Tagged: sex

Fleur’s Scheme

  • by Kentin true carny fashion
  • allegations of a conspiracy
  • some little sinful thing I’ve done
  • wear dead cats on their heads
  • don’t want to continue the alliterations

Tune in next time part 376      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur’s scheme for dealing with the francophone aerialist intelligencer was predicated on her surmise that he was not a circus clown, but a carnival clown, and thus relied on him behaving in true carny fashion when presented with allegations of a conspiracy. But not accusations directed at him. No, my wife was about to declare that she knew some little sinful thing I’ve done, and by “sinful” she’d mean “treasonous.” By his accent I judged him to be from the Lorraine region, and a rural part of it at that, probably a backwater where they wear dead cats on their heads. I hoped Fleur was taking that into consideration when calculating what crimes to charge me with.

Meanwhile, she had lowered herself into a crouch over my supine form on the table. She had, after all, just watched me eat a whole platter of grapes. The table’s uneven legs played a stately heartbeat in time to her motions.

“You’re a dog,” she growled. “A dirty delinquent, a deserter devoid of devotion!” The table’s thump-thump, thump-thump filled a lull, then she went on. “Desperation drove your despicable deeds. Don’t doubt my determination, just because I don’t want to continue the alliterations.” Her voice was climbing, the thump-thump accelerating.

“Could you be, perhaps, more specific?” asked the leotarded interloper. “What has this man done?”

Fleur arched her back, holding up one index finger to tell the clown spy to wait. The table fell silent as she poised motionless at the brink, and then her face lit with transcendent pleasure.

“I’ll tell you what he’s done,” said Harry. “He’s a traitorous dog, all right.”

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I Scraped the Green Frosting Off a Grape

  • by jentake a long shower
  • It’s funny!
  • I wonder if all the chickens and pigeons
  • I fantasize about the hospital
  • married 11 times to 9 different men

Tune in next time part 375      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I scraped the green frosting off a grape and looked at my wife. “Don’t you want me to at least take a long shower first?”

“You Americans are so hung up on hygiene,” she laughed. “It’s funny!” She guided my hand to my mouth and inserted the grape. Her lips parted and her breath grew heavy as she watched me pop the fruit with my teeth to release the wine inside. “More!” she cried, and shoved another grape in, this one still encased in sickly sweet icing.

For the next ten minutes Fleur fed me Inimical grapes, until I was quite drunk and she was quite breathless. My wife is lovely, and seeing her so aroused sparked my own desire. Despite my earlier protestations I found myself ready, willing, and able to do as she commanded.

“We must, of course, observe tradition,” she said. “I’ve been reading the ancient texts concerning the first sexual congress following the birth of twins, and it’s quite specific.” She stripped me of my new uniform and shoved me down onto a platter of grapes. The tiny fruits burst under me and soon I was laying in a puddle of their cold juice.

“I wonder if all the chickens and pigeons we need as witnesses will fit on the table,” Fleur said. “Or if we’ll need to pull another one over.” She doffed her gown while a string of chefs appeared, each carrying a live bird which he nestled onto the table around me. Contrarian rituals are often surreal, but this was beyond anything I’d seen before.

I tried to tune out the poultry, the glowering Harry and the rest of our audience, but it was difficult when Isolde was so nearby. She kept her eyes glued on my nakedness as she leaned her head toward Harry and said, hand on her stomach, “I fantasize about the hospital where I will give birth to our child, darling Harry. Don’t you?”

Harry growled.

Fleur climbed onto the table and stood over me as a crowd formed around us. The alleged clown spy said, in a heavy French accent, “I always thought the women of Contrarian royalty had to be married 11 times to 9 different men. Where are the other 8?”

Fleur’s toes tapped against my hips, imparting a coded message about her plan to thwart the clown.

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“I Thought You Would Have Guessed By Now”

  • by jenstuffed with bears
  • a confusion of alternating nightmare and oblivion
  • some crazy hallucinations
  • but a pretext for murders, raids, and pillage
  • on her head

Tune in next time part 365      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I thought you would have guessed by now,” my most recent paramour said with a lazy smile. “I’m Titania.”

My blood ran cold and my heart felt as if it were stuffed with bears scrambling to escape. Titania! The name brought a confusion of alternating nightmare and oblivion, like the worst acid trips of my youth. You yourself may have endured some crazy hallucinations, but I assure you they were nothing compared to what I was currently enduring.

Titania was the sister they never spoke of, the one who scandalized her family and the entire Academy by turning her back on her heritage and embracing the circus life. She’d given up her true name and was known now as the Crystal Clown, and all of her merry antics were but a pretext for murders, raids, and pillage. There was a substantial price on her head, and here she was, lolling naked beside me on the beach. Her proximity to my children filled me with terror.

The Crystal Clown’s smile grew less lazy. “Don’t get so worked up. I got what I came for.”

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Planting Kisses

  • by Kenthold your *own* hand for a change
  • I’ll let you see it if you want to
  • with a long-lost sister
  • “What poem?”
  • applying his left thumb

Tune in next time part 364      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Planting kisses all over the woman’s body seemed a good pretext for getting a look at her ass, where Tessa sported a cybernetic unicorn tattoo. But, my carnal companion twisted and shimmied and always kept me from obtaining more than a tiny glimpse of her ink. There was something there…

“Say, why not hold your *own* hand for a change?” she scolded playfully, guiding my grip toward something that was definitely not my hand. “You’re after my butt, aren’t you?” she said with a giggle. “I’ll let you see it if you want to.”

“Of course I want to,” I purred.

“It’s just, you’re going to be surprised when I show you, and I don’t want that to ruin the moment.” And without further ado, she flipped over. The tattoo was a bio-mechanical unicorn spewing rainbows, but it was facing the wrong direction. “Don’t stop now,” this temptress said. So I didn’t. There must be a special term for a man who so eagerly gratifies himself with a long-lost sister of the woman he claims to love, and I’m sure it’s unflattering. At that moment, I didn’t care one bit.

“Recite the poem!” she cried.

“What poem?” I grunted.

“Make something up!” Her voice was a peal of ecstasy. “It should be something about the man applying his left thumb to… Yes, to that.”

Laying with the babies in the shade of the umbrella afterwards, I asked her, “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

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A List of Tessa’s Sisters

  • by jenknows less than nothing about Norway
  • Oh, it’s too confusing
  • hovered overhead
  • my mouth is poison
  • on the rest of her body

Tune in next time part 363      Click Here for Earlier Installments

A list of Tessa’s sisters sprang into my mind, complete with little facts about each that might help me identify which of them I was currently engaged in intercourse with. Was it Tara, who hates cheese? Tanya, who can’t spell worth a damn? Perhaps Taylor, who sings like a banshee, or Tallulah, who knows less than nothing about Norway? Or was this in fact Tesla, the sister who was less-than-adept at oil painting?

“Oh, it’s too confusing!” I cried.

“It’s anything but confusing,” my partner assured, and she showed me what she meant while Inimical hummingbirds hovered overhead. And she was right, it was all quite simple when you left the mental aspects out and concentrated on the physical. I gave up caring, and tried to kiss her, but she pulled away.

“My mouth is poison,” she murmured. “One taste would kill you.”

I ignored her mouth and planted kisses on the rest of her body, whichever sister she was.

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I Know That For a Lot of Couples

  • by Kenthave some tea, some popcorn, some kale
  • “There are balloons.”
  • worried about the poachers
  • I met a man with seven wives
  • also the smartest and the strongest

Tune in next time part 362      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I know that for a lot of couples there’s a great deal of ceremony around intercourse, and they can’t proceed unless they have some tea, some popcorn, some kale, and a bushel of lemons. But Tessa and I are not so formal. Peeking around the top hat, she said, “There are balloons.”

“You should be chasing Olga right now,” I said, while I made that impossible. But Tessa clearly wasn’t worried about the poachers among the White Faces or what they might do with the sample. She assured me I didn’t have have to worry, either, while she made worrying impossible.

Working undercover my first year out of the Academy, I met a man with seven wives, all ex. He told me the trouble with his all marriages was because of woman number eight, the one he never married. There in the sun on the sand at the scene of my recent victory in combat, I was becoming ever more sure that Tessa was my woman number eight.

“… and also the smartest and the strongest,” she was saying.

Flattery. Huh. That proved this wasn’t Tessa. But which sister was it?

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The Infants Didn’t Answer

  • by jenI’ve had tests.
  • unfettered by child labor laws
  • down in the pelvic region
  • rolled about in uncouth positions
  • like lovers do

Tune in next time part 361      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The infants didn’t answer my query. Believe me, if they had I would have heard them. I have excellent hearing — I’ve had tests. At the Academy they are unfettered by child labor laws, and they take full advantage of it, forcing students to construct weapons under the guise of education during the day, and conducting rigorous physical exams well into the night. I was loath to enroll my children in such an establishment, but would they be safe without the proper training? Through no fault of their own they’d been born into a dangerous life. What kind of father would I be if I failed to equip them for survival?

Pondering such an important topic left me distracted, and before I knew it I was face to face with the last person I expected to see in the Inimical Archipelago.

“Tessa!”

I hadn’t seen her since I left the island in the biplane with Xylona, and at that point she’d been kissing my brother Jove. Perhaps this wasn’t Tessa at all, but one of her sisters in disguise. And what a disguise! She was wearing a grass hula skirt and coconut bra.

I tried to keep my guard up, but it was nearly impossible when she said, “I’ve been thinking about you, you know, down in the pelvic region.” She ran her hands over her foliage-clad hips. “It’s been so long since you and I rolled about in uncouth positions, like lovers do.”

I was quite exhausted, and carrying four newborn babies, but something about the way Tessa rustled her skirt got my heart rate racing. She slipped out of her hula garb and laid it in the shade of a nearby beach umbrella, then took my sons from me one by one and placed them gently on it.

Even though I knew she probably wasn’t the real Tessa, and even if she was she was most likely merely after another sample of my alleged exotic compound, I could not resist her.

I used my top hat to block the babies’ view.

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I Just Helped Deliver Quadruplets

  • by Kentand since his leaving Disco Island there has been no news
  • dating her husband’s sister
  • “It sounds like an alien.”
  • this is a confirmed story
  • as double-jointed as a trained mime

Tune in next time part 356      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I just helped deliver quadruplets,” I said to the suddenly nude Olga. “Your sister’s quadruplets, my quadruplets. It’s all too much right now. Also, your brother is watching.” (Not to mention all the volleyball players.)

Olga didn’t seem to hear any of my protests, and to my own surprise my body began to actively disagree with all those objections. Olga wasn’t the loveliest of John’s sisters, but she was still a knockout in — and even more so, out of — a bikini. The next thing I learned about her was that she was as double-jointed as a trained mime, a discovery that raised questions about her affiliations. Soon she had the exotic compound, whatever it was, and I had completely forgotten my concerns, whatever they’d been.

John gave us a light round of applause, handing the infants to Heinrich so he could clap. Olga held up a test tube which appeared to be full of semen. I tried, but failed, to picture how she’d accomplished the sample collection. “The compound we’re interested in degrades rapidly unless it’s kept cold. This is a confirmed story from several of our operatives, and accounts for why our stockpile of the chemical is so small.”

She hid the test tube in her bikini top. “No one is really sure what this substance is, or where it originated. Hearing our biochemists describe the stuff, it doesn’t sound like it comes from any known living thing.” She flicked an eyebrow my way. “It sounds like an alien.”

“You weren’t complaining a minute ago.”

“Who’s complaining? I just need to get this sample on ice for transport.”

“And then take it directly to Xylona,” John admonished. “She will then fly it to Rolf, who happens to be dating her husband’s sister. He supervises the lab, which is located right here in the Inimical Archipelago.”

“Not anymore,” came Svetlana’s muffled voice. “The lab is still here, but Rolf hasn’t been running things for a year. He waded into the surf, and since his leaving Disco Island there has been no news.”

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My Son May Be Small, But He Has an Iron Grip

  • by jenfreaky, furry phenomenon
  • Five or six times a day
  • with each passing hour
  • but there’s a hitch
  • you and I have nothing more to say

Tune in next time part 325      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My son may be small, but he has an iron grip. It took a full minute for me to work his chubby little fingers loose from the object he held, which turned out to be an egg-shaped remote control with a single button.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

My son didn’t reply. He merely stuffed his fist in his mouth. The blue panda whose chest he was strapped to saluted me and gamboled back to the sliding board to begin another slow climb up the ladder. I stuffed the remote into the pocket of my fancy dress pants and sauntered over to greet my daughter by the see-saw. Her armadillo steed stood patiently while I cooed at the infant, but the turtle mascot stomped away to Fleur’s side.

Viscount Arlo’s voice came from inside that green, freaky, furry phenomenon. He whined at Fleur about being exiled from her boudoir, and she laughed at his terrapin costume. I was unable to follow the rest of their argument because Isolde stormed into the room with fire in her eyes.

“Harry!” she cried, racing up to me. “Why aren’t you in the chapel? We have not yet been married for 24 hours!”

Fleur had directed me to be Harry-by-proxy for a full day, but she had also brought me here to see our children. I wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Isolde went on, “I shackled you for a reason, Harry. Five or six times a day is the optimal number of times to make love when you’re trying to conceive. Now that I have rested I’m ready to continue, but I’ve wasted so much time searching for you all over this ship! My window of fertility is closing with each passing hour. We must return to our honeymoon, but there’s a hitch.”

The hitch turned out to be the old incense woman who had attended the birth of the twins. She was something of a Contrarian fertility specialist, and Isolde demanded she coach us through the next few rounds in order to guarantee conception.

We concluded our final session with simultaneous shouts of release, a mere ten seconds before the timer went off, announcing the end to my term as Junior-Baronet Harry. Isolde’s passion evaporated in an instant and she turned her back to me, saying, “You are not my husband, so you and I have nothing more to say.”

I barely had time to pull on my underwear before she shoved me into the corridor.

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This Ceremony was Much Shorter

  • by jenFrench breeding — but
  • “Hold your tongue.”
  • some grade Z porno film
  • various techniques and “octopus etiquette”
  • without all the fanfare

Tune in next time part 323      Click Here for Earlier Installments

This ceremony was much shorter than the one when I’d married Fleur, much to my relief. Isolde locked the door behind the officiant and turned to me. “I have seen several illicit magazines and movies about French breeding — but I’d much rather employ the American method if you don’t mind, Harry.”

“I don’t mind at all,” I said, doffing my top hat.

Isolde shrugged out of her ceremonial robe and arranged it on the floor under a large vulture skull. We stood upon it together while she, gloriously naked, undressed me. It felt a little odd to be continuously called ‘Harry,’ but no odder than anything else about Contrarian court life. If this was how the Warlord’s daughters wanted to conduct their marriages, there was no point in arguing.

“Open your mouth,” Isolde commanded.

I complied. She peered in at my fresh, golden tattoo.

“Hold your tongue.” She demonstrated with her own fingers how she wanted me to grasp it. I took over, and she studied the arcane markings for a minute. Then she swatted my hand away and kissed me.

We sank to the floor on top of the robe, and got down to the business of consummating-by-proxy Isolde and Harry’s marriage. The freeform jazz record was still playing, which made it feel like some grade Z porno film. That feeling only got stronger when Isolde introduced various techniques and “octopus etiquette” moves she had learned from the Contrarian version of the Kama Sutra, and Fleur’s browser history. It was physically taxing, but I was having a great time without all the fanfare and press attention that had accompanied my wedding night with Fleur.

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