"We drew straws. I lost," he replied.
She raised her head and glanced at him, and her hint of a smile sent a small warmth through him, a not unpleasant – or, if he was being honest with himself, unwelcome – sensation.
"Also, I figured maybe you wouldn't feel like being around anyone you actually liked," he added.
The corners of Clarke's mouth turned up even more as she sat up and turned her gaze to the forest around them. The day she had first said those words to him felt like a lifetime ago. Hell, multiple lifetimes. Before the war had begun, before Mount Weather, before Finn at the village. But that day had meant a lot to her. It was the day they found the guns, when they finally had some power in this impossible world. It was the day she'd saved Bellamy's life, and he'd saved hers. It was the day she'd understood that he was so much more than the façade he'd put on during their first two weeks on the ground. It was the day she and Bellamy had become a team.
Clarke turned her head and locked her serious blue eyes onto his. "If you thought I wouldn't want to be around someone I actually liked, then you really should have sent someone else," she said.
Bellamy held her gaze. He was thinking about the day she'd first said those words too. That day had meant everything to him. It was the day he'd finally allowed himself to comprehend the horrible acts he had committed against Jaha and the sacrificed Ark residents. It was the day he'd admitted how heavily the shame his mother would feel weighed on him. It was the day Clarke stood up for him and told him how much he was needed. It was the day he and Clarke had become a team.
He looked away. "Well, who'd have guessed that a couple months ago, right, Princess?" he said.
"Princess...," she smiled ruefully. "Yeah, I guess we ran in different circles on the Ark. If we'd stayed there, we probably never would have met."
"Probably not," he replied. "If you had an excessive amount of trash, maybe," he tried to joke. The truth was that the thought of never having met Clarke was causing him almost physical pain. He shouldn't be glad that he had shot the chancellor and snuck onto the drop ship, but when he thought about never having known Clarke, he almost was.
"Bellamy," she said, her voice low.
He almost started at how good it felt for her to say his name. He turned his head and held her gaze. Clarke, too, was upset at the thought of not knowing him.
"After the battle at the drop ship, when I thought you were dead, when I thought I had killed you...," she began.
"Like I said before, it had to be done," he said.
"I know," she replied. "But the moment I saw you again at Camp Jaha...," she glanced away and back as both of their thoughts drifted to the memory of their reunion. "That was the happiest I've felt since we hit the ground." His heart rose in his chest. The moment when he'd realized she was alive, safe, when her arms were wrapped around him, that was the happiest he'd felt too. "And now... I don't know if I could do all of this without you. I... I'm not sure I could be here without you."
"Clarke, you won't be here without me. Ever," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "We both know I'm the one who would be lost here without you. You saved me."
They both stared, eyes searching the other's face, every line, every expression. Their eyes scanned quickly from one eye to the next, back and forth, until their gazes also began to take in the other's lips. Their bodies slowly leaned in, closer and closer, until their faces were just a few inches apart, their eyes still scanning.
Bellamy covered the last few inches and touched his lips to Clarke's. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment, the feel of her lips, his head filled with sound. He hadn't even realized this was what he wanted, but in this moment, all he could think was, Clarke. Finally.
Clarke closed her eyes too, overcome with emotion. She leaned fully into the kiss and her lips responded. She reached a hand to Bellamy's neck to pull him even closer. She hadn't even realized this was what she wanted, but in this moment, all she could think was, Bellamy. Finally.
He wrapped his arms around her, just as he had at their reunion. But now, there was so much more. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Goodnight Ambassador
Chapter 1: Goodnight Ambassador
Lexa paced around her room, her wounds from the fight with Ronan tended to. "Come on, Lexa, all you have to do is walk to Clarke's room, knock on the door, and say thank you." She hoped that talking out loud to herself would get rid of the nerves, but it only made her more anxious. Standing in front of her closed door, Lexa let out a slow breath. "I can do this." Repeating it to herself, she turned the knob and exited her room, making her way to the floor where Clarke's room resided.
Inside her room, Clarke stood next to a window, looking out at Polis, her mind wandering through the events that had conspired that day. She was oblivious to what was happening outside her door.
Lexa stood in front of Clarke's bedroom door, working up the courage to knock. In fact, she had been standing there for a while, just staring at the door. "I can do this." She raised her hand to knock, only to bring it back to her side. "Why is this so hard? All you have to do is knock on the door, Lexa. You've commanded an army, killed enemies. Saying a simple thank you should not be this difficult." Inhaling and exhaling, she brought her hand up again and knocked.
The knock at her door brought Clarke out of her thoughts. Walking to the door and opening it, she saw the commander on the other side, but the sight was not what she had expected. Dressed in a nightgown, free of war paint and braids, was Lexa, not the commander. The sight before her was breathtaking.
"Is this 'I told you so'?" Clarke asked.
"No, this is thank you," Lexa replied.
"Come in," Clarke invited, stepping to the side.
As Lexa walked in, Clarke took notice of the dangerously high leg slit that was part of her nightgown. Clarke had the urge to reach out and slide her hand up and down the leg that peeked out. Quickly ridding herself of the thought, she noticed the crudely wrapped cloth around the hand that Lexa had used to grab Ronan's blade. Without hesitation, Clarke grabbed Lexa's hand.
Quickly looking down and back up to see green eyes staring back at her, Clarke spoke. "Sit down, let me change that for you."
Lexa's heart racing faster as she felt Clarke touch her hand, she sat on a chair as Clarke came back with new cloth to wrap around the wound on her hand. It was much more neatly done than how the healer who tended to it had done. Clarke asked about what would happen to the girl named Ontari. Lexa gave her the answer that seemed to be in every conversation she had ever had with Clarke: the girl would not be back till her death.
"Do you ever talk about anything other than your death?" Clarke playfully said.
Lexa couldn't help but smile a little.
"Thank you for backing me," she said, looking at Clarke.
"I was just doing what was right for my people," Clarke replied. The response stung Lexa a bit. "Your ambassadors betrayed you. How do you move forward?"
"They were doing what they believed was right for their people too," Lexa said, not meaning to throw it back at Clarke, but it was the truth.
That was the moment when it clicked for Clarke - the betrayal at Mount Weather. She couldn't be angry at Lexa for it, not anymore. Standing up, Clarke spoke in Trigedasleng. "Reshop, Heda."
Lexa stood up, staring into Clarke's blue eyes, then wandered to her lips. Not knowing what came over her, she leaned in, kissing Clarke softly on the lips. Clarke stiffened at the contact, caught off guard by the action. Lexa pulled back quickly.
You idiot, what were you thinking. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to... I will just leave now," Lexa said, making her way to the door when a hand on her wrist stopped her. Lexa looked back at Clarke.
Clarke quickly regained her composure before letting Lexa make her escape, taking hold of her wrist. She turned to face her, their blue eyes meeting green, swallowing the lump in her throat. Clarke reached out her right hand, cupping Lexa's face. Lexa, in turn, unconsciously leaned into the touch. This time, Clarke leaned in, and Lexa met her halfway. Lexa placed her hands on Clarke's waist, pulling her closer. The kiss was soft and gentle, ending as quickly as it happened. They stared at each other for a moment, Lexa spoke to fill the silence.
"Goodnight, Ambassador."
Clarke smiled a little, letting out a small laugh. "We kiss, and all you can say after is 'good night, Ambassador.' Do you kiss all your ambassadors goodnight?" She raised a brow at Lexa.
Lexa panicked. "No," she said, a bit louder than she intended. Which only seemed to make Clarke laugh a bit more.
"I'm only teasing you," Clarke said.
Lexa looked away, embarrassed a little, clearing her throat before speaking again. "I will return to my room now. I have kept you up long enough. I shall see you tomorrow, Clarke."
Clarke nodded. "Tomorrow."
Clarke watched Lexa as she opened the door to leave, looking back, Lexa smiled back at Clarke, who returned the smile with her own. Having closed the door fully, Lexa leaned against it, her head tilted upwards a bit, her mouth forming a full smile.
Well, that went better than I thought.
Touching her lips, Clarke smiled wider. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
How Season 3 Should Have Ended
Chapter 1: How Season 3 Should Have Ended
Clarke takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. She's back. She survived the City of Light. "You need to take the flame out," she states to her mother. Abby nods. Clarke looks around her. The people are coming back to their senses, their pain etched across their faces. Some people even cry out with the force of it all. Clarke sees Murphy, his hands inside Ontari's lifeless body, still pumping her heart. Clarke internally shudders. No one notices. Abby goes to Murphy, so she can take care of Ontari, and Murphy pulls his hands out of the dead girl. They are dripping with black blood as he moves towards Clarke.
Clarke bends her head down and lets Murphy speak the phrase that makes the flame come to life. He pulls the AI out of the back of Clarke's neck, its feelers searching for a new host before it closes in on itself and returns to its closed state. Abby comes over and takes the flame from Murphy. Clarke doesn't look at it; it makes her feel weak inside. She is on the verge of tears. She will never see Lexa again. The last image she has of Lexa is her going off to battle to protect her, and Clarke feels her eyes well up with tears as whispers of "I'll always be with you" fill her mind.
Abby folds the flame into Clarke's hand and holds on to her daughter for just a moment longer than necessary. Mothers always know when something is wrong with their child, but Abby stays silent until Clarke quietly tells her to go to Kane. Abby leaves her daughter's side to go to the man she may be falling in love with. Kane is in pain, and Abby wraps him up in her arms to steady his shaking. Clarke looks away from the affection, knowing she will never get to hold Lexa again.
She takes a shuddering breath to calm her racing heart and blinks back tears. Lexa would have wanted her to move on and be happy, but all Clarke can think about is Lexa's lips on hers in a hurried final kiss. It's not fair, but then again, nothing has been fair since the day the dropship brought one hundred kids and teenagers to the ground all those months ago.
All around Clarke, people are crying in pain and relief that they are back and ALIE is gone. Clarke is the only one who knows that the earth and all its inhabitants are going to be doomed sooner than they think. None of them are safe, and this time, Clarke won't be able to stop it. She can't stop the whole world from dying. It's too much. Her shoulders sag with the weight of this burden she holds. She looks down and realizes she is still sitting on Lexa's throne. She's thankful that she is looking down because she blushes a deep shade of red as she thinks about Lexa sitting in this exact same spot.
The thoughts are innocent and full of want. She misses Lexa. Her heart aches to hold the girl in her arms again. Her stomach feels like it is completely missing from inside of her, and she can't decide if she needs to throw up or cry until she passes out. She keeps her head down, knowing that her facial expressions will betray her. She doesn't want the people around her to see her fall apart. She grips the armrests on Lexa's throne until her hands hurt and her knuckles turn white. She needs to be strong now. She needs to suck it up and figure out the impossible. She needs to save the planet from becoming uninhabitable.
Clarke is so consumed by her own thoughts and trying to control her emotions that she doesn't hear the door open. She doesn't hear Abby's intake of breath. She completely misses Octavia burying her sword into Pike until he falls dead at her feet. She doesn't notice how the whole room has fallen silent and are staring blankly between her and the newcomer. She misses the footsteps that echo with each step they take towards her. She can't see the feet that stop right in front of her. Clarke is so intently focused on herself for once that she misses all of it, until someone speaks: "A commander should always lead with her head held high," comes a soft voice.
Clarke lifts her head so fast, all of a sudden not caring who sees the tears rolling down her face. Lexa is standing in front of her, and that's all that matters. She's wearing her commander's uniform, and her war paint is perfectly applied to her face. When Lexa sees Clarke's tears, she crumbles. Her perfectly straight back hunches, and her proud shoulders sag. She drops down to her knees in front of her own throne and takes Clarke's face in hers. She wipes the tears off Clarke's cheeks with her thumbs.
"Clarke," she whispers. "I told you I would always be with you. I'm right here, like I said."
A laugh mixed with a sob bubbles out of Clarke as she roughly pulls the girl into her arms. She's holding onto Lexa so tightly that she's sure the other girl is having trouble breathing, but at this moment, Clarke doesn't care. Lexa is holding her back just as firmly, and they are together. Lexa is there, and she's real. Clarke doesn't care about everyone else in the room. She can't even see them. All she can see is Lexa. All she can feel is Lexa in her arms, and she never wants to let go. At this moment, the fate of the world is forgotten, because Lexa is here, and Lexa makes everything better. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
I Know What I've Lost (But You're What I Found)
Chapter 1: I Know What I've Lost (But You're What I Found)
Disclaimer: I don't own The 100.
So I am.
Enjoy! X
"I miss you."
It's a simple message, but Clarke hadn't texted that number in quite some time, so she couldn't stop the familiar ache in her bones. But, even so, she still expected it. What she didn't expect, however, was to see "read 2:46 AM" and to receive a reply a minute later.
"Do I even know you?"
The gray speech bubble was innocent enough, but Clarke could hear her heart thumping in her chest.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. No, you don't know me – at least, I don't see how you would, because on my end, that would be some serious 'other world' kind of stuff. It's just someone I used to know had this number. I really am sorry; it didn't even cross my mind that someone would have this number now."
Clarke had never been so embarrassed in her life (which was actually kind of stupid, because it was just a text). But at least the stranger would brush her off, and she could be done with this event.
But, of course, that doesn't happen.
Clarke watches the "…" bubble pop up and waits to see what the stranger is typing.
"Who was it? And why wouldn't they have this number anymore?"
Clarke takes a deep breath. Years of happy memories and nights filled with unanswered cries rush into her. "If you don't mind me asking, of course," she adds.
"It was my dad's number. Well, old number, now, I guess. He died a little while back. Which, honestly, thinking about it now, I really don't see why this number would still be listed as his."
(Because why else would a number still be in use by someone whose story had been finished being told?)
Once again, Clarke expected this stranger she had unfortunately intruded upon to send a simple "I'm sorry" text, and that would be the end of that. Once again, however, Clarke was wrong.
"I lost someone, too."
Clarke was suddenly reminded that she's not the only person in the world who stays up until three in the morning, with the notches in her bones longing for a time when she didn't have the smooth wood of a coffin burned into the back of her mind.
Her fingers shook as she typed out a reply. "I'm sorry. Who was it?"
It takes the stranger thirty-seven seconds to start typing after they read Clarke's message. It takes them another three minutes and forty-one seconds to finally send a reply.
"Her name was Costia. She had a smile like the sun and a laugh like wind chimes. And I loved her."
They give each other code names – "it's so stupid, but my friends call me Princess," "well, mine call me Commander," because it adds to the mystery of it all. And mystery and magic almost always directly coincide with each other. But most importantly, in a world that has already taken so much from them, what else have they got to lose?
So they talk. Every day. About everything.
Clarke tells the Commander about this pretty girl she keeps seeing around the city. She tells the Commander about wanting to drop out of med school to pursue art, because nothing makes her feel more alive – but that she knows her mom would be disappointed in her. She tells the Commander about how she believes she lived amongst the stars in a past life.
In return, the Commander talks to the Princess about this stranger they wished they had the guts to talk to – which is dumb, because "fear is weakness," but she has the brightest eyes they've ever seen. In return, the Commander tells the Princess that their biggest fear is dying alone. In return, the Commander recalls for the Princess memories about learning how to make crowns out of flowers with their older sister.
The pretty girl tells Clarke she has beautiful eyes, and Clarke tells her that, it might be rare, but when it happens, the stranger's laugh sticks with her throughout the day (like fingerprints on her rib cage).
So the pretty girl, whose name she learns is Lexa, and Clarke get coffee, and it's everything they both secretly hoped it would be. At the end of the date, they exchange numbers, only to see that they already have each other's number.
"Commander?" "Princess?"
Later, their weeks would be filled with blushing smiles, traditions in the making, and whispered promises. Later, when life, as it normally is, is sometimes cruel, they would fight. They would clash. They would both build burning, blazing fires in their eyes and in their souls. One with words tearing from her throat like a lion, and the other striking with cold and calculated vocabulary.
But, at the end of the day, "Lexa-Love" would text "Clarke 3" that she would make her a true princess, flower crown and all. And Clarke would reply that she's glad to not be living in the sky anymore, because Lexa gives her more than any of the stars ever could.
It'll be a relationship built on an "I miss you," but with a pinch of fate and a dash of luck, it'll lead to an, "I'm so glad I found you." But for now, it's a "nice to finally meet you," that feels exactly like an, "I love you."
Fin.
Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to write a review or drop a DM about whatever! And sorry if there are any mistakes... Again... I wrote this at 4 in the morning. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Know Joy
Chapter 1: Know Joy
Josephine couldn't be far behind her. Clarke makes a sharp, right turn, entering another set of iron-welded doors that materialize for her. She comes to a standstill in the middle of the room, awestruck, gaping at the throne room of Polis. The room is filled with brightly lit windows, tapestries made of fur and sheer, purple material, and dirt-flecked floors. A man crouches on the stair-dais leading up to the Commander's throne, gazing up at it purposefully and broodingly, drumming his fingers against his outer leg.
"Bellamy?" Clarke speaks up, bemused, as he leaps up, grinning in her direction. Bellamy's expression softens. "You made it," he says, short-winded from relief. His beard, dark and scratchy, presses against Clarke's skin when Bellamy hugs her, tucking his chin into her shoulder. The warmth coming off him is dizzying. "Thought I'd be waiting here forever."
Clarke separates from him, glancing over his buckled, black, and ratty clothing, and frowning. It's all from Sanctum. "Stop. This isn't real," she says. Bellamy chuckles, low and rumbling, his thumb swiping over the edge of Clarke's jaw. "Is that really what you want to talk about?" he asks, humored and impish. "How about 'I'm so glad I'm not dead, Bellamy'? Or 'I'm so glad you're not dead, Bellamy'?"
Her stomach gives a gentle, knowing somersault, and Clarke's pulse quickens. "I need to go…" she insists, turning for a door, any door. But instead, a woman with long, braided hair approaches and blocks the way, regal and upright. Lexa's hairline and temples are scrubbed clean of her war-paint, and dried blood is caked over her sternum. "Hello, Klark," she says.
"No… …" Clarke's voice leaves her in a gasping, high sob. She shakes her head wildly, trembling so hard that Bellamy's hand steadies her lower back. Clarke's blue, tear-filled eyes squeeze shut. "Please… please, don't do this to me…" she begs. "*Shhh*…" Lexa whispers, calmly wrapping one of her arms around her. Her lips quirking up slowly. Clarke feels Lexa's palm cradling the back of her skull, urging them to close the distance, touching their foreheads. She's so solid, real, and so, so real. And Clarke doesn't know what to do but to hiccup-sob against Lexa's neck. "It's alright. You're safe now," Lexa says.
It's all happening in Clarke's head, tormenting her. Clarke rules her own mind-space, and she somehow cannot get it together long enough to… … "Listen to me, Clarke," Bellamy interrupts firmly, drawing her attention. "You don't have to run away from this. We said we would find a home together, for all of us…" Clarke stares helplessly, between Lexa's searching, secretive look and Bellamy, tightly clutching onto her hand, rubbing consolingly to the top of her shoulder. "Don't you want that too…?" he asks.
"Bellamy…" Clarke says. "*Ai laik kom yu*," Lexa murmurs, her words falling over Clarke like a gentle breeze, full of admiration. "*Yu laik kom me gon hogeda aiBIamBradцуз với sonraun*," Lexa continues, placing her mouth to Clarke's lips, over and over.
Clarke wants to kiss her back, releasing a quivery breath and feeling cool, harsh air on her flesh. She stands between Lexa and Bellamy, naked as their sins, as their own warm, dizzying flesh. Bellamy's grime-smudged fingers wipe off her tears. She heard the word 'queer' described as wrong, strange, and offensive. But it is who she is… she loves both women and men… she always will.
"*Beja nou bants… ai hod yu in*," she begs, shutting her eyes again when Lexa and Bellamy whisper Clarke's name in unison. Clarke feels herself going to her knees, panting against Bellamy's opening mouth, and then Lexa's front, bestowing spit-sticky kisses to one of her breasts. She chokes out deliriously when a moaning, perspiring Bellamy wrings a hand roughly to Clarke's frail and pale neck. The blinding, heightened sensation nearly whites out her vision. Lexa observes her, smirking, no longer covered in her own nightblood, running her hands over Clarke's hips teasingly and along the insides of Clarke's thighs.
"Never," they answer Clarke's pleas, like a reprieve, like a curse and a prayer-soaked omen.
The 100 isn't mine. I know this is a fairly controversial ship to toy around with, but believe me, I wouldn't want it to be canon. I'm not going to express my preference for what I actually want, and I'm going to leave this at... I hope you all enjoy. Any curious wanderer or the people who ship Bellarke/Clexa equally.
This is not a threesome. Lexa is a lesbian and she does not want Bellamy, who is a cisgendered man. You are looking more at a poly vee-relationship with Clarke as the focal point.
It is 30 Days of NSFW but LGBT+ Pride edition, where every single day is a LGBT+ identity that a character embodies or a relationship does, using the focus/perspective of the story. It's either going to be canon or fanon. It is Day 24, which is "Queer," and yeah, Clarke is. She is canon bisexual.
Along with this from the 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge, this is also Day 24, which is "breathplay," and this is a prompt table I'm using for June.
If you enjoyed reading this, I would love to hear any comments or thoughts you had. Also, are you LGBT+ too? How are you celebrating Pride Month this year?
And when she opens her eyes, Clarke kneels by herself, dressed in her prison clothes and sobbing, among her memory-drawings. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Long Chain of Iron
CHAPTER 1: Long Chain of Iron
As always, I don't own anything. Please enjoy and review.
"That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day." – Charles Dickens
Bellamy could define his life by a 'before' and an 'after'. There was a time before, before the dance, Octavia's imprisonment, and his mother's floating, where he had been happy. Even at seven, he withdrew from all friendships, all too aware that if people became interested in his life, it could have disastrous consequences for his family.
When he became older – and more comfortable with lying – he still withdrew from his peers. This had more to do with Octavia than any adversity to dishonesty – it had never seemed fair that he should stay away from home longer than necessary when she had never even been allowed to leave.
After, he couldn't stand the silence and spent his first paycheck as a janitor on moonshine. He found the locations of the underground dens – often ironically labeled 'speakeasies', in honor of some older Earth tradition. That's when he discovered he was considered attractive to others.
He knew he was in good physical condition – continuing the fitness training he did as a guard kept him from returning to the empty room – apparently, this and his looks made him approachable to others. He learned to smile, to charm, to woo, and his first sexual experience was lost to a haze of alcohol and fumbling hands.
He did his best to return to his room either too tired to think, blind drunk, or busy tugging the shirt off another human body. It never made him feel much in particular, but that was the point – if he had energy to think, he could easily picture his mother's corpse, floating in space, or imagine Octavia, locked away once again.
He'd been considering the best way to get drunk when he came back to his room – not home anymore – on the day that would turn out to be his final one on the Ark. He was momentarily caught off guard, remembering a time when the room was full of life and quiet laughter, before Shumway offered his deal, and before Bellamy could even consider the ramifications, he was shooting the Chancellor and on his way to Earth.
His life changed to a new 'before' and 'after', divided by the moment he failed his family. He considered Earth a second chance to protect Octavia, to fulfill his responsibilities, and to do this, he needed to be alive. He needed to stop the Arkers from coming. Self-preservation and his goals were suddenly aligned.
On the ground, he did things he never thought he could. When he questioned, he doubted, he thought of Octavia, and how he already murdered a Chancellor, he accepted the path that he was on. But the doubts still lingered in the quiet of the night, so when Earth's trials hadn't exhausted him, he used another body to help him forget, to stay on course.
It also helped that for the first time in his life, Bellamy felt like he was doing something he was meant to. He found he liked to lead, to have others look up to him and follow him. It was intoxicating.
His reasoning, reassurances for his actions fell apart quickly. Learning that he had not killed Jaha caused the doubt to rise again, enamored by the idea he wasn't as terrible as he thought. Then Octavia dismissed him, claiming she had never asked for his help.
Tying Atom to the tree, kicking the chair out from under Murphy, stealing the radio, it had seemed almost noble when he rationalized it. *It was for Octavia.* He was almost like a hero in a story, doing all he could for his family. Shooting the Chancellor had been the first step, and he had considered that there was no turning back after then.
Without the excuses, what was he? Without his sister, who was Bellamy Blake? Suddenly he was seven years old again, lost and confused with no answer in sight.
*I'm a monster.*
The conclusion was easy. And horrifying. Monsters and men should not mix, of all the stories he'd heard, that only ended in tragedy.
*I need you.*
Maybe he could be something more, a leader, maybe even good. And Bellamy tried.
He tried to lead his people to safety, to make the right call, no matter how hard the choice might be. Again and again, he was confronted by another one of his people dead, and he almost wished the next body to drop would be his, so he would be no longer crushed under the weight of responsibility.
He pushed himself every day in the hope that some time in the future, it might all seem worth it. Bellamy Blake was nothing if not stubborn, and he knew very well that this may be his last chance to do something good with his life, to get his name in the history books for something other than 'whatever the hell we want'.
His life had a new before and after, and his path was harder than anything he'd previously done. But Bellamy never looked back. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Marry Me Clexa AU
Chapter 1: Marry Me Clexa AU
Marry me, Clexa
"Lexa, have you ever thought about your wedding day?" Clarke asked one summer day when she was 14 and Lexa was 16. "Yeah, actually, I have thought about it. Why did you ask?" Lexa responded. Clarke shrugged. "It was just a thought I had. I actually have it all planned out."
"Oh, and what is your plan?" Lexa asked, curiosity piqued.
"Well, for the flowers, I would like magnolias, and I would love it to be out in the country to save my parents some money. Not too many people, just close friends and family. And I would love for my grandfather to officiate it. He has always been a big part of my life, and it would make my special day that much more meaningful." As Lexa listened to Clarke, she fell for her that much more.
"Clarke, what if I mess up the game and we lose because of me?" Lexa was completely freaking out. Tonight was the championship game, and the last game Lexa would play as a high school student before she went off to college to play soccer. "Lexa, look around you. This field is your second home. You were born to do this, and you will excel like you do in any other game you have ever played in." As she spoke, Clarke gestured to the soccer field they were standing in. "No, Clarke, my second home isn't on this field. It's with you," Lexa said with a tear in her eye, because she knew Clarke would take it as a friend would. But the truth was that Lexa had been in love with Clarke since they met. "Awe, Lexa, you know that you will always be at home with me. You're my best friend. I love you, Lexa," Clarke told her, and wrapped her arms around her in a hug. "I love you too, Clarke," Lexa had never spoken truer words.
Lexa pulled away from the hug and looked Clarke right in the eyes. "If I win tonight, the only person I want by me is you, Clarke."
As the ball flew down the field, Lexa Woods, number 11, was running after it. Would she make the goal and win the championship? It was tied 3-3 in the last minute of the game. As the announcer screamed into the mic, Clarke didn't even hear him. Her sole focus was on Lexa as she ran to the net with the ball. The clock was ticking down; there were only seconds left. Everything happened so fast, but to Clarke, it felt like everything was moving slowly. Lexa kicked the ball as hard as she could. Right as the buzzer went off, the ball crossed the line, giving Lexa the goal and winning the game. The crowd went crazy; the announcer was yelling that the Polis Warriors had won the state championships. Clarke jumped up and ran onto the field, bringing Lexa into her arms. Lexa hugged her like she would never hug her again. As Clarke pulled back a bit so she could look Lexa in the eyes, Lexa brought her right hand up to Clarke's cheek. Her hand went down to Clarke's chin, and she was about to bring her lips to her own. Luna, Lexa's teammate, ran up and grabbed Lexa to celebrate the game-winning goal.
For only a second, Clarke looked like she was going to kiss Lexa, and she completely freaked out because she was really going to kiss Clarke, and she looked like she wanted her too, and maybe, just maybe, Clarke felt the same way.
Turns out she didn't. Because only five years later, after one of Lexa's games, she came home to an invitation to Clarke's wedding. Lexa knew it was too late.
"Lexa, it's so good to see you again," Jake, Clarke's father, walked up to her and hugged her. "It's been so long, Jake. How are you doing?" Lexa asked politely. "Well, dear, we both know the answer to that. It's Clarke's big day. She has been dreaming and planning this since she was 12," Jake said. Lexa nodded, because, of course, she already knew that. But what Jake didn't know was that he wasn't the only one giving her away. "Well, Jake, I am going to go look for the bride-to-be and wish her the best," Lexa said. "You do that, Lex. I will see you later," Jake replied. As Lexa walked away, she looked down at her outfit. It was her nicest black suit with a black tie. Lexa laughed at the irony that she looked like she was going to a funeral, not the wedding of the woman she loved.
Lexa grabbed her flask and took a strong shot of whiskey, hiding out in the back. She could see Bellamy, Clarke's soon-to-be husband. She had to turn away before anyone saw her tears. So they wouldn't know.
As Clarke was welcoming her guests, Lexa thought that she should go up to her and tell her the truth: that she had loved her from the start. But she knew she couldn't do that to Clarke and ruin her happiest day. So she walked up to her, and every step she took, her heart broke, because Clarke was so beautiful in her dress, standing out from everyone. When she got to her, she hugged her and told her she loved her and that she was beautiful. Clarke cried and said, "Lexa, it's exactly how I pictured it. I am so glad you could be here, and I love you too. You will always be my best friend." Lexa walked away with tears in her eyes.
Lexa was in her black suit, black tie, hiding in the back, doing a strong shot of whiskey straight from the flask. She tried to make it through without crying, so nobody would see. Because, yeah, Clarke wanted to get married, and she was going to get married, but she wasn't going to marry Lexa. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Merry Christmas, Clexa!
*Chapter 1: Merry Christmas, Clexa!*
When Lexa arrived at Camp Jaha one day, she was met with a large tree in the center. It had been cut down and carefully placed there, and Lexa thought the Sky People silly for thinking a tree could still grow after being ripped from its roots. She thought of telling Clarke, but when she spotted her, her eyes glowed with such joy and a beautiful smile spread across her face as she looked up at the tree. Lexa could not break her spirit. A few Sky People surrounded the tree, some even climbing up and placing strange artifacts on the branches. Lexa tilted her head in both confusion and amusement.
"Lexa!" Clarke called out excitedly when she saw the Commander.
"Hello, Clarke," Lexa greeted her softly, a small smile on her lips.
"Are you here on business or pleasure?" Clarke wondered, secretly hoping it would be the latter.
"All business with you is pleasure," Lexa replied cleverly, making Clarke's eyes light up. "May I ask you something, Clarke?" The question came out serious, almost nervous.
"Of course," Clarke replied, leaning in with a worried expression. Was something wrong?
"Why is there a tree in the middle of your camp?" Lexa whispered, so as not to let the other Sky People hear. Clarke let out a burst of laughter, which slightly offended Lexa at first, but then filled her with lightness – Clarke's happiness was beautiful and delicate. Lexa had witnessed a troubled, stressed, and aching Clarke far too often, so seeing her laugh felt like a treat.
"It's for Christmas," Clarke explained, only to receive a blank stare from Lexa as a response. "Don't tell me Grounders don't have Christmas?" Lexa shook her head. "Okay, well, it's a time of the year when people give each other gifts."
"In exchange for what?" asked Lexa, curiously, confused by the transaction.
"For nothing," Clarke replied, confused as to why Lexa was confused.
"Oh..." Lexa nodded as if she understood. She didn't. "Why?"
"To show people you care about them," Clarke laughed, taking in how endearing a confused Lexa could be. Lexa's eyes widened.
"Then I must give you a Christmas, Clarke," Lexa's voice was almost cheerful.
"Okay, you do that, Lexa," Clarke smiled, too amused to correct her.
Finding a proper gift for Clarke was harder than Lexa had anticipated. Pacing back and forth in front of her throne, Lexa ran ideas through her head until she could think of no more.
"Indra," she called out to the guard who stood outside her tent, so that he might fetch her. After a few moments, Indra came in, a worried look on her face.
"Is everything in order, Heda?" Indra asked.
"No," Lexa answered sternly. "Indra, I am in need of your assistance."
"Anything, Heda," Indra assured her.
"What should I give Clarke for Christmas?"
"Uh..." Indra stood frozen for a moment, unable to comprehend exactly what was being asked of her. "Is this about the tree in Camp Jaha?"
"Yes."
"Sky People," Indra scoffed. "Their tree will soon die out."
"Yes, Indra, you're right! Thank you," Lexa said, dismissing her. "You may step out now."
It was Christmas Day, and even the Grounders gathered at Camp Jaha to exchange gifts. Lexa walked in gracefully, triumphantly, proud and excited to show Clarke her affections in the way of the Sky People.
"You made it," Clarke smiled as she walked up to Lexa. "Merry Christmas!" She leaned in for an embrace, and Lexa felt her muscles grow limp as she felt the girl's warmth on her chest.
"Merry, indeed," Lexa replied. "Are you ready for your gift, my Sky Princess?"
"Me first," Clarke replied, digging into her jacket pocket to pull out a small box.
"It is... a box?" Lexa looked confused. "It is beautiful, Clarke."
"Open it, silly," Clarke said with a smile.
"Oh, of course," Lexa replied, shaking her head half-embarrassed. Opening it, she found a very strange, silver artifact inside. Before she could ask, Clarke answered.
"It's a watch. It was my father's watch, actually. But it's yours now. You can tell time with it," Lexa looked confused about the last part. "I can teach you how. Maybe then you won't be late for our dates," Clarke joked.
"I love it, Clarke," Lexa smiled. "I apologize. I did not know our Christmases had to be boxed."
"That's okay," Clarke replied with a smile.
"Here," Lexa reached into her coat pocket and took out an apple.
"An apple?" Clarke asked, a sweet smile on her face.
"Yes. You may eat it, if you wish, and afterwards use the seeds to plant a new tree," Lexa explained. "One which will not die in a few weeks like that one. Don't worry; I can teach you how. Maybe then we can have more Christmases."
Clarke took the apple in her hand, an enormous smile on her lips as she looked up at Lexa, who tilted her head questionably.
"I apologize, Clarke. Was this not a proper Christmas?" Lexa asked, worried.
"It's the best Christmas," Clarke assured her. "But I have one more thing to give you."
"Clarke, I brought only one gift. I may not be able to repay you," Lexa said, concerned.
"I'm sure we can figure something out," Clarke said as she leaned forward and gave Lexa a gentle, tender kiss.
"Oh," Lexa understood, wrapping her arms around Clarke and pulling her close, returning the sweet kiss. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Model Building
Chapter 1: Model Building
P.S. I am capable of writing something that won't kill your feelings! Would you look at that!
"Did you finish the door yet, Lexa?" Lexa sighed, her hands tired from working, her brain feeling numb from the constant task of molding and remolding the pliant material she and Clarke were handling. She bent the small door in her hands one last time, mumbling, "I'm sick of building this," under her breath. She folded her fingers around it, holding it in her fist above Clarke's outstretched hand.
"Well, if you had concentrated and continued planning the attack on the map," Clarke was irritated, and it showed easily in her voice, "we wouldn't have to build this model, now would we?"
"I wasn't the one who sat on it…" Lexa said, smirking. She looked at Clarke through the corner of her eyes, not needing to turn her head to see Clarke's wide eyes and flushed expression. She decided to continue teasing, wanting to see how far she could push her. "And you seem to prefer it when my attention is focused on you."
Apparently, she had pushed much too far. At first, Clarke's gaze just drifted down, unable to look Lexa in the eyes or at her smug expression. Then she realized that she was staring at Lexa's toned arms, drawing on the lines of lean muscle usually obscured by armor and dark clothing. Then Clarke blushed even harder, turned her head away, her hair falling to cover the side of her face, obscuring Lexa's view, and reached down distractedly to continue working. "Well, I don't want that type of attention from you."
Realizing her mistake, Lexa attempted to make amends, albeit feebly. "I-I'm sorry, Clarke…" Lexa reached down blindly and picked up one of her carved trees. "I… made you some tiny trees…" she said in a hushed voice. Clarke still wouldn't look at her. "Clarke." She tried again.
"Keep making your trees," Clarke responded somewhat harshly.
"I said I'm sorry," Lexa said. She was starting to get worried now; she didn't know how exactly to continue. She'd never seen Clarke like this - she refused to look her in the eyes, she was skittish and nervous. Clarke was rarely skittish and nervous. Lexa pursed her lips and furrowed her eyebrows worriedly, feeling the gear between them pushing into her crinkled skin. She pivoted her upper body, raising her right hand and poking at Clarke's shoulder. "Hey,"
Finally, Lexa got a response. Clarke turned to her, her face less red than before but still slightly distressed. "Fine," she murmured, and Lexa's face softened, the corners of her lips upturning in a small smile. "We need to finish this, though."
Lexa's smile disappeared, and she turned back to whittling small trees. This is so boring, she thought, her fingers just going along with muscle memory at this point.
Clarke shook her head slightly, making some of her hair fall to the side of her face, so Lexa wouldn't be able to see her as her eyes watched Lexa's hands. She hadn't had many opportunities to see the Commander without long sleeves or armor, so she was secretly savoring this while she had the chance. She would be lying if she said she wasn't distracted by Lexa, even though she was only watching her hands idly working in her lap.
Lexa felt Clarke's gaze on her from the moment Clarke turned away and tried to appear busy. It probably was not the best of ideas to be whittling with a very sharp knife without looking at said knife, but Lexa did it anyway. Out of the corner of her eye, she looked at Clarke, an idea crossing her mind. Her eyebrows lifted, and a small, lopsided smile graced her lips. Lexa carefully set down the knife and tree beside her. She set her right hand down on the ground in front of her, slowly pushing herself towards Clarke. Wrapping an arm around Clarke's shoulder, her smile grew, and her eyebrows quirked.
At Lexa's unexpected presence, Clarke began blushing furiously. When she felt Lexa's hand burning through the fabric on her shoulder, thumb carefully brushing over the skin on the base of her neck, her heart started racing. Clarke's head tilted down away from Lexa's, she managed to stammer out, "What d-do you w-want now?"
Lexa's grin only intensified, her right hand coming up to cup the side of Clarke's face and draw their gazes together. Her thumb traced Clarke's lips lightly, eyes playful, noses nearly close enough to brush.
Clarke averted her gaze, attempting to salvage the situation. "W-we need to f-f-finish the mod- Lexa!"
Lexa's hands had relocated, one to the small of her back and the other to her shoulder, pushing her to the ground. Lexa followed her immediately, sealing their lips together softly, resting half on top of Clarke. She felt Clarke's hand reach up to grip her bicep, the other resting limply on the floor. She saw Clarke close her eyes and heard her exhale into the kiss.
Abruptly, Lexa pulled away and pushed herself up onto her arms. "Now, we can finish the model."
Clarke's left hand twisted around her shoulder, the other twining in Lexa's thick, unbraided hair. "I think I would rather do this…" she responded, pulling Lexa back down to her.
Needless to say, the model was going to be far from their minds for at least another hour. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
My weakness is you, my love
Chapter 1: My weakness is you, my love
Clarke gasped awake and threw her blankets off. Her dream had been vivid and covered in red. She glanced down at her hands, swearing there had been blood on them a second ago. But no, it was only a dream. It had to be.
She had watched as her co-leader bled out, begging her to help him. They had all been there - the kids they had saved from Mount Weather and the ones they couldn't - all shouting at her to do something. She had tried to stop the bleeding; she had tried to make her hands do what her mind told them to, but instead, they buried themselves in his chest, into the wound, to grasp his heart.
She had heard his screams as he begged her to stop, but her hands would not follow her orders. A laugh erupted from her mouth as she leaned down and whispered, "Love is weakness," before crushing his heart in her hands. She had felt his heart burst beneath her fingers and saw the light fade from his eyes as everyone around them cried and called her a murderer.
She had seen what it had done to him when she said those words to him, when she told him it was worth the risk. She could tell how it hurt him. She had seen the light go out of his eyes before he put on a brave face and took the map. She had sent him to that mountain, and she needed to know she hadn't killed him.
Clarke stumbled out of her tent and raced over to her co-leader's quarters, too freaked out to think about any guests he might have. She called out his name in a desperate plea and tore through the tent opening, dropping down beside him. He rolled over in his bed and grunted out a confused "Clarke? What are you -"
Clarke pushed his blankets aside and pressed her hands to his bare chest, letting out a frantic puff of air. Bellamy looked confused as hell by her actions, but stayed still as her sleep-clumsy hands flitted around him in search of some sort of injury.
"You're okay?" She looked at him with wide eyes, and Bellamy could see fear in them. "Yeah, Clarke, I'm okay. What's wrong?" He sat up in his bed, tossing off his blankets and grasping her shoulders.
"I - I had a nightmare, and I just wanted to make sure it wasn't real." She seemed to be calming down now, and Bellamy rubbed her arms, trying to stop her shaking. "What happened in it? What got you so worried?"
Her face crumpled, and she squeezed her eyes shut as her cheeks were stained with tears. "I sent you to that mountain, Bellamy, and I'm - I'm so sorry." She shuddered with her sobs, and Bellamy wrapped her up in his arms, pressing her face to his chest and tucking it under his chin.
Her cries were agonizing, and Bellamy's eyes loosened a few tears at hearing her in such distress. He rubbed her back and whispered to her as she gripped him. "Shh, Clarke, it's okay. It wasn't your fault. It had to be done; we saved them. Everything's alright now."
He knew she felt guilty for sending him in there, and he had been hurt by what she had said. When she had told him it was worth the risk, he felt his breath leave him, and he had worked to get it back. It was even worse as she said it with a blank expression, as if she hadn't just told him that he meant nothing to her. But as soon as he had heard her voice over the radio, he had forgiven her. He had wished he could have seen her face when she told him she knew he could do it, so that he could have seen how she cared. But he had heard it in her voice, and it kept him going.
After a good ten minutes, she seemed to be calming down, and he was just about to release her from his grip when he heard her mumble something. "What?" Clarke pulled back from his arms and ran a finger near his collarbone, over a scar that lay there. "That's a new one." "Clarke -"
"That's a new one, Bellamy. Where did it come from?" He looked at her pleadingly, not wanting to tell her what she already knew. He didn't want to tell her it was from Mount Weather because he knew she would only blame herself again. She managed to find two other new scars around his torso from one of his scuffles with some guards. She was furious, but her voice shook as she repeated her question. "Where did they come from, Bellamy?" He only looked down at his hands, and she sighed, knowing anyway. "Then those are my fault too."
Bellamy shook his head, looking at her and taking her hands in his. "I chose to go there, Clarke. You may have told me to go, but I chose to listen, and these scars are from the mountain men, not you." He scooted closer and placed a hand on her cheek. "I would walk into hell for you, princess, and then I would fight every damn demon in there just to get back to you."
She looked shocked at his confession and squeezed his hand that still held hers. Neither of them said the three words they had been holding back for so long, but they both felt it, and that was enough for now. Clarke pressed forward to kiss his lips softly, tasting her tears on her tongue as he kissed her back. It was short and sweet, and she pulled back only to lay in his arms as he rested back in his bed.
They settled themselves in the animal furs and held each other, finally feeling okay since they came back from the mountain. "Thank you, Bellamy." "No problem, Princess." |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
New Opportunities
Chapter 1: New Opportunities
This is dedicated to those of us leaving education and going into employment for the first time, because that can be terrifying.
Clarke is lying on the sofa, feeling awful and possibly contemplating throwing up, when she hears Bellamy's "Hello?" from the corridor.
"In the living room!" she yells.
She hears his steps approaching, and then it's him, standing there, tall and handsome as always, with a worried face. However, when he notices the coffee table and the remnants of food there, he relaxes slightly and lets out a disappointed sigh.
"Did you eat an entire tub of Ben & Jerry's in one sitting again?" he asks.
Clarke hugs her stomach again and scrunches up her nose. "It's not my fault; it's peanut butter cup flavor! No person in their sane mind would resist."
Bellamy smiles indulgently. "And now you feel like you're going to throw up."
"Yeah," she says, and it sounds like a whine.
"Move over," he says.
She moves her feet a little, and Bellamy sits down, then puts her feet in his lap. "You guys should really lock your front door. I don't know how many times I'm going to tell you that."
"Tell that to Raven and Octavia – it's them who always forget," Clarke says, but at Bellamy's pointed look, she sighs. "Fine, I forget too. But you know, if the door was locked, you'd be staring at it from the other side right now, because there's no way I would've gotten up to let you in."
"Touché," he replies.
"I'm never looking at food again," she says, closing her eyes and listening to the intro to Brooklyn Nine-Nine. She suspects Bellamy put it on because he knows it's her favorite pick-me-up show.
Then, just as she suspected, "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.
Clarke just shrugs, not knowing what to say.
"You're obviously stressed, so tell me why," he pauses and looks away. "You don't have to, of course. I know you're the type to pretend your feelings don't exist rather than shout about them, but talking might help? And, you never know, but I might have some wisdom to impart on you."
She considers that for a second, then chews her bottom lip a little.
"I applied for like fifteen jobs on Friday night. I've gotten zero response back so far. Plus, I had a nightmare last night where I didn't get a single job and had to work as a shopping assistant at Walmart for the rest of my life. And I know it sounds stupid, but it was one of those repetitive nightmares that I just couldn't shake. In short, I'm terrified," she says, not looking at him as she concentrates on the chipping nail polish on her right hand.
She can feel rather than see him shake his head. "Clarke, this was last Friday? It's Wednesday today; it's been what, three days? They wouldn't have even started looking at your applications until Monday morning at the earliest. Them not getting back to you yet means nothing; you have to wait at least a couple of weeks to know for sure you didn't get them."
Clarke knows this; she does. It's just that it's her last semester of college, and she always thought she'd be one of those people who aren't scared to graduate. She thought she'd be excited. And she is; she likes change and new opportunities. But she also likes to be sure and to know where her future is going, and right now, it's just a huge question mark, and that terrifies her.
"How long did it take you to get your job?" she asks.
He contemplates that for a second. "I think they took a few weeks to contact me. I'm pretty sure."
Clarke sighs. "Maybe my mother is right, and I should go to medical school."
Bellamy raises his eyebrows. "Do you want to go to medical school?"
"I really don't want to go to medical school," she replies.
He chuckles at that, and they both remain quiet for a few moments.
"Everything is going to be fine with you; trust me. You're smart and talented, and have good grades; someone will want to hire you. And it's amazing that you know what you want to do and you're pursuing it," he tells her with a face so serious, as if he's making an official speech. Clarke loves it. "Worrying like this is completely normal," he smiles at her softly. "Just don't eat that much ice cream in one go again, okay?"
That reminds her of the feeling of sickness she forgot about for a minute, and she frowns. "Trust me, I won't."
Clarke sits up and moves so that they're side by side, and hugs him. Bellamy hugs back – affectionate and warm – and she smiles softly. He always makes her feel better.
Raven appears in the living room as if out of nowhere (it always scares Clarke how quietly she moves around, especially with her brace), and sees them hugging.
"Ugh, get a room," she says with a dramatic eye roll, and Clarke and Bellamy pull apart, blushing like school kids. But then Raven notices the empty tub on the coffee table. "Clarke, you ate my ice cream!"
"Sorry," Clarke shrugs her shoulders, giving her a sheepish look. "I promise I'll buy you another one."
Raven just rolls her eyes again and walks away with a bottle of water from the fridge. Clarke looks at Bellamy, and they both smile at the ridiculousness of the situation, and Clarke thinks that everything will be okay. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Off with his head
Chapter 1: Off with his head
"That's it for today, guys, until Friday. And don't forget the name of the remarkable cabinetmaker that built King Arthur's round table," Professor Jaha said, looking up from his notes. Clarke looked up from her notebook just in time to watch her professor proudly survey his class. He took a moment before dropping the punchline. "Sir Cumference." As usual, only one genuine laugh was heard amidst the forced chuckles of those who desperately wanted to please the teacher. However, everyone in World History 304 knew that Bellamy Blake was the only one who actually found the teacher's corny jokes hilarious. Professor Jaha smiled, pleased with his favorite pupil, and dismissed the class while Clarke rolled her eyes back down to her notebook.
Clarke Griffin wasn't one for history. Art history, on the other hand, was a different story. The girl could chronologically mention all of Bernini's inappropriately badass sculptures, and one shouldn't even try to test her on cubism - Clarke knew her Picasso. But when it came to world history, the blonde constantly considered the possibility of jumping out of the window, especially at the end of every single freaking class when Professor Jaha pretended to be about to drop a very important piece of information that just ended up being an even cornier joke than the one from the previous class.
Every single freaking class, that Blake kid just lost it. "You heard Blake's laughter today? It sounded like a turkey being slapped," Clarke muttered to Raven as they walked to their dorm. History never failed to put her in a bad mood.
"Yeah, but you totally think he's hot, though," Raven said, trying to provoke a reaction.
Glaring at her roommate only made her laugh harder. "What did Jaha mean with Henry VIII being the real songwriter of Blank Space?" Raven asked, still chuckling.
World History was not important for Raven's Aerospace Engineering major, but Clarke had begged her not to let her go through Jaha's class alone again. The only conditions Raven gave were to get free burgers at Grounders - the diner Clarke worked at - and to have the blonde explain the lame jokes she didn't get.
"You know the lyrics, right? Got a long list of ex-lovers, they'll tell you I'm insane. Henry VIII had like six wives or something, and beheaded three of them," Clarke explained. Raven nodded at Clarke's explanation, but both girls were intercepted by a tall, freckled figure. Clarke totally did not think about removing that shit-eating smirk with her own lips, no sir.
"Two, actually," Bellamy corrected her. "An easy way to remember the fates of Henry's consorts is to repeat to yourself: divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived."
"Wow, thank you for that completely useless piece of information we didn't ask for, Blake," Clarke said, unimpressed.
"No problem, princess," Bellamy replied with a smirk.
"You totally think he's hot, though," Raven reminded the blonde when Bellamy had walked away. The future astronaut got no free burger that day.
"That's it for today, guys, see you on Friday. And remember, the last Sai Cha Ball took place in 1977," Professor Jaha said, attempting to end the class with another joke. This time, Bellamy's laughter was surrounded by stupefied expressions, not even the teacher's pets trying to fake a laugh. For the first time in the semester, when Raven asked, the blonde had no explanation for the joke.
Later that day, when Bellamy was waiting for Octavia to finish her shift at Grounders so he could drive her home, Clarke finally lost it and walked up to him. "Look, Blake, we all think you and Jaha are a bit crazy because, honestly, no one sane could find historical puns that funny. But could you please, please explain today's joke to me? Because it's killing me."
To her surprise, Bellamy Blake blushed, giving her a sheepish chuckle. "It's kind of geeky, actually." Well, no shit, Sherlock, Clarke thought, arching an eyebrow to invite him to continue.
"In Star Wars, Sai Cha is one of The Marks of Contact, a lightsaber technique in which you behead your opponent. And a fun fact is that the last guillotined person in France, Hamida Djandoubi, was guillotined in 1977, the very same year the first Star Wars movie came out. So Jaha made a reference to the Victim Balls, which were special dances where only people who had lost a family member to the guillotine were invited. Supposedly, revelers wore red ribbons around their necks to imitate the slice of the guillotine blade, and performed a dance that involved a sudden nod of the head to simulate being decapitated. These dances were supposed to be so fun that people actually lied about their relatives being guillotined so they could attend. Sadly, there is not enough evidence that these dances were true..." Clarke blinked, making Bellamy realize that he was rambling, something he constantly did when his passion was brought up. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, Victim Balls? Sai Cha Balls? It was a good joke."
"I still don't get why it's funny," Clarke said, her lips a flat line.
"Do you find anything funny at all, princess?" Bellamy asked, exasperated, but recovered his smirk after Clarke scoffed. "Well, one day I will make you laugh, and then you'll have to go out with me."
"Dream on, Blake," Clarke replied.
Days later, when Clarke opened a text sent by Bellamy during class and cracked up laughing, she had to go out with him. But come on, that was funny.
"Hey Clarke! Why did Renoir become an Impressionist? (He did it for the Monet.) Olive's Garden, Saturday?" |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Overworked
Chapter 1: Overworked
"She should be back by now," Raven muttered, continuing to shake her leg repeatedly as her impatience grew.
Abby had promised Raven she'd be back for lunch after missing dinner due to an emergency in medical. Raven reluctantly accepted, knowing there wasn't much Raven or Abby could do about the situation at this point, and instead resolved to keep herself occupied by tinkering with some old appliances they had gathered in the garage. But after sleeping in the following morning, completing her PT exercises, and finishing her rounds around camp, all Raven could think about was when Abby was getting back. As the minutes passed, so too did Raven's patience, and by twenty after one, she had had enough.
It wouldn't have been the first time Abby had become so consumed in her work that she had lost track of time entirely. In fact, if it weren't for Jackson being with Abby most of the time and urging her to take her break, no one except the patients on the Ark would probably ever get to see her. But today, Raven knew, was different, as Jackson had left medical only a few hours after Raven said goodbye to Abby for the night after completing a forty-eight hour shift. Abby was left to her own devices, so Raven took it upon herself to step in.
"Woah, what's the rush? You look like you just found a new formula for an improved nuke," Wick jogged a few steps to catch up with Raven, laughing at her determined walk.
Raven didn't stop, but instead continued on her path towards medical. "Shut up, Wick."
"Wait, was I right? Because if you did, I-"
"Abby was supposed to be back two hours ago. I'm going to medical to get her out of there before she starts sleep-walking through an operation."
Raven quickened her pace, hoping to leave Wick behind. "Alright, fine, but watch yourself though. You don't want to trip and split something open. Then Abby will be stitching you up in her sleep."
"Ha, funny."
"Bye, Raven."
Raven turned the corner a little too quickly, causing her to stumble into the doorframe of medical. After taking a moment to catch her breath, she walked in, scanning the room for a frantic woman beside one of the patients. No luck. She began walking around the ward, tempted to call out Abby's name, and she would have too if it weren't for the patients who were sleeping.
"She has to be here somewhere," Raven thought to herself.
Raven gently placed a hand on Abby's shoulder, shaking her lightly to try and rouse her. "Abby, wake up. Come on."
Abby fluttered her eyes, slowly coming to and realizing where she was. "Ugh," she moaned, placing her hands over her eyes. "I totally fell asleep in the middle of this. I still have to-"
"Sleep, Abby. You need to sleep. You can get the rest of this done later," Raven finished, looking Abby almost sternly in the eyes to let her know she was serious. "Come on, let's get you to bed. Your back is going to be all sorts of problems if you stay here."
"Fine," Abby submitted. "As long as you'll stop nagging me. You have to promise to wake me up in two hours though. I really need to get this done."
"No, you're getting a full eight hours in."
Raven and Abby proceeded out of medical, but not before Abby woke Jackson from his cot to let him know she was leaving.
"Raven, that all needs to be taken care of by the end of the day. I can't just put it off because I'm tired."
"Six hours."
"Three."
"Four."
"Fine. But you have to promise you'll wake me up."
They walked into their room, Raven pulling back the blankets of their bed as Abby crawled in. Raven smirked. "You don't trust me?"
"Raven."
"What?" she asked innocently, smiling as Abby's expression turned serious.
"You're enjoying this too much."
"What?"
"Nagging me about my health."
"Hey, you're on me all the time about how I need to be taking care of myself. But sometimes the doctor needs a little reminding too."
Raven bent down to kiss the top of Abby's head before pulling the covers back over her.
"Goodnight, Raven," was all Abby said before turning over under the sheets and closing her eyes.
Raven grabbed a book and her now cold chicken and potatoes off the side table before climbing into bed, pulling Abby in a little closer, and she smiled. It may not have been the day she had planned, but it was the one they both needed. "Goodnight, Abby."
Later, Raven found Abby slumped over a cold, metal table with one arm tucked under her head for support. She looked exhausted, surrounded by patient files and still dressed in her used lab coat. It was Raven's guess that Abby hadn't meant to fall asleep there, but instead had passed out from pure exhaustion while trying to get that last piece of paperwork done. Despite the fatigue Abby wore, she looked almost peaceful, and Raven was half-tempted to just leave her that way. But after spending three straight days working practically non-stop, Raven knew that a cold metal bench wasn't what Abby needed right now. She needed a warm bed and quality sleep. The only problem was, in order to get her there, Raven would have to wake her up.
Raven gently placed a hand on Abby's shoulder, shaking her lightly to try and rouse her. "Abby, wake up. Come on." |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Chapter 1: Princess
It was the first time he had been in town for three months. Being a traveling detective had its ups and downs, and one of those downs was not being able to see his sister as often. Growing up with her, he was used to waking up to her alarm clock screeching, or finding her on the couch with the TV on, or even waiting late into the night for her to come home. But now, she was an adult, and in college, and he had his job, and was never in town, but he finally was after three months, and that was basically how he met Clarke Griffin and bestowed upon her the Princess nickname.
He had heard of Clarke before. Octavia would go on and on about her sometimes. She was a sophomore at the college, Ark University, and the T.A. for one of O's classes. On the first day of class, they had hit it off instantly, and Clarke offered her the extra room in her apartment. "Something about her girlfriend moving out," Octavia had said over Skype months ago, "a bad breakup. And the rent isn't a one-person job."
He had visited her a few times, but they had always met up in town at some diner or restaurant, but he was finally in the apartment this time, waiting for his little sister to finish getting ready in her room. It was a nice apartment, nicer than his little one-bedroom, one-bath, and half a kitchen studio back in Chicago, and he was happy that Octavia had found such a good friend so fast. The floor was covered in thick, soft carpet, and the walls were painted a pale yellow. The furniture made a weird noise under him when he sat down, probably because it was leather, but it was comfortable nonetheless, a homely little place.
Bellamy huffed as he raked a hand through his hair, glancing at his watch to make sure they would make their reservations for lunch, when he heard a door farther into the apartment open and shut loudly. "O, I know you love hot showers, but that doesn't mean-" the raspy voice cut off as a girl a year or so older than Octavia stopped at the end of the hallway, standing in the living room.
Clarke Griffin. She was exactly what he had pictured. Her blonde hair was brushed out and hanging down her shoulders, and her blue eyes took in the appearance of Bellamy. He felt a shiver go down his spine when they met his eyes, and she narrowed hers a little. He could make out a freckle right above her lips. Securely wrapped around her, though, was a pale pink towel. On the top, it had big, bright pink letters sewn into it: Princess. There was even a little crown on top of the P.
Her brows bushed together as they looked at each other for another moment before she opened her mouth again. "You're not Octavia," that raspy, low voice came out, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick. She looked too innocent to have such a sexy voice, and - woah, did he just call his sister's roommate sexy? Snap back to reality.
"Ah, yeah," Bellamy cleared his throat, looking down at himself, "not since the last time I checked." Clarke ran her eyes over him, trying to process who the stranger in her apartment was probably. He expected her to pick it up quickly, as there were a lot of similarities between the two siblings: square jaws, long noses, dark hair, and wild eyes. It seemed to click quickly, though, because her eyes widened, and her mouth made a little O.
"You're Bellamy," she said, her voice higher pitched, and she smiled widely, taking a step towards him and putting her hand out, "Hi, you're here for lunch with her. Great to meet you. I'm-" she stopped, glancing down at herself as if finally realizing that she was only in a towel, "not wearing any clothes."
"No, you're not," Bellamy said, and then smirked at her, "but I don't mind." "Ugh, I should have known," Clarke snorted, rolling her eyes, "you and O must have the same dirty minds if you're siblings."
"Please don't tell me my little sis has a dirty mind," Bellamy groaned, closing his eyes, "it seems like only yesterday I was on the phone with her, and she was telling me about her first day." "That's because it was yesterday, Bell," Octavia finally appeared, clasping a necklace on, "and sorry, I was excited to tell you about my first day at work."
"I'm just joking," Bellamy rolled his eyes and stood up, flattening his hands on his pants, "ready?" "Yep!" Octavia chirped and then looked to Clarke, running her eyes over the girl. "Don't you think you're a little underdressed for meeting my brother?" "Well, if someone didn't use up all the hot water again..."
"I was getting ready to go out with Bellamy," Octavia pouted, "three months, Clarke, three months." "Yeah, whatever," Clarke waved her off, crossing her arms, "I just prefer a warm shower." "Hey, if you need help warming up," Bellamy snickered, giving her a wink, "just give me a call."
"Ew, we're leaving, now," Octavia said, scrunching up her nose, "see you later, Clarke." Bellamy was pulled to the door, and he couldn't help looking over his shoulder to watch Clarke walk down the hall. The towel she had on was pretty small, and her butt was looking pretty nice from this angle. He smirked, thinking about the way the towel was printed, and then shouted out, "Have a good shower, Princess," before the door closed, and Clarke whipped around to glare at him. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Put Your Pants Back On
Chapter 1: Put Your Pants Back On
Clarke stood on the landing of the stairs in their makeshift hideout, wearing an uncharacteristically short dress and a cross look on her face.
"What do you mean take it off?" she asked.
"I mean put your damn pants back on, Clarke. You look pretty, but uncomfortable as hell," Bellamy replied.
"No shit, Sherlock, none of us really grew up getting fancy! And if you don't like how I look, why didn't you ask Raven to go?" Clarke retorted.
Raven let out a snort and let her leg cast hit the floor with a loud metal thunk. Clarke winced, then refocused on her belligerent opponent, the esteemed Bellamy Blake, whose arms were crossed with just as much stubbornness.
"There's Oct–" Clarke started to say.
"Out of the question," Bellamy's voice cut through hers like his hand through the air.
"Well, you didn't have to make me go through all this effort just to call me ugly–" Clarke began.
Bellamy growled. "You're fucking gorgeous, Clarke, but you can't fake the confidence that's needed."
Jasper tried to smile without being obvious. Monty only made it worse by leaning over and whispering, "Do you think Mom and Dad will ever kiss and make up? Or will we always be stuck in the divorce scare phase?"
Roan, who was present due to his intel that spawned this crazy yet potentially brilliant plot, looked at the two quizzically as Bellamy and Clarke both snapped their heads towards them. The two practically dissolved into giggles when both combatants yelled, "Cut that out!"
At the fond and exasperated look Clarke and Bellamy tossed each other, Jasper hit the ground from his laughter.
But the blonde was not cut out for this job. She knew it, too, which only compounded the anxiety in her shoulders.
Raven was smiling, too, and as Roan watched, Jasper's laughter took the edge off Clarke's shoulders. She couldn't charm a friendly kitten, but maybe she could at least overhear something before she gave herself away.
"Hey, Da– Bellamy, why don't you take Clarke to get a drink? I hear shots are the traditional social lubricant," Raven suggested.
The man in question narrowed his eyes at the mechanic, clearly unsure of how to take being almost called 'dad.' "You can't ask Clarke to go in buzzed. I want her back alive."
"Who said I was going to die?" Clarke asked.
"There's still a price for the Wanheda–" Bellamy started to say.
"Remind me why we can't just send Octavia? Who, you know, has learned the language like a native," Clarke said.
Bellamy shifted slightly, as if he were going to turn away, but his focus remained on Clarke. "Look, just go put your pants back on and we'll get one of the boys to go. Jasper's adorable. All the girls will talk to him."
Jasper and Monty both looked at each other in confusion.
"You are not going to send Jasper into an underground bunker party–" Clarke began.
"He can decide for himself–" Bellamy said.
"You mean you can decide, but ask him with just enough appeal to duty that he thinks it's his own decision–" Clarke retorted.
"You're not his mother!" Bellamy exclaimed.
"Oh, like you're better, Mr. Team Dad," Clarke shot back.
As Bellamy huffed, insulted, Jasper slipped Monty a few bills. "Damn, she caught on to the nicknames quick."
"Fine, put your pants on and then we'll take a volunteer from the guys." At that moment, Murphy strolled in from wherever he was. "Look, why don't we just send Murphy?"
"What?" Clarke asked.
Bellamy turned on him before Clarke could interject. "Want to go to a fancy party and eat free food? The price is gathering information."
With a bite of his apple and a shrug, Murphy replied, "Sure."
"There, problem solved. Now you can get comfortable again, Clarke," Bellamy said.
Unable to really protest, she huffed, and then again to mock Bellamy, before immediately stumbling back up the stairs from whence she came. At which point, Bellamy dropped onto the couch, utterly exhausted from the battle.
"Don't worry, Pops, I'm sure you'll win the next one," Murphy quipped.
When Murphy looked like a respectable gentleman for the first time in his life, and Clarke was back to her regular self, Bellamy pulled her aside.
"I'm sorry, I was out of line, it was rude of me–" Bellamy started to say.
"Just stop, Bellamy. I get it. We don't need to rehash this. My pride and self-esteem will recover. You haven't damaged it," Clarke said.
"Good, beautiful women shouldn't doubt themselves," Bellamy replied.
"Wait, hold up," she snapped, grabbing his arm so he couldn't vanish. "You think I'm pretty."
"Clarke, you're gorgeous. You looked absolutely stunning, which would've attracted more attention than you should have as an undercover agent; and honestly, the thought of some stranger staring at your legs was more than I could handle," Bellamy said.
She grinned, crossing her arms in triumph as he realized just exactly where his rambling had led.
"I didn't – I –" Bellamy stuttered.
Clarke reached up to gently cup his cheek. "Let's get through this, and then we'll talk, okay? And not just about your protector complex."
He just stood there, stunned, as Clarke retreated.
"Besides, we can't leave these delinquents without any parental supervision. I shudder to think what they'd be like if their parents split up." She flashed him a comforting smile as she left, leaving him alone with a slightly warm face and the image of curly-haired blond children being the absolute death of him. |
This is a short fanfic story.
Genre: tv
100
Sleep Without You
Chapter 1: Sleep Without You
This is a songfic inspired by "Sleep Without You" by Brett Young. Give it a listen.
It was 1am on Thursday, and he was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for Clarke to come home. Clarke had gone out with Raven, Octavia, Harper, Monroe, and Maya for their monthly Girls' Night Out, an event that was strictly "No Boys Allowed." The guys had come over for poker night, as all their respective significant others were together. They had left about two hours ago, since most of them had to work in the morning. Bellamy was on winter break from the university, where he was a Greek and Roman History professor. Clarke had switched shifts at the hospital earlier in the week, which meant she didn't have to work the 3rd shift tonight, making it possible for her to attend girls' night.
He and Clarke had been together for just over a year. They were similarly different, and that's what made them work. Smiling to himself, he thought about the conversation they had earlier in the week.
"So," Clarke started, as she dropped onto the couch next to him, where he was grading papers. "Seeds in a field," he responded, not looking up from the quiz he was reviewing. "You are such a nerd," she said through a smile. "True, but I'm your nerd." "And don't you forget it," she added. Audrey had called, asking if they could trade shifts; she would take Clarke's overnight shift on Thursday if Clarke could cover her shift that night.
"Okay," he said, knowing that being a surgical resident meant Clarke worked insane hours, and days off were precious, especially unscheduled ones. "Well, I was wondering if it would be okay to postpone date night to next week," Clarke continued. "Harper called, wanting to do girls' night, since they all have Friday off with the holiday." "Sure," he replied. Clarke raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? No comment, no argument?" "Nope," he said. "Go have fun with your girls. Octavia was just complaining to me the other day about how she never gets to spend time with you, since you're always working or getting called in. I know you can use a girls' night. Besides, I know where you sleep." He said this with a wink and his signature smirk.
She gave him a soft smile as she leaned in for a kiss. "Of course you do, in your arms." She kissed him, sweet and full of love. "Nowhere else I'd want to be." He kissed her back and then rubbed his nose on hers. "Go call Octavia and tell her the good news. She'll probably scream so loud I'll be able to hear it out here." Clarke kissed him again and darted into their room to call Octavia. Not 60 seconds later, he could hear Octavia screaming into the phone.
Now it was almost 1am, and he figured Clarke would be on her way soon. They always stayed until bar time. Most of the time, they got an Uber home, but sometimes they called one of the boys to come pick them up. It was usually him, since he had the biggest car. Everyone always gave him a hard time about his 2000 Buick Park Avenue, but they always wanted him to drive, since it had a ton of space and was really comfortable.
He heard Clarke's text notification from the nightstand next to the bed and reached over to grab it. "Coming home soon" was all it said, and he knew she'd be home in about 30 minutes. After the guys had left, he had tried grading the few remaining term papers that were left. He finished the paper he was working on, turned off the TV, and went into their bedroom. After going through his nightly routine, he crawled into bed and tried to fall asleep. But he couldn't. After he and Clarke had gotten together the first time, they always had a hard time sleeping without each other. So here he was, lying wide awake, waiting for his girl to get home. Since Clarke had to work tomorrow, or rather, today, she wouldn't be drinking; just dancing the night away.
He heard a car pull up out front of their apartment and knew it was her. He went out to the living room to wait for her to come in. Sitting on the couch, he waited for her to come through the door. She did, not bothering to be quiet, kicking off her shoes at the door and audibly groaning with relief. Seeing the light on, she turned around, knowing full well he'd be on the couch, waiting for her.
"Have fun?" he asked, as she flopped into his lap. "Of course," she replied, snuggling into his lap. "Your sister would have killed me if I didn't." They sat like that, cuddled up on the couch together, until Clarke yawned loudly and shivered a little. "Alright, Sleepy, let's get you to bed," he said, standing up with her still in his arms. "Bell, put me down!" "Sorry, Princess, you're too tired to walk," he said, walking them into their room and setting her on the bed.
She smiled up at him sleepily and put her arms up, so he could pull her dress off. He chuckled and did so. She took off her bra and pulled on one of his T-shirts, which she refused to give back, and crawled under the covers. He followed her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back into his chest. Leaning over, he gave her a kiss. "Good night, Princess. I love you." She kissed him back. "Good night, Bell. I love you, too." |
Subsets and Splits