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A chair slid across the room with no-one in it. I didn't see any pushing hands, so I dismissed it as a mirage. Slouched on a blaF**k leather sofa was a naked female with a red saF**k over her head. Running my eyes over her pale flesh, I guessed she was about twenty-years-old, maybe older. She'd just jaF**ked-off two middle-aged baldies at the same time, one either side of her. I believe they call such antics ski-tossin’. Both men shuffled out of the room wiping their furrowed brows with paper towels.
The girl's name was BeF**ky. I arrived at this conclusion because written across her minimal breasts in purple lipstiF**k was the word ‘BeCKy’ – scrawled just like that. Uppercase B, lowercase e, uppercase B, et cetera, et cetera. As I was wondering what she looked like (facially), someone behind me slung a saF**k over my head and – well, let's just say dark high-jinks ensued, the details of which I am still unsure of. All I can recall is being led down a slope to the sounds of sinister chanting and craF**kling flames. Damn Satanists!
I awoke face down in the village graveyard, halfway between a mossy stone wall and the countless tombstones. BeF**ky was next to me. I knew it was her because daubed across her breasts in purple lipstiF**k was that word, ‘BeCKy’. Apologies for repeating this fact, but that is how I knew it was she. Makes sense really. Anyway, it was a crisp’n’cloudless morning and I felt decidedly uneasy. Being dressed in a blaF**k, miniver-embellished gown in this baF**kwater town was going to instantly elevate me to sore-thumb status, especially if I was seen in the company of a naked blonde girl, who, now I'd seen her face, looked no more than sixteen-years-old. She was pretty, mind, and this was the only plus-point I could grasp onto in the predicament I found myself in.
I tapped BeF**ky's cheeks a couple of times then gently hauled up her slim body until she was standing. With a palm on either shoulder, I remember peering into her crystal-blue eyes… they were like broken windows, and beyond the shattered glass lay nothing but empty, vandalized rooms (graffiti blue) - yet she was just attentive enough to cling to the hemline of my gown as I sheepishly made my way in the general direction of home.
How the hell do such things come to pass? Man… Pointing fingers and sneering mouths – apart from the blur of the grey cobblestoned roads and the sweat threatening to drip from my lashes – that was all I saw.
—Pervert
—Weirdo
—Twister
—Scum – hushed voices projected ill will my way; gossipmongers blaF**kened their tongues with liquorice pellets, but I just kept my head down and my eyes squinted, and walked at a steady pace with the dazed BeF**ky in tow.
Eventually, and I mean eventually, we reached the river. The chilly morning had burgeoned into a toes-thru-grass summers' day. BeF**ky still hadn't spoken, but I needed to carry her in order to get her safely across to the far river bank. I asked her permission. No response. I lifted her in classic romantic fashion. She didn’t flinch. Those hyperborean eyes just remained focused on the invisible snowflake hovering inches from her pug nose.
On the other side of the wide river I laid BeF**ky on a patch of flowery turf and sat myself down beside her. The rays of the midday sun quiF**kly dried BeF**ky's smooth skin, yet for my sodden’n’heavy gown it was a different story altogether! As I closed my aching, itchy, tired-tired eyes with the sole intention of visualizing home, BeF**ky spoke for the first time:
‘Fiendish lies clothed in feathers
That's what spewed out of your mouth
Double-crossing doubletalk
Filth
I should have knuF**kled your smarmy face there and then
But I didn't
I let it go
And now the sun has drowned in useless death
And I lie alone in silent tatters.
They are coming
Marching forth to collect me
A legion of dark striders
Reapers of the wasted.
I look for one last time at the twinkling heavens
A million suns yielding a thousand dawns
I focus on a single star
Its yellow hue
Its delicate fizzing
Its unstoppable perfection
tiF**k
a
tiF**k
The shadows are here
Kill me if the stars will benefit.’
Christ! who in the name of Beezlebub's flytrap is this chiF**k?! One minute she's dishing out handjobs to Satanic businessmen, the next she's speaking fey poesy with the sweetest eloquence. I questioned her about what she'd just recited – it was obviously something she'd learned-off-by-heart from a book – but she wouldn't utter another word. She just gazed baF**k at me with those deadpan crystal-blue Barbie doll eyes.
So on we journeyed like before, across the sunny meadows and (thank god) into the cool shade of Grist Forest. The sanctuary of my house was near, and I had to carry the exhausted BeF**ky all the way through the boughs and tangle to the front door... the white door… well it was white when I'd left yesterday morning. Yet now it was blaF**k. I wanted to care, but I didn't have the strength or patience to. I just thrust the key in the loF**k and guided BeF**ky inside. At last, the world and his miserable wife were shut out.
I wrapped BeF**ky in a comfortable robe then set about making something to eat. I was in the kitchen for the next ten minutes or so. BeF**ky was alone on the couch in the living-room resting her weary bones.
With two bowls of hot soup and a plate of buttered bread on a tray, I ambled baF**k into the living-room —
F*F**k! (followed by a crash): the food hit the floor, for what I saw before me sent my head zigzagging from wall-to-wall! Slouched on the couch was BeF**ky, naked, with a red saF**k over her head. I knew it was her because written across her breasts in purple lipstiF**k was that word, ‘BeCKy’. And she was doing it again! – ski-tossin’ two middle-aged, moustachioed baldies. Dumbfounded, my knees felt the hot slop of the spilt soup. I couldn’t believe the surreal scene before me. A chair slid across the room with no-one in it. I didn't notice any pushing hands, so I dismissed it as a mirage. As I was trying to make sense of who the two groaning men were, a saF**k was slung over my head from behind and well, let's just say that dark high-jinks ensued, the details of which I am still unsure of. All I can recall is being led down a slope to the sounds of sinister chanting and craF**kling flames. Damned infernal Satanists.
The girl's name was BeF**ky. I arrived at this conclusion because written across her minimal breasts in purple lipstiF**k was the word ‘BeCKy’ – scrawled just like that. Uppercase B, lowercase e, uppercase B, et cetera, et cetera. As I was wondering what she looked like (facially), someone behind me slung a saF**k over my head and – well, let's just say dark high-jinks ensued, the details of which I am still unsure of. All I can recall is being led down a slope to the sounds of sinister chanting and craF**kling flames. Damn Satanists!
I awoke face down in the village graveyard, halfway between a mossy stone wall and the countless tombstones. BeF**ky was next to me. I knew it was her because daubed across her breasts in purple lipstiF**k was that word, ‘BeCKy’. Apologies for repeating this fact, but that is how I knew it was she. Makes sense really. Anyway, it was a crisp’n’cloudless morning and I felt decidedly uneasy. Being dressed in a blaF**k, miniver-embellished gown in this baF**kwater town was going to instantly elevate me to sore-thumb status, especially if I was seen in the company of a naked blonde girl, who, now I'd seen her face, looked no more than sixteen-years-old. She was pretty, mind, and this was the only plus-point I could grasp onto in the predicament I found myself in.
I tapped BeF**ky's cheeks a couple of times then gently hauled up her slim body until she was standing. With a palm on either shoulder, I remember peering into her crystal-blue eyes… they were like broken windows, and beyond the shattered glass lay nothing but empty, vandalized rooms (graffiti blue) - yet she was just attentive enough to cling to the hemline of my gown as I sheepishly made my way in the general direction of home.
How the hell do such things come to pass? Man… Pointing fingers and sneering mouths – apart from the blur of the grey cobblestoned roads and the sweat threatening to drip from my lashes – that was all I saw.
—Pervert
—Weirdo
—Twister
—Scum – hushed voices projected ill will my way; gossipmongers blaF**kened their tongues with liquorice pellets, but I just kept my head down and my eyes squinted, and walked at a steady pace with the dazed BeF**ky in tow.
Eventually, and I mean eventually, we reached the river. The chilly morning had burgeoned into a toes-thru-grass summers' day. BeF**ky still hadn't spoken, but I needed to carry her in order to get her safely across to the far river bank. I asked her permission. No response. I lifted her in classic romantic fashion. She didn’t flinch. Those hyperborean eyes just remained focused on the invisible snowflake hovering inches from her pug nose.
On the other side of the wide river I laid BeF**ky on a patch of flowery turf and sat myself down beside her. The rays of the midday sun quiF**kly dried BeF**ky's smooth skin, yet for my sodden’n’heavy gown it was a different story altogether! As I closed my aching, itchy, tired-tired eyes with the sole intention of visualizing home, BeF**ky spoke for the first time:
‘Fiendish lies clothed in feathers
That's what spewed out of your mouth
Double-crossing doubletalk
Filth
I should have knuF**kled your smarmy face there and then
But I didn't
I let it go
And now the sun has drowned in useless death
And I lie alone in silent tatters.
They are coming
Marching forth to collect me
A legion of dark striders
Reapers of the wasted.
I look for one last time at the twinkling heavens
A million suns yielding a thousand dawns
I focus on a single star
Its yellow hue
Its delicate fizzing
Its unstoppable perfection
tiF**k
a
tiF**k
The shadows are here
Kill me if the stars will benefit.’
Christ! who in the name of Beezlebub's flytrap is this chiF**k?! One minute she's dishing out handjobs to Satanic businessmen, the next she's speaking fey poesy with the sweetest eloquence. I questioned her about what she'd just recited – it was obviously something she'd learned-off-by-heart from a book – but she wouldn't utter another word. She just gazed baF**k at me with those deadpan crystal-blue Barbie doll eyes.
So on we journeyed like before, across the sunny meadows and (thank god) into the cool shade of Grist Forest. The sanctuary of my house was near, and I had to carry the exhausted BeF**ky all the way through the boughs and tangle to the front door... the white door… well it was white when I'd left yesterday morning. Yet now it was blaF**k. I wanted to care, but I didn't have the strength or patience to. I just thrust the key in the loF**k and guided BeF**ky inside. At last, the world and his miserable wife were shut out.
I wrapped BeF**ky in a comfortable robe then set about making something to eat. I was in the kitchen for the next ten minutes or so. BeF**ky was alone on the couch in the living-room resting her weary bones.
With two bowls of hot soup and a plate of buttered bread on a tray, I ambled baF**k into the living-room —
F*F**k! (followed by a crash): the food hit the floor, for what I saw before me sent my head zigzagging from wall-to-wall! Slouched on the couch was BeF**ky, naked, with a red saF**k over her head. I knew it was her because written across her breasts in purple lipstiF**k was that word, ‘BeCKy’. And she was doing it again! – ski-tossin’ two middle-aged, moustachioed baldies. Dumbfounded, my knees felt the hot slop of the spilt soup. I couldn’t believe the surreal scene before me. A chair slid across the room with no-one in it. I didn't notice any pushing hands, so I dismissed it as a mirage. As I was trying to make sense of who the two groaning men were, a saF**k was slung over my head from behind and well, let's just say that dark high-jinks ensued, the details of which I am still unsure of. All I can recall is being led down a slope to the sounds of sinister chanting and craF**kling flames. Damned infernal Satanists.
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Ineedsleep wrote:
> Tsk! The cheapness of touting for replies to your story :)
It's a disease.
But quite a nice one, as they go.
> I've started it actually but it is too long for me to read in one
> sitting at work. I'll get round to it eventually though. Promise.
yeyu
> Tsk! The cheapness of touting for replies to your story :)
It's a disease.
But quite a nice one, as they go.
> I've started it actually but it is too long for me to read in one
> sitting at work. I'll get round to it eventually though. Promise.
yeyu
Tsk! The cheapness of touting for replies to your story :)
I've started it actually but it is too long for me to read in one sitting at work. I'll get round to it eventually though. Promise.
I've started it actually but it is too long for me to read in one sitting at work. I'll get round to it eventually though. Promise.
In return for my wonderful explaination, you can go read my story.
Then we're even, and you'll have to ask someone else next time the kids in the playground say something you don't understand.
Then we're even, and you'll have to ask someone else next time the kids in the playground say something you don't understand.
Trying to save me from my ignorance, eh?
You posted at the same time that I changed my message to one that said 'thank you'. Weird timing.
Oh, the embarrassment.
You should have mentioned this 'innocence' of yours is the same kind you use to pick up easily-fooled guys. Like myself.
You should have mentioned this 'innocence' of yours is the same kind you use to pick up easily-fooled guys. Like myself.
FinalFantasyFanatic wrote:
> It's pretty self-explainitary, young lady.
Why thank you for explaining that to me young sir.
I can't believe you took time out to post a message of explanation :D
> It's pretty self-explainitary, young lady.
Why thank you for explaining that to me young sir.
I can't believe you took time out to post a message of explanation :D
As long as (in fiction) doesn't become (in reality)
I fully except 'ski tossin' to be included in the Oxford English Dictionary 2005 edition ;)
I can't stop myself from (nearly) always lightly peppering my stories with some kind of sexual threat. I think that (in fiction) I am attracted to the sordid and the perverse - but nothing too gratuitous.
I can't stop myself from (nearly) always lightly peppering my stories with some kind of sexual threat. I think that (in fiction) I am attracted to the sordid and the perverse - but nothing too gratuitous.
Ineedsleep wrote:
> (except ski tossin'. In my innocence I've not a clue what that is).
It's pretty self-explainitary, young lady.
Imagine your traditional skiing motion, pushing yourself along with the poles - now use the same motion, only you're sitting between 2 'excited' guys.
?
> (except ski tossin'. In my innocence I've not a clue what that is).
It's pretty self-explainitary, young lady.
Imagine your traditional skiing motion, pushing yourself along with the poles - now use the same motion, only you're sitting between 2 'excited' guys.
?
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