Scenes from the Class Struggle in Sherwood Forest

 

“We’ll be stealing from the rich and giving to the poor,” Robin Hood explained as he leant back against a large oak tree hidden deep within the forest.

“The Lord did forbid stealing,” replied Friar Tuck. “It’s one of the big ten no-noes!”

“Property is theft!” the green-clad leader of the Merry Men declared zealously.

“That being the case, I’ll just rescue this piece of ill-gotten loot,” the Friar laughed as he gobbled down the shepherd’s pie Robin had cooked for his lunch.

“Not my property, you pig!”

“I’m afraid I’m a slow learner in the ways of wickedness.”

“We’ll be helping the poor,” Robin started again. “That’s in your line of business, isn’t it?”

“To be sure. Feed the hungry, shelter the homeless and clothe the naked,” the holy man declared with satisfaction.

“Well the hungry now is me, since you ate my lunch!”

But the Friar’s mind was wondering.

“Of course a person can have too much of a good thing, as well,” he explained. “Some of my charming lady parishioners needed to be relieved of their clothes in order that they could have a divine blessing bestowed upon them…”

“Too much of a good thing!” Robin broke in excitedly. “Think of it as a favour we are doing for the rich to rescue them from the stagnation of sufficiency.”

Tuck grabbed Robin’s mug of mead and drained it.

“You’ve won me over!” he cried.

“Will you stop taking what’s not yours!” Robin complained.

“You are going to have to make up your mind, my son,” replied Tuck, and let out a resounding belch.

*     *     *

Bartholomew and Thaddeus were two of the Sheriff of Nottingham’s best men. It was their job to transport the big bags of tax money from the local towns to the Nottingham Bank. They did this in a horse drawn cart.

On the day in question, the cart was bumping along the rugged road through the forest, the bags of money dappled with the sunlight which penetrated the foliage above.

“Thud!” came the sound of a knife embedding itself in a tree trunk beside the road. There was a note attached.

Bartholomew jumped down from the cart and read the note aloud.

“Dear Bartholomew and Thaddeus (hey! it’s for us!), We are a pair of horny forest nymphs and we are just dying to fuck you! (oh, wow!) Take off all of your clothes and run, don’t walk, down to the riverbank where we are waiting. You’ll have to be quick as we can only linger in the material realm for another fifteen minutes.”

It was a matter of seconds before the Sheriff of Nottingham’s most trusted guards were running naked through the forest, leaving the money unguarded.

“Like stealing candy from a baby,” said Will Scarlet to Robin Hood as they dropped from the trees and dragged the bags of money to their campsite. Friar Tuck grabbed the guard’s clothes. It would be a long time before they showed their faces again in the city.

*     *     *

The next day, Robin Hood set off to give a share of the stolen money to a person of impoverished circumstances.

He chose Farmer Giles. Farmer Giles worked a farm owned by a wealthy nobleman. In return he received only food and lodging.

“I bring you good tidings!” Robin cried as he waved to the farmer, who was standing on the porch of the farm house.

“Good tidings would be most welcome,” replied the grey-bearded man who looked older than his years.

“You are now a man of wealth,” Robin returned with a grin.

“How can such a thing be?”

“I have a big bag of money for you,” he explained, holding it up.

“What do wish to purchase?” the farmer wanted to know. “I have nothing.”

At this moment, Melanie, the farmer’s auburn-haired daughter, walked out of the barn, having finished her task of milking the cows.

Robin’s eyes were drawn Melanie’s pretty rosy face and her impressive breasts which threatened to burst free from her simple peasant dress.

“Ah, I understand!” exclaimed the farmer. “You are willing to pay much money to fuck my daughter.”

“No! No!” cried Robin in frustration. “Maybe I could come inside for a moment or two and attempt to explain the concept of wealth redistribution.”

“What’s going on, father?” asked Melanie.

“This man wants to give us money, but he won’t say what he wants to buy,” he explained.

“We don’t have anything,” she put in.

“I thought he wanted to pay to fuck you,” the farmer told her. “But he said he doesn’t.”

“That’s a pity! I could do with a good seeing to,” she responded.

“It’s nothing personal,” stammered a flustered Robin. “I do find you attractive.”

“No shit!” Melanie guffawed. “Is that an arrow in your tights! I think I just saw it quiver.”

There was no alternative but to bow to the inevitable.

Robin Hood reached over and squeezed Melanie’s meaty thigh.

Melanie took him by the hand and led him towards the barn. Before they entered she bent down and grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled it up over her body. She was stark naked as she dropped it in the dust beside her. Robin sighed deeply as he drank in the heaven of her massive breasts and wide thighs and the tangle of ginger pubes that hid her palace of pleasure. Her eyes had a naughty twinkle as she turned around and dragged Robin into the barn, her soft pink bottom wobbling before him.

“Look the other way, Bessy,” she told the cow.

When they arrived at the mound of hay in the corner, which seemed the ideal location on which to fuck, she pulled down Robin’s green tights. The amplitude of his ardour was demonstrated by the rigidity of his rod.

“I don’t know why you tried to deny that you want me,” she murmured, lightly running her fingers up and down his stiff prick. “Just shy I guess.”

She covered his cock with kisses and then began slurping on it like it was some sweet delight.

“I like this better than milking cows,” she sighed.

Soon Robin was naked and she was astride him in the hay. He loved the way her naked breasts pushed in soft warmth against his sweaty hairy chest, and she loved the way he spanked her bum as she rode his cock.

“Ooooooohhhhh!” Melanie quivered as she came, and a second later Robin spurted inside her.

*     *     *

“They wouldn’t take the money except as payment for something,” Robin explained to Will Scarlet and Friar Tuck. “I had to accept sexual services.”

“That’s a coincidence. Me too,” replied Will.

At that point, the ironically named Little John entered the campsite leading a very old skinny cow.

“They insisted that I take it,” he sighed.

“Who did you give your money to, Will?” asked Robin.

“Old Horace the Hobo,” Will informed him.

“But I thought you said you had to accept sexual services,” Robin queried.

“I’m trying not to the think about it,” he groaned.

*     *     *

“Let’s try a drop and run policy,” Robin suggested. “We can leave a bag of money outside people’s houses by night. They won’t know where it came from and so we can save ourselves from being ideologically compromised by commercial transactions.”

So that’s what they did. They delivered ten bags of money by the front doors of ten houses in the middle of the night.

The next morning there was a knock on the door of the Sheriff of Nottingham.

“Come in,” he said.

A peasant entered his office. He didn’t know his name. He didn’t pay much attention to peasants.

“Sir, a rich man has obviously been careless and lost a bag of money. I found it near my front door. I’m sure he will be missing it,” he explained.

“Hmmmm. And I suppose you are expecting a reward,” the Sheriff, grumbled.

“Only the reward that comes to all righteous souls when they act as their brother’s keeper,” he explained with a bow and a tug of the forelock.

Another face appeared around the door.

“Sir, I think this big bag of money must belong to a rich man…” the newcomer began.

Soon, there were ten bags of money in the Sheriff of Nottingham’s office.

The Whore's Locker

"They are back," Abu informed his commander gravely.

"Allah preserve us," groaned the new head of Al Qaeda, feeling the sweat break out on his forehead.

***

Hassan stood in the crowded market place. His hands shook and his heart pounded in his chest. This was his moment. This was his last moment. His backpack was stuffed with C-4. In ten minutes he would be in the Promised Land and fifty or more people who were currently going about their business in blissful ignorance would be dead.

***

Patty and Siobhan emerged from the shadows. They were disguised in traditional arab dress. They surveyed the scene from beneath their transparent veils.

"Here we go again," said Siobhan with a wicked smile that nobody could see.

The girls threw off their robes and walked forward into the busy market place. All around them faces turned and eyes shot wide. Patty was the language expert. She understood every prayer and profanity which dropped unbidden from the lips of the men and women on all sides.

Patty and Siobhan were members of the Pink Berets, also know as the Slut Squad. They were mercenaries. Currently they were working for the United States government, but they would sell their services to anyone who met their asking price. They were above politics and patriotism. All they cared about was the money and the cock. Patty was born in America. Siobhan in Ireland. But the Pink Berets base of operations was on a privately owned island in the Azores.

What caused all the commotion in the market place, as it did everywhere they went, was their uniform. It consisted simply of a military-style helmet with camouflage pattern and a tight-fitting black t-shirt with the message : "What part of 'Yes' don't you understand?" Siobhan also had a satchel over her shoulder filled with bomb disposal equipment. Below the t-shirt they were both naked, their smoothly-shaved pussies glistening wetly in the bright Middle Eastern sunshine. The sweat dripped down their firm buttocks, which quickly became begrimed with dry red dust.

"I know what they have promised you," Patty called out in Arabic.

"I will be a martyr for the glorious Jihad," Hassan replied nervously.

"You can take the gamble if you want, Hassan," she told him. "You can blow yourself to smithereens and trust that you'll end up in Paradise with 20 virgins, who probably don't even know how to suck a cock, or I can blow you right here and now. I'll take you to Paradise and then you can get on with your day, no harm, no fowl." Of course it sounded quite different in Arabic.

"I can't change my mind," whimpered Hassan. "The bomb is already programmed to go off."

"Don't worry about that," Patty reassured him. "Siobhan will disarm the bomb. She's good at that. And, if all goes well, she'll help us both out by pulling apart your butt cheeks and licking your asshole. She's also good at that."

Siobhan didn't know much Arabic, but she knew enough to shoo back the crowd that was standing around them. The women had fallen back and were looking on anxiously, but many of the men couldn't make up their minds which was worse - to run the risk of being blown up or to miss out on getting a really good look at the bare Infidel cunts which were stiffening their cocks.

Jette and Keilyn from Girls Out West

"Wow! This guy's got a real weapon of mass destruction in his pants," laughed Patty, setting free seven proud inches of dusky dick meat. She happily grasped it in her sweaty hands and licked off the bead of pre-cum that had formed on the head.

"Three and a half minutes left on the timer," declared Siobhan. "Should I have a wank first to steady my nerves."

Patty would have told her she was a cheeky bitch but she had her mouth full of throbbing dick. Just as some women are gourmets who like to eat exotic meals, Patty liked to eat exotic males. She took his cock out of her mouth and crouched down to suck on his balls. She hoped those balls were bursting with cum. Suicide bombers were generally virgins who didn't masturbate anywhere near enough. (A life without sex? Who wouldn't want to blow themselves up?) Every guy's cum tasted a little different, and every guy's cum was delicious to Patty.

"Now was it the blue wire and then the green wire, or the green wire and then the blue?" asked Siobhan. "I get confused when I get horny. And watching you suck cock always makes me horny."

"This isn't a game," Patty scolded her, as she grasped Hassan's hard prick and jacked him with a firm stroke.

"There we go," Siobhan cried proudly as she snipped the correct wire.

"Business over and now the fun begins," Patty replied, laying back in the dust and pulling Hassan between her wide spread thighs. His dick slid easily into her hot wet pussy. Siobhan crouched down behind him and licked his asshole while fingering her dripping wet pussy. The danger always left her feeling rampantly horny. And all around them men were pulling out their cocks and jacking off.

"Hey, you," cried Siobhan to one of the watching masturbators. "I just saved your life. The least you can do is fuck me." He was unlikely to understand her Irish-inflected English, but he understood when she grabbed him by the cock and pulled him into the fray.

Patty and Siobhan kissed each other hungrily as each was fucked doggy style. Eventually they were pumped full of jism.

"It's raining man juice!" exclaimed Siobhan as the surrounding masturbators spurted streams of hot cum all over their sweaty bodies.

As they were walking away, Siobhan handed out business cards to some of the onlookers. They read :

There is no need to love your enemies. We'll do it for you.

"I can't wait to hit the showers," enthused Patty. She knew that the rest of the squad would be meeting them there. They would have a long relaxing shower together and then there would be an all-girl orgy until late into the evening. Pussies would be licked and strap-ons would be squirted over. And everyone would be satisfied by the time the desert sun sank among the dunes.

***

The leader of Al Qaeda did not take the news well.

"When they used guns and bombs against us, it stiffened our resolve," he pointed out.

"I'm pretty stiff at the moment," Abu confessed.

"Death and destruction are good for recruitment," explained the leader. "But what can we do against blow jobs?"

"My resolve would be tested," admitted Abu.

In the next room one of the leader's wives was watching the report on Al Jazeera and fingering her pussy beneath her burkha.

The End

Jette and Keilyn from Girls Out West

I, A Dick : Wank Wednesday

Today's Wank Wednesday prompt word is #shadow. For more info on this writing challenge and for links to the other stories visit the Word Ejaculation site.

I, A Dick

What horniness lurks in the panties of women? The Shadow knows.

I'm The Shadow. Not the one who was the subject of the radio show in the 30s. He died ages ago. It's one of those things like with The Phantom - a new one takes the place of the old when they get past it.

But, like the original Shadow, I have a prominent proboscis and I make my living by sticking it into other people's business. I'm a private eye - a dick. Unlike my predecessors though, I don't solve murders. Cheating wives are my specialty.

My name comes from my ability, using my dark cloak and dark hat, to fade into the shadows when tailing someone. I have a talent for virtual invisibility. Virtual invisibility comes through the combined effect of two talents :

1. Knowing where someone will be looking.

2. Being somewhere else.

This is the tale of what happened when I was hired to investigate famed erotic romance novelist Tamara Tingle (clearly not her real name). Her husband, publishing magnate Nigel Knobworthy (unfortunately his real name), suspected that not all of Tamara's libido surplus was being sublimated into her literary works. His instincts told him that other boners than his had been playing in what he considered his personal rumpus room.

First I followed her down to the post office around noontime. It was a small one-man post office. I slipped in inconspicuously and pretended to be looking at the funny birthday cards.

"I've got a package for you," Tamara said to Postman Pat (his real name and he gets so much shit about it), "do you have a package for me."

"Coooorrrrrrr!" replied the veteran stamp-licker, leering at Tamara's thoughtfully displayed cleavage. Clearly the two were on familiar terms.

Pat hurried over to the door. He closed it, locked it and turned outward the sign which read "Out to Lunch". Neither of them noticed my presence behind the display stand of discount-priced Andre Rieu DVDs.

"Mmmmm, you do have a package for me," sighed Tamara as they headed out into the back room. She was fondling Pat's erect penis through his regulation trousers.

Pat picked her up and lay her on the mail table.

"I'm afraid you'll have to stay here," he told her. "We aren't allowed to post anything that might catch fire, and you are way to hot."

Tamara giggled and unzipped his pants, pulling out his rock hard cock.

"Wow!" she exclaimed. "Your prick's gone postal!"

He quickly tore off the rest of his clothes, and then set about tenderly disrobing his lady love. He slid the straps of her dress down over her shoulders and reached under her to unclip her bra. He sighed with delight at the unveiling of her lush, creamy stiff-nippled boobs.

He grabbed a sheet of stamps and tore off two of them. Then he licked her pert pink nipples and slapped a picture of Queen Elizabeth's face on each of them.

"I hope your package isn't too big to fit in my slot," smiled Tamara, as he pulled off her dress and slid down her panties. He gave her stiff clit a good licking and decorated that too with the smiling face of the matriarch of the Windsor clan.

He then picked up a magic marker and wrote an address on her little round belly :

Tamara Tingle

1 Wet Pussy Way

Orgasmville 0000

Heaven

"Mmmmmmm, send me there... send me there..." pleaded the notorious novelist of naughtiness.

Pat grabbed her legs and slid his postman's prick deep into her hot horny hole.

"Your post and my box," she moaned, "the perfect team."

She came over and over again. Pat wanted to keep going, but he could hear people knocking on the door wanting to mail their letters. So he pulled out of her well-satisfied pussy and ejaculated all over the queen's face.

I recorded it all on my camera phone.

The pair dressed quickly, then Pat unlocked the door. I walked out backwards so that he would think I was walking in. So far so good.

That night I examined the evidence carefully, so carefully, in fact, that I used up a whole box of tissues.

The next day Tamara gave a lecture on genre writing at the local university.

After the lecture I stood nearby listening to her conversing with an under-graduate.

"How's our little charity organisation going?" she asked.

"If you are in the mood to give until it hurts," he replied, "there are fifteen poor unfortunates in need or your assistance."

I followed them to a deserted classroom. The fifteen unfortunates turned out to be the entire university Dungeons and Dragons Club and the dilemma from which they needed to be liberated was the state of virginity.

At first they were a little shy, but once they realised that they could role a dice to see who got to stick their cock into which hole, they took to this new group activity like ducks to water. [Or like a second-rate author of humorous erotica to a well-worn cliche. Ed.]

"You guys are going to do fine now you've lost your cherries," she reassured them, as she squeezed her bum-hole around a spotted youth's sizeable cock, while a fat hairy guy fucked her juicy cunt and the rest wanked off in the wings. She didn't just pay lip service to their carnal talents, she used her luscious lips on their cocks and balls as well.

Half way through the orgy a hot girl walked in on them.

"Wow!" she cried. "Can girls join the Dungeons and Dragons Club?"

"Sure!" cried the guys in unison.

"If I'd known you got nude and played for fuck forfeits," she informed them, pulling off her t-shirt to reveal her massive bra-less boobs, "I would have applied ages ago."

"Much has been achieved here today," Tamara's friend told her, giving her a kiss on her way out.

"Who's that dude with the cloak and black hat?" asked the fat hairy guy. But by the time the others looked I was gone.

I can't give you the name of the guy Tamara visited on the following day, because he is a famous best-selling horror novelist. They had met up during the filming of a documentary on the creative process a few months before.

Now he was back in town and he invited Tamara to join him in his hotel room that evening.

I disguised myself as room service in a tear-away velcro-fastened uniform like strippers use. While the pair were hoeing into their grub, I whipped off the white uniform and merged with the bedroom curtains.

After their meal, Tamara had a shower and came back to lie naked on the bed while her Stephen-King-competing companion attended to his own ablutions.

The lights were off in the room. A slice of light shone through the door, illuminating the wall facing the bed. Suddenly, Tamara screamed as a sinister shadow fell across the wall. It was the shadow of a massive erect cock and it was coming to get her.

The cock which threw the shadow, of course, was not really that big. It was an optical illusion. But it was big enough. Tamara lit a candle beside the bed. In the flickering light she watched the figure that approached the bed. It was naked except for a hockey mask. And its cock clearly had evil intentions.

"Jab me, Jason!" cried Tamara, enthusiastically. "Fuck me, Freddy! Leatherface, be my lover! Choose me, Chucky!"

"Chucky?" queried the masked maniac.

"I like Chucky," she replied, defensively. "He's cute."

"Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab!" he cried, as he punished her pussy by pounding it with his prick.

"Oh, yeah!" she moaned. "Kill me more! Kill me more!" And she quivered through several orgasms.

"You really are my little scream queen," he smiled evilly, as he sat back on his heals brandishing his still rampant weapon.

"A pity I'm not having my period," she laughed. "Then it would really be a gore-fest."

For a horror author, he appeared to be a bit squeamish at this suggestion and moved on to the next scenario.

"After emerging from the steamy swamp the hideous beast proceeded to terrorise the gorgeous village maiden," he intoned as he slid his hard cock up over Tamara's belly and between her boobs heading for her face.

"Oh, God!" she screamed, "surely this is the spawn of Hell itself. I've never seen anything so hideous... all purple and veiny, and with one horrible lifeless eye staring at me..."

"The monster gave a spasming twitch," groaned the scribe of scariness, as his cock gave in to the delicious sensation of sliding up over the soft flesh of her chin, "and drenched the poor maiden with it's ectoplasm." With this he shot spurt after spurt of his creamy cum all over her face.

Tamara giggled.

"I got slimed!" she cried, smearing his jism all over her cheeks and blowing cum-bubbles with it.

"I was trying for Cthulu mythos and you turned it into Ghostbusters!" he cried in exasperation.

"I like Ghostbusters," replied Tamara. "It has Bill Murray in it. I wish I had Bill Murray in me."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. The number one thing you are supposed to not do when being invisible.

"Who are you?" they wanted to know.

"The Shadow. Private Dick. Hired by Mr. Knobworthy," I introduced myself.

"My husband's jealous?" she asked. "That's sweet. Really it is."

"I'm afraid I'll have to present him with the evidence I've gathered," I explained. "I don't like to do it, but its my job."

"I love my husband," Tamara replied. "That's why I fuck other men. It would be cruel to drain such an important man with all of my sexual needs. We have a good sex life within its limits. But I need more and he doesn't. I don't love any of these other men I have sex with. They love me, of course. How could they not. But its just sex for me."

"I think I'll step out and get some air," said the horror author. "This is getting a bit too personal. Feel free to make yourselves at home until you've sorted this all out."

"Give me all the evidence," suggested Tamara when we were alone, "and I'll suck your cock like it's never been sucked before."

"When you say 'like it's never been sucked before' are we just talking about some kind of weird technique, which might even be painful?" I asked.

"No, I mean your cock will be Romeo and my tongue will be Juliet, only this time they'll get the happy ending they so richly deserve," she explained.

"Oh, O.K.," I replied.

All of my cases have ended pretty much the same way. One of these days I'll learn to resist the wiles of women. Until then I'll just have to keep up my second job as a parking inspector.

The End

The Indecent Descent : Wank Wednesday

Today's Wank Wednesday word is #cave. One thinks initially of cavemen or a pirate's cave. At least I do. But I've already done a caveman story and a pirate story. So I've decided to go for some sinisterly sexy spelunking. Wank Wednesday has moved. It is now hosted from Word Ejaculation. Check out that site for more information on this writing challenge and for links to all the stories.

The Indecent Descent

When Terence told the innkeeper that they were intending to crawl up Carnahan's Crack, the normally noisy patrons in the front bar of the Turd and Toadstool fell eerily silent and all eyes fell upon the trio of would-be subterranean explorers.

"Know ye not of the terrible tale of the fate of the eight," gasped the old man.

"No," replied Terence cooly, "do tell." He was a smarmy bastard.

Monty and Rosemary leaned close. They were nervous about the expedition to begin with. Monty had been cave-diving a few times, and his claustrophobia was not as severe has it had been at the start. But that was in tourist caves which had been thoroughly explored and mapped. Rosemary was Terence's wife. Like him she was in her mid-thirties and very fit. She had short mousey hair around her pretty wide-eyed face, small but well-formed breasts and a firm round arse. Monty fancied her rotten, but was too loyal to his friend, and to his own rather demanding (but non-cave-exploring) fiancée Margaret, to do anything about it.

"It were three year ago next Tuesday," continued Old Gruntwhistle, the publican. "Four men and four women there were. Experienced cave-divers by all accounts. They wriggled their way up through the tight entrance of Carnahan's Crack, one at a time, intending to explore the bowels of the Earth - the biggest network of caverns in all of England according to legend. They went in... but they never came out."

"What happened to them?" asked Rosemary anxiously.

"Nobody knows," pronounced the old man, drawing the words out so that they sounded like the wind whistling across a deserted moor.

"They probably didn't take proper precautions," said Terence. "I'm sure we'll be fine. I've been caving dozens of times. I know what I'm doing."

"There are those who say they ain't dead," Gruntwhistle added, looking around at his audience of petrified pub patrons. "There are those who say that ain't just a cave. There are those who say that Carnahan's Crack is the very gates of Hell itself. They be the one's what have heard them."

"Heard who?" Monty wanted to know.

"Heard the voices echoing out of the crack and up through the mine shafts about these parts. Not really voices so much as the howls and moans of the damned," he continued, poking Terence in the chest with a bony finger.

"I don't think I want to go any more," whimpered Rosemary.

"Me neither," Monty added.

"Stuff and nonsense," declared Terence. "Good for business in these parts, no doubt. Just like the Loch Ness Monster. Don't be taken in."

"It be no skin off my nose," huffed Gruntwhistle. "But you'll pay for last night's accommodation now. If you leave anything in your rooms I be happy to forward it to your next of kin. Just leave an address."

*           *           *

"We can't go in there after what that innkeeper said," complained Rosemary when, loaded down with packs and ropes, the trio arrived at Carnahan's Crack just after nightfall.

"I told you not to pay any attention to that old fool's ramblings," Terence replied testily.

"I think Rosemary's right," Monty put in. "We are only doing this for fun. And it isn't fun anymore."

"Well, I'm going in there anyway," insisted Terence. "If you two want to wait here for me you are welcome."

Monty and Rosemary looked around them. It was a new moon so there wasn't much light by which to see the trees of the forest. But amidst the shadows, red eyes shone out at them and they heard a low growl. Wolves.

"Maybe we could wait for you just inside the entrance to the cave," suggested Rosemary.

Carnahan's Crack was a crevice between two mighty boulders. There was a small round hole in the middle of the crevice by which one could wriggle up into a cave that was about two metres across. In the middle was the opening of a pit which dropped straight down into the earth. How deep it was was anybody's guess.

Terence was the first to push his way through the tight squeeze into the cave. Then Rosemary thrust her hands in and began to ease her way forward. She got part way in and then paused. Monty was looking nervously over his shoulder at the wolves when he heard Rosemary's voice. She was yelling to him, but  the sound didn't carry well back through the tight passage.

"I'm stuck," she cried. "You'll have to give me a push, Monty."

Monty put his hands on the lycra-clad cheeks of her round bottom and pushed. Rosemary moved through the passage and Monty's cock stiffened in his pants. That was going to make it harder for him to follow her through the tight space.

Thinking quickly Monty tied a length of rope around himself to keep his boner from becoming snagged on a rock. Then he stuck his head into the hole, worrying that, if he were not quick, the wolves might eat his legs.

Rosemary and Terence grabbed his arms and pulled him swiftly into the cave. The space was lit by Terence's powerful flashlight.

"So we'll wait for you here," said Rosemary. "Don't be long."

"Cowards," cursed Terence, tying a rope about his waist and then affixing the other end to a stalagmite.  "I told you I know what I'm doing. You'd be just as safe coming with me." Then he climbed over the edge and began making his way, hand over hand, down the side of the pit.

It was only two minutes later that the stalagmite broke, the rope snaked rapidly down the hole and Terence's girlish scream gradually faded away as he plummeted into the abyss.

"Fuck," cried Rosemary. "Now I suppose we'll have to try to rescue him."

"How are we going to do that?" asked Monty.

"You hold the end of my rope," Rosemary instructed. "I'll lower myself down."

All was going well until Rosemary reached the bottom of the pit and found that it opened into a giant cavern. Monty was able to hold her weight as long as it was lessened by her feet being propped against the side of the pit, but once she dropped into open air, he could no longer keep his balance and he fell head long down the hole.

Rosemary landed first and a short while later Monty came down on top of her. They landed on something soft and spongy. Terence's flashlight loomed up out of the dark to show them that they were sitting on the top of a giant mushroom.

"Spot of luck, hey!" exclaimed Terence, cheerfully.

"I don't know why you're so chipper," replied Rosemary angrily. "How are we supposed to get out? We'll die down here."

"We came for an adventure," he retorted. "And now we've got one. We'll find a way out. The old man mentioned mine shafts. Mine shafts often have ladders."

"I hope you're right," put in Monty nervously.

There were many passages leading out of the great cavern. They picked the one with the biggest entrance and followed it, Terence leading the way with his flashlight. Gradually the walls closed in around them until they could go no further.

"Dead end," pronounced Terence.

They turned around and went back.

Terence examined the openings of the other passages. One, which was very narrow, opened out after a few metres.

"We'll try this one," he said. And so they squeezed in after him.

For several hours they crawled through the tight space, the cold damp stone pressing in all around them. Then, finally, it opened out into another cave.

Terence scanned the area with his flashlight. Rosemary and Monty screamed at what they saw.

There, laid out carefully on the stone floor, were four skeletons.

"These must be the ones the innkeeper was talking about," cried Monty.

"But there were eight of them," pointed out Rosemary.

"The rest must be somewhere else," said Terence.

"Unless they are still alive," suggested a quaking Rosemary.

"Hogwash!" Terence exclaimed. "No-one could survive down here for three years."

Monty felt a tingle run down his spine and he looked nervously behind him.

Since this was another dead end, they made their way back to the large cavern and decided to eat some of their sandwiches and try to get some sleep.

Monty lay down on top of one of the giant mushrooms, with a flashlight beside him, and tried to sleep. But he was too anxious. Sleep wouldn't come. He could tell that Terence was not having the same problem because he could hear him snoring loudly.

Sleep did eventually wash over Monty, but he was awoken a couple of hours later by a blood-curdling scream. He grabbed his flashlight and flicked the switch. The beam of light shot up the pit down which they had fallen. He quickly scanned it around the walls of the cavern and was just in time to see Terence's horrified face disappearing down the passage they had last explored. He was being dragged feet first by someone or something.

Monty could sense something moving on the other side of cavern. He whipped the flashlight around and what he saw in its beam seriously creeped him out.

A skinny pale figure with tangled hair was watching him with big green eyes. It was a woman, a naked woman. At least, he could tell that it had once been a woman. Now it was something bestial. She had a face of haunting beauty, with eyes like glittering emeralds, but her mouth formed an idiot grin and she was drooling. As Monty moved the beam of the flashlight down her body he discover that she was crouched over a small, rather phallic, stalagmite and sliding her juicy cunt up and down its length.

"Rosemary," he cried. "I think we're fucked now."

But Rosemary was gone. He was alone with the creature.

She licked her lips and played with the stiff nipples on her nearly flat chest. And then she spoke.

"Precious want to fuck?" she hissed.

"Nothing personal," stammered Monty. "Must decline. Engaged you know."

"Precious gonna fuck," insisted the creature with an evil smile as she crawled on hands and knees across the cave floor.

"My God!" exclaimed Monty. "Is that the time? Must be off." But there was nowhere to go.

She leapt up onto his mushroom like a hairless monkey and the next thing he knew his clothes were being shredded by sharp teeth and long fingernails.

"Precious has cock," she hissed. "Sharon like cock."

Sharon, thought Monty. That was the name of one of the four women who went missing. So it was true. Not all of the eight were dead.

Monty was scared. He was scared stiff. All of his resolve flowed straight to his cock while the rest of him went limp.

Sharon's clit stood out prominently from between the hairless-lips of her pussy. She moaned as she rubbed it up and down the length of Monty's stiffness and dribbled pussy juice all over it. Once she had enjoyed this appetiser she applied herself to the main meal. She wrapped her bony hand around his throbbing cock and impaled herself on it. It was cold deep down there beneath the earth, but the inside of Sharon's cunt was as hot as a furnace.

"Precious has a nice hard cock," she hissed. "Long time no fuck. Pussy-licking not as good as fucking Precious."

Monty's brain ticked over. No cock. So the men had not survived. And she hadn't been licking her own pussy. So at least one of the other women had. But what had turned a normal woman into this thing?

Sharon had thrown her head back as she bounced up and down on his cock. She was pinching her nipples. Monty was surprised that, though she was quite skinny, her bottom as it sat down repeatedly on his thighs, was soft rather than bony. She might have been monstrous and sub-human but she was a hot little number all the same.

It didn't take her long to cum. A couple of minutes of rutting and she squirted a litre of pussy juice all over his cock and balls. But that didn't stop her. She just kept going. She went straight into another orgasm and another and another.

"Sharon's cunt love Precious," she hissed.

But Monty's stamina was not so great. After she had her tenth orgasm he couldn't hold back any longer and he jizzed in her juicy hole.

"Want more, Precious," she hissed, grabbing his floppy jissom-coated prick and slapping it back and forth.

"I'm all in," panted Monty.

"Want more!" insisted Sharon, anger possessing her features.

Monty improvised. He grabbed her, threw her down on his mushroom bed, and began wanking her off with three fingers.

"Want cock!" she insisted, petulantly, but she didn't put up any resistance.

"What made you like this?" asked Monty.

"Mushrooms," smiled Sharon. "Mushrooms delicious."

"You ate the mushrooms and they changed you?" asked Monty.

"Girls eat mushrooms. Guys see what mushrooms do to girls. Guys no eat mushrooms. Girls fuck guys. Guys die. Stupid guys," she explained.

"You fucked them to death?" cried Monty.

"Precious be smart," she hissed. "Precious eat mushrooms."

"Where are my companions?" he asked, as she quivered and squirmed and squirted over and over again, drenching his fingers in her hot juice.

"Don't know," she replied.

At that point another creature appeared from the passage into which Terence had disappeared. Another was behind her and as she emerged she dragged Terence's corpse behind her.

"He broke," the creature hissed sadly.

"Oh, my God!" cried Monty.

Then, out of another passage emerged the fourth creature, dragging Rosemary. Rosemary was stark naked and tied up with her own climbing ropes.

"Help me, Monty!" she cried. "She tied me up and did lesbian things to me!"

"Let her go!" Monty insisted to the three creatures as they squatted around the cavern drooling and masturbating and staring at him hungrily. "Fuck me to death if you must, but let the woman I love go free!"

"The woman you love?" queried Rosemary.

"I can hide it no longer," Monty insisted. "Though you loved another, my heart was ever yours."

"Just don't let them lick my hoo-hah any more," Rosemary pleaded.

"Eat mushroom!" ordered Sharon.

So Monty tore off a big piece from the side of the fungus on which he had been fornicating and shoved it into his mouth. It actually tasted surprisingly good.

Once he had swallowed it, Monty began to feel strange. An energy suffused his body, an over-whelming feeling of bliss possessed his mind and his cock got as hard as an iron bar.

"Coooooooorrrrrrrrrrr!" he groaned. "Precious want pussy."

He grabbed Sharon, flipped her over and started pounding her hard doggy-style, while pawing lustily at her tiny tits.

"Oh, Precious!" hissed Sharon.

Monty came hard, squirting quarts of cock-juice into the carnal cave-dweller's cunt. But his dick was still hard.

What was left of his mind wondered about freeing Rosemary. He hopped off the mushroom and crawled over to her.

I'd better untie these ropes, he thought. They probably hurt as they rub against her stiff pink nipples and push into the soft white flesh of her heavenly boobs. The way the rope rubs through the crack of her arse, right between the saucy cheeks of her spankable bum, chafing against her cute little wrinkled butt-hole and sliding roughly between the succulent lips of her cunt, must be uncomfortable, he reasoned. God he wanted to fuck her!

"What are you doing!?!" she screamed as he rubbed his cum-slippery hard cock all over her thigh. But there was nothing she could do. She was defenceless.

Monty crawled back over to the mushroom and grabbed another handful.

"Precious wants to fuck Rosemary," he hissed.

"You said you were going to let me go," she insisted, looking at him with pleading frightened eyes.

"Precious changed mind," he shrugged, pushing the handful of mushroom into her mouth.

Reluctantly she swallowed. Then he began untying her bonds. As he did, a profound change came over her.

When she was free, Rosemary smiled a big goofy smile, lay back, spread her legs and began happily wanking.

"Rosemary's a slut," she giggled. "Rosemary's always been a slut."

"Always?" queried Monty.

"Always," she insisted. "But now that I'm in the cave, I'm out of the closet." She pushed her left boob to her face and began happily sucking on the nipple.

"Precious wants his cock sucked," hissed Monty.

"Oh, Precious," Rosemary hissed back, crawling over to him and licking her soft wet tongue up the length of his rigid rod.

"One of us! One of us!" chanted the other girls. Monty thought of them as girls now, rather than as creatures. They all came in close for a group hug and grope and lick and fondle.

Monty realised that returning to the surface would be impossible now. The mushroom could sustain them, but it was addictive, he could tell. Controlling their sexuality was an impossibility now. He couldn't walk around with a permanent erection unable to keep himself from fondling and trying to fuck every woman in sight.

He knew that he would live out his life underground, but as he felt a sexy tongue licking his balls and another probing his butt-hole and felt wet pussies squirting their juices all over his body as they told him how much they loved "their Precious", he decided that he had no choice but to cave in to their demands and make the most of it.

The End

Sleeping Beauty and Prince Pervert : A Sunday Snog

The Sunday Snog is an institution created by Victoria Blisse. The idea is to post a snogging scene from one of your books (or create a new one). For more information check out her blog. Today's snog is an original.


Sleeping Beauty and Prince Pervert

Once upon a time, Prince Pervert was riding his mighty black steed through the magic forest, when he came to a large clearing. There, in the middle of the open space, dappled by the golden rays of sunlight which filtered down through the leaves, lay the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She lay upon a bed of stone which was carved to support each curve of her very curvy body. And she was dressed in the opulent gown of a princess.


This was Sleeping Beauty. Many years before a witch had put a curse on her that she would sleep for eternity, unless a prince should kiss her upon the lips.


"Wake up, Miss," said the Prince, shaking Beauty's shoulder. She made no response. The Prince could feel that she was alive. He could feel her pulse. But she seemed to be in some kind of coma.


"This is a situation I can turn to my advantage," the evil Prince said to himself. His nickname had not come to him for no reason. He had earned it by his many depraved actions.


Much as he admired Beauty's dress, he was more keen to admire what lay beneath it, and so he slowly stripped her naked, lovingly fondling each newly revealed expanse of soft, pale flesh. She had the most gorgeous breasts, like big scoops of vanilla ice-cream topped with strawberries. She had a gently curving belly with a cute little button in the middle. And her pussy lips were fat and pink, decorated by a forest of pubes which shone in the sun like spun gold. And her sleep must have been accompanied by sexy dreams, because a creamy juice leaked from between them. The Prince gently turned her over to admire the peachy cheeks of her snow white bottom. And he kissed it gently. There was nothing of roughness in his behaviour, shameless pervert that he was. He would spy on women when they thought they were fucking or masturbating unobserved, he would expose himself to nuns,  he would masturbate into old lady's panties and then put them back on the clothesline, but physical violence was abhorrent to him.


"If she's in a coma," surmised the Prince, "she's not going to know anything about it if I fuck her. It'll do her no harm and me a lot of good, since seeing her naked body has made my cock quite painfully stiff."


And so he stripped naked and mounted Sleeping Beauty. Her slippery pussy seemed to welcome his hot and throbbing prick as he slid it home with a sigh of satisfaction.


The fact that she made no response, but lay limply beneath him, would have been off-putting to a lesser man. But when something felt sick or wrong, to Prince Pervert that just added to the appeal. And soon he was arching his back and shooting his load deep within Beauty's warm and wet, if unresponsive, pussy.

"Thank you, Miss, for giving me such pleasure on this fine morning," said the Prince, rhetorically.


Then he made a big mistake. Looking down at Beauty's plump ruby red lips, he decided that he should top off his pleasures by pressing his own lips against them. Still naked, he bent down, slid his hand gently beneath her flaxen hair and brought his moustachioed lips down upon hers. The feel of those sweet lips against his was a pleasure which eclipsed that of her other lips against his cock. There was magic in that kiss.


And then the Prince's heart nearly stopped in shock, when Beauty's sapphire blue eyes shot opened, and her lips also opened, allowing her soft wet tongue to invade his mouth. Beauty was quite the snogger.


But then, as they pulled away from each other, she looked down at the Prince's body with some shock.


"Why are you naked!?!" she cried. "And why is your cock dripping with cum?" And then she looked down her own body. "And why am I naked!?! And why is there cum all over my pussy?"


"It's not what it looks like," replied the Prince desperately.


"You fucked me, didn't you!?!" screamed Beauty. "You prick!!! You fucked a girl in a coma!!!!" Then she grabbed the Prince by his ornate collar and slapped his face hard. And then she used her other hand and slapped him equally hard with that one.


The Prince leapt to his feet and ran off into the forest with the naked Beauty in hot pursuit. Since she had been asleep for 20 years, she was well-rested, while the Prince was all worn out from fucking her. So quite quickly he collapsed against a tree and she caught up with him. She kicked his shins, she punched him in the face, and she even slapped his cock.


"Oh, yeah," moaned the Prince. "Hit me more. Hit me more. I love it." And sure enough his cock was growing really stiff once more. He really was an all around pervert.

"It's very, very wrong to fuck a girl while she is asleep," Beauty insisted. "A gentleman always wakes a girl up first so that she can enjoy it too."


"I didn't know I could wake you up," pleaded the Prince.


"Ignorance is no excuse," Beauty told him, smacking the head of his cock so that it waved back and forth like a metronome.


"I'm truly sorry," replied the Prince, and he meant it.


"You know that I could tell your Fairy Godmother," warned Beauty. "And she would probably turn you into a pumpkin."


"How did you know I have a Fairy Godmother?" asked the Prince.


"Don't be silly," she responded. "Everyone has a Fairy Godmother."


"Well, mine is already pissed at me," the Prince confessed. "So please don't tell her."


"I think you can make things up to me," replied Beauty with an evil smile. "There are three things I really love - having my titties sucked and my clit licked ; perving at gorgeous men like yourself in the nude ; and being gangbanged. So, if you promise to orally pleasure me at least five times a day, never wear any clothes and invite your friends over every Friday night for a gangbang, you can marry me and take me back to live in your palace. If you don't your Fairy Godmother will have the whole story."


The Prince pretended that Beauty was striking a hard bargain. But, really, the only thing that was hard was his cock as he anticipated their life together.


And so they lived sleazily ever after.


The End