Bedtime stories for sub girls.
- Thread starter Betticus
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snowy ciara
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I could go for that...
babiesmiles
elfpet
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lovely idea 
Caitlynne
Playful Muse
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Miss Diva said:
It's not as much fun as hearing a naugthy bedtime story, but OK....... a chain story it is.
... they held a party each weekend. Couples would arrive dressed in capes and masks, they would knock on the door, give a password and then be let in. One night I decided to...
snowy ciara
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throw open the door to single subbie chicks too, especially barefootin' ones bearing chocolate....
arctic-stranger
Waiting for July
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Once upon a time, there lived a lonely sub, deep in the forest of an enchanted kingdom. She lived in a small hut, that was formerly occupied by the King's wood cutter, but the wood cutter had grown old, and could no longer supply the large logs for the king's fire. The poor woodcutter had no children, and when he and his wife decided to retire, they moved into a gated village in the kingdom, and left their small hut to the bank. (In spite of the fact that they were poor, they were smart enough not to pay off the mortgage. After all, who would want their small hut? They didnt even want it, but being the kings cutter had some definite disadvantages, the main one being the hut. Needless to say, the woodcutter's wife was never happy that he had chosen this particular field, but wood was in his blood. After he retired he ran a bagel shop, which made his wife very happy, as she was a big fan of lox. But this is not a story about the woodcutter, so lets get back to the action.)
The poor sub had no family to speak of, just the manditory step mother, who had decided a long time ago that she was not about to be Domme for this spoiled brat. Soon after the sub's father died, the step mother ran into the woodcutters wife at the local "Corsets R Us" emporium, whereupon the woodcutter's wife (whose real name no one could remember) told her about the vacant house. (Actually she was so happy to leave the wretched forest that she was telling everybody about their impending move, while inviting them to the grand opening of her husband's new bagel shop--which by the way, did fairly well, except for the occassional customer who complained about splinters in his whole wheat bagel.)
The stepmother (whose name was probably Agnes or Lois or something like that) quickly decided that the hut, now being vacant, would be the perfect domicile for her step daughter. (She was not really a wicked step mother, but she had read too many stories about step mothers, and she just figured, rightly, that she was little more than a plot device for the story, which was NOT going to be about her, because the Stepmother NEVER got the leading part--they were always typecast, and although they can actually be very nice people some times, fate has deemed that their role always be one of rather boring wickedness.)
So the stepmother (ok, lets just call her Delores) hired a local hunter to take her step daughter into the woods, and leave her in the hut. She set up a small trust fund for step daughter, based on her inheritance, and also hired a group of dwarves to bring her food on a regular basis. (This is NOT a story about the dwarves however...they have their own story, and although they had to suffer really silly names--their names were actually Stan, Bruce, Marvin, Hank, William, Horace and Potifer--and pretty wimpy lines, that was their time in the sun, and now they all live in condos in Florida grousing about "what might have been" and complaining about the "goddayum guv'mint." )
The sub, whose name was Monique, was fairly happy in the hut. She was a quiet girl, rather large, but with a pretty face, and she liked taking walks in the woods, especially when it rained. She really didn't mind her step mother, and realized that she just has her stereotypical part to play in life, and she didnt blame anyone for her fate, except maybe a few pyschologist who made pompous pronouncements concerning the proper roles of fairy tales in the psychotherapeutic relationship, which made many people take them WAY too seriously.
Monique was an excellent cook, but unfortunately she had no one to cook for. The dwarves were pretty much carnivores along the meat loaf and potato line, and the very idea of Radicchio was just more than they could take. They were perfectly willing to buy it for her, but they had no intention of ever eating her food.
And Monique was an execellent house keeper, except, of course, there was no one to clean for, and no one to clean up after, except for herself, but she was generally as neat as pin. She once tried to bribe one of the dwarves to leave his socks and underwear on the floor, but he was gay, and thought she was coming on to him.
Poor Monique did not even KNOW she was a sub. Having been alone most of her life, the only person she ever really served was her father and her step mother, and this is NOT that type of story.
Things would have been rather boring and unfortunate had not the king's son gotten lost in the forest while looking for switches to whip the maids. That was not really his job, but he had been watching the Royal Whipper since he was a child, and he and the Whipper had a deal. If he would gather the switches, the Whipper would let him whip one, maybe two errant maids. The Prince (hold your horses, we will get to his name when the time comes!)was very disappointed to learn that one day he would grow up to be King, and not Royal Whipper. The Royal Whipper, whose name was Roy, really did not like his job either. He always wanted to be a woodcutter, but his wife said she refused to live in that wretched hut, and she also had a secret fetish for spanking, and she was sure that being Royal Whipper would bring it out in her husband...that of course did not work, because whipping was now his job, and when he came home, the last thing he wanted to do was spank another ass. He actually had rather tame sexual fantasies that related to jello and carrots, which his wife never made, and certainly never enough for a romping night of gelatin and vegatable sex. They were, in short, a rather miserable couple.)
The prince (whose name was Sidney, i told you i would get to it!) was finding some very nice switches, when he stumbled upon the hut....
(to be continued, if you wish...beg me for it, you lowly subs!)
The poor sub had no family to speak of, just the manditory step mother, who had decided a long time ago that she was not about to be Domme for this spoiled brat. Soon after the sub's father died, the step mother ran into the woodcutters wife at the local "Corsets R Us" emporium, whereupon the woodcutter's wife (whose real name no one could remember) told her about the vacant house. (Actually she was so happy to leave the wretched forest that she was telling everybody about their impending move, while inviting them to the grand opening of her husband's new bagel shop--which by the way, did fairly well, except for the occassional customer who complained about splinters in his whole wheat bagel.)
The stepmother (whose name was probably Agnes or Lois or something like that) quickly decided that the hut, now being vacant, would be the perfect domicile for her step daughter. (She was not really a wicked step mother, but she had read too many stories about step mothers, and she just figured, rightly, that she was little more than a plot device for the story, which was NOT going to be about her, because the Stepmother NEVER got the leading part--they were always typecast, and although they can actually be very nice people some times, fate has deemed that their role always be one of rather boring wickedness.)
So the stepmother (ok, lets just call her Delores) hired a local hunter to take her step daughter into the woods, and leave her in the hut. She set up a small trust fund for step daughter, based on her inheritance, and also hired a group of dwarves to bring her food on a regular basis. (This is NOT a story about the dwarves however...they have their own story, and although they had to suffer really silly names--their names were actually Stan, Bruce, Marvin, Hank, William, Horace and Potifer--and pretty wimpy lines, that was their time in the sun, and now they all live in condos in Florida grousing about "what might have been" and complaining about the "goddayum guv'mint." )
The sub, whose name was Monique, was fairly happy in the hut. She was a quiet girl, rather large, but with a pretty face, and she liked taking walks in the woods, especially when it rained. She really didn't mind her step mother, and realized that she just has her stereotypical part to play in life, and she didnt blame anyone for her fate, except maybe a few pyschologist who made pompous pronouncements concerning the proper roles of fairy tales in the psychotherapeutic relationship, which made many people take them WAY too seriously.
Monique was an excellent cook, but unfortunately she had no one to cook for. The dwarves were pretty much carnivores along the meat loaf and potato line, and the very idea of Radicchio was just more than they could take. They were perfectly willing to buy it for her, but they had no intention of ever eating her food.
And Monique was an execellent house keeper, except, of course, there was no one to clean for, and no one to clean up after, except for herself, but she was generally as neat as pin. She once tried to bribe one of the dwarves to leave his socks and underwear on the floor, but he was gay, and thought she was coming on to him.
Poor Monique did not even KNOW she was a sub. Having been alone most of her life, the only person she ever really served was her father and her step mother, and this is NOT that type of story.
Things would have been rather boring and unfortunate had not the king's son gotten lost in the forest while looking for switches to whip the maids. That was not really his job, but he had been watching the Royal Whipper since he was a child, and he and the Whipper had a deal. If he would gather the switches, the Whipper would let him whip one, maybe two errant maids. The Prince (hold your horses, we will get to his name when the time comes!)was very disappointed to learn that one day he would grow up to be King, and not Royal Whipper. The Royal Whipper, whose name was Roy, really did not like his job either. He always wanted to be a woodcutter, but his wife said she refused to live in that wretched hut, and she also had a secret fetish for spanking, and she was sure that being Royal Whipper would bring it out in her husband...that of course did not work, because whipping was now his job, and when he came home, the last thing he wanted to do was spank another ass. He actually had rather tame sexual fantasies that related to jello and carrots, which his wife never made, and certainly never enough for a romping night of gelatin and vegatable sex. They were, in short, a rather miserable couple.)
The prince (whose name was Sidney, i told you i would get to it!) was finding some very nice switches, when he stumbled upon the hut....
(to be continued, if you wish...beg me for it, you lowly subs!)
snowy ciara
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gasping out "please don't stop" between giggles and swipes at my moniter with a paper towel. Rats. Now I need more cocoa...
Caitlynne
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arctic-stranger said:
Oh please continue. I mean I know you are busy, and it's not your job to entertain us poor lowly subbies, and we should really be entertaining you, and maybe, just maybe, my pathetic (yet sincere) begging will be entertaining.
*pretty please* I've been good!
I'll be even better if you like...
Neomagalie
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..........
Last edited:
arctic-stranger
Waiting for July
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The prince (whose name was Sidney, i told you i would get to it!) was finding some very nice switches, when he stumbled upon the hut....
"Tally ho," he said, "What is this?"
(He really did talk that way, but it was not his fault. Most of his life he attended Prince School where he was tutored by Humboldt, an ancient geezer who had no real connection to Royal Life except through Victorian romance novels, and he made the mistake of really believing that people talked and acted that way.)
Prince Sydney, still holding the switches in his arms, made his way to the hut, pushed the door open, and went inside. (It is fair to say that being a prince gave him some real boundary issues. He figured that anything in the kingdom was pretty much his, and Humboldt did little to dissuade him from that notion. If he had not been the prince, he would have been in serious trouble on several occasions, especially the incident with the town wench in the dungeon. As it was his father was paying a hefty sum of hush money.)
He looked around and immediately saw a) the cabin was immaculately kept, even better than his own chambers in the palace, b) it was occupied by a female (the laundry neatly hanging outside had been a dead giveaway for that that one) c) she was a young female (five issues of Teen Peasant magazines on the coffee table) and d) she had exquisite taste in lingerie (again, the laundry tells all! One of the dwarves--Hank--had a lingerie fetish, and his wife had always insisted on plain, comfortable white cotton bloomers, so Hank was constantly buying very erotic lingerie, and then giving it to Monique--he just never told her that he was wearing it first. Monique, being no dummy, had figured it all out, but after a few initial moments of disgust, she figured "to each his own" and just washed them very carefully.)
Not only was the cabin immaculately kept, but there was, simmering on the stove, a very delicious stew. The prince was very fond of stew, and rarely got it. The palace cook was rather proud man, who looked down on any "common" dish. While the prince had his fill of Lobster Bordeaux, and Beef a la Basque, he never got stew. When he was a child, he would steal Humboldt's lunch, which was almost always stew, but Humboldt grew wise to him. At first Humboldt didn’t mind because then he could eat the prince's boeuf haché avec de la moutarde, but then he learned it was really just ground beef with mustard, and he was missing his stew. (Believe it or not, stew plays a great role in world history. Look at Jacob and Esau. And most people dont know this, but all Napoleon really wanted was the Perfect Stew, and some English spies told him he could find it in Russia, which is the only reason he attacked.) So Humboldt started scheduling lunch breaks and eating at home.
But this is clearly not a story about Humboldt. If it were, of you would be long past bored, and well into sleep by now. This is about the Prince, who, if you remember, was in the hut, smelling the stew.
Being a Prince, and being rather hungry, Prince Sydney put his switches on the table, found himself a bowl, spooned out a portion of stew, sat down and ate it. It was marvelous, and although a little voice inside of him told him he shouldn’t be eating someone else’s stew, especially when the someone else might be a lovely young lady, he had long since learned to disregard that voice, and he was very hungry, and it was delicious stew. So he took the pot off the stove, put it in the sink, and started eating it right out of the pot. He got a wicked sense of pleasure out of doing this, because his grandmother mother hated it when he ate over the sink. Not to mention that it was very good stew.
He had almost finished the whole pot, when he heard the door open behind him, and a little voice gasp in surprise. He wheeled around. There, standing in the door, was the most inviting young lass he had ever seen. Her hair was encircled with a wreathe of baby's breath, but he wasn't looking at her hair. Her corset was drawn tightly, and exposed an ample amount of bosom, but he wasn't looking at her breasts. Her skirt was relatively short, showing off her shapely legs, but he wasn't looking at her lower extremities.
It was her face that grabbed his attention. She had the largest, sweetest smile he had ever seen. And her eyes...he had never seen such hungry eyes in his life.
Monique, on her part, was taken aback. The first thing she noticed was that the stew pot was no longer on the stove. She had been gathering natural herbs and spices for the stew, and was more than a little miffed that the pot had disappeared. She also liked her stew. And she noticed that the stranger was eating out of the pot over the sink. But then she noticed who it was who was eating the stew out of the pot and over the sink. She didn’t realize it was the prince, but she knew it was not one of those fucking dwarves, and whoever it was, it was a welcome relief to see someone whose head was higher than her waist. (Although she did have a few fantasies about the dwarves and oral sex, but she knew it was one of those things that only looked good in her head, and only late at night, and only when she was really desperate.)
"Oh," said Prince Sydney, after mentally undressing her and placing her in the lingerie he could see hanging on the line outside the window. "I suppose this was your stew..."
Monique just silently nodded.
"I was wondering the wood, gathering switches," he nodded his head toward the pile of switches he had left on the table, "and uh, well, I saw this place and smelled the stew, and, well, uh, it was delicious." In truth Prince Sydney was in terror at the moment he knew would soon come. It would not be long before she got over her surprise, and asked him his name. He hated his name. His therapist told him to accept it as one of the natural bumps in life, but his therapist was also under the supervision of the King, who had named him Sydney. The King was his Grandfather, who was also named Sydney, and he always wanted a Sydney the Second, but there was no way his own son would name any of his offspring Sydney.
Sydney the First had actually named his son Sydney the Second, who changed his name to Marion as soon as he was 18. That was almost enough for the Sydney the First to disown him, and when he found Marion wearing his wife's clothing one day, and pretending to be a naughty milk maid with the Tinker, Marion was banished to a far part of the Kingdom. Sydney the First married him off to a foreign princess, who was really pissed when she found out about the Milk Maid fetish at first, but later she came to accept him as he was, and they are now a happy couple. Besides she had her own fetish concerning clotted cheese and ravens.
Sydney the first adapted Sydney the Second, and raised him as his own.
So it was that Prince Sydney the second stood in mortal terror of the moment that was to come. He waited for the inevitable "Who are you?" to which he would say, "The Prince," only to hear, "You mean YOU are Sydney?" followed by incessant giggling. That was always the way it went. In spite of the fact that he was a prince, and a damned good one, his name made people giggle. As a young boy, he was constantly getting into fights over his name, until his grandfather found out about it, and threatened to have his entire school executed.
But the moment the prince feared did not come. Instead Monique looked over at the large pile of switches on the table, and murmured "My, what big switches you have!"
Prince Sydney, being totally unfamiliar with fairy tales (His grandmother was one of those "modern women" who eschew the anti-feminist values of such archaic stories...even though it had been years since she had read one) did not know the proper response, which was "All the better to spank you with, my dear." Had he known, he would have made for a much shorter introductory meeting, because when Monique saw the switches she got a strange tickling and a familiar dampness between her thighs. In her mind flashed a dozen images of the Prince tying her to the clothes line outside, and bring the switches smartly down across her bare bottom. But of course Sydney, being all in a tizzy about his name, and totally unfamiliar with the way of these kinds of stories, was, in short, clueless.
Monique saw the bewilderment in his eyes, and was wondering if he had any balls at all. So again, she cast her eyes to the switches, and again, she said, this time with a short little whimper, "My, what big switches you have," but the Prince only stood there mute.
Finally exasperated, she said, "Well did you leave me any stew?"
The Prince silently shook his head.
She sighed. Not only was this little wimp totally clueless about the creative possibilities of the switches, he had eaten all her dinner. She was about to tell him to get the hell out of her house, when she noticed the royal emblem on his vest.
"Are you the Prince?" she gasped. Sydney nodded.
“Prince Syd?” asked Monique. Again Sydney nodded, dreading the inevitable giggle which was to come.
“Awesome!” said Monique. “Really awesome!”
“Excuse me,” Sydney said. “Did you just say ‘Awesome’?”
Sydney looked at her, feeling like an idiot. Of course he LOOKED like an idiot, just gaping silently at Monique, but she was a) honored the Prince had chosen her humble hut for his lunch, b) still wondering if the Prince had the wherewithal to actually use the switches, c) looking at the first male she had seen who was over three feet in several years. She was trying to sneak a look at his lower parts to see if he was more endowed than the dwarves (who were, unfortunately in proportion to the rest of their bodies).
“Sure,” she said, moving closer to him. “Do you take your name after Sid Vicious? He was always my favorite of the Sex Pistols.”
Sydney was dumbfounded. Of course, being a Prince, and being under the tutelage of Humboldt he had never heard of rock, much less punk rock, much less the Sex Pistols or Sid Vicious. But he was starting to notice that Monique was not giggling at him. In fact, he was beginning to notice that she looked rather flushed.
To be continued....
"Tally ho," he said, "What is this?"
(He really did talk that way, but it was not his fault. Most of his life he attended Prince School where he was tutored by Humboldt, an ancient geezer who had no real connection to Royal Life except through Victorian romance novels, and he made the mistake of really believing that people talked and acted that way.)
Prince Sydney, still holding the switches in his arms, made his way to the hut, pushed the door open, and went inside. (It is fair to say that being a prince gave him some real boundary issues. He figured that anything in the kingdom was pretty much his, and Humboldt did little to dissuade him from that notion. If he had not been the prince, he would have been in serious trouble on several occasions, especially the incident with the town wench in the dungeon. As it was his father was paying a hefty sum of hush money.)
He looked around and immediately saw a) the cabin was immaculately kept, even better than his own chambers in the palace, b) it was occupied by a female (the laundry neatly hanging outside had been a dead giveaway for that that one) c) she was a young female (five issues of Teen Peasant magazines on the coffee table) and d) she had exquisite taste in lingerie (again, the laundry tells all! One of the dwarves--Hank--had a lingerie fetish, and his wife had always insisted on plain, comfortable white cotton bloomers, so Hank was constantly buying very erotic lingerie, and then giving it to Monique--he just never told her that he was wearing it first. Monique, being no dummy, had figured it all out, but after a few initial moments of disgust, she figured "to each his own" and just washed them very carefully.)
Not only was the cabin immaculately kept, but there was, simmering on the stove, a very delicious stew. The prince was very fond of stew, and rarely got it. The palace cook was rather proud man, who looked down on any "common" dish. While the prince had his fill of Lobster Bordeaux, and Beef a la Basque, he never got stew. When he was a child, he would steal Humboldt's lunch, which was almost always stew, but Humboldt grew wise to him. At first Humboldt didn’t mind because then he could eat the prince's boeuf haché avec de la moutarde, but then he learned it was really just ground beef with mustard, and he was missing his stew. (Believe it or not, stew plays a great role in world history. Look at Jacob and Esau. And most people dont know this, but all Napoleon really wanted was the Perfect Stew, and some English spies told him he could find it in Russia, which is the only reason he attacked.) So Humboldt started scheduling lunch breaks and eating at home.
But this is clearly not a story about Humboldt. If it were, of you would be long past bored, and well into sleep by now. This is about the Prince, who, if you remember, was in the hut, smelling the stew.
Being a Prince, and being rather hungry, Prince Sydney put his switches on the table, found himself a bowl, spooned out a portion of stew, sat down and ate it. It was marvelous, and although a little voice inside of him told him he shouldn’t be eating someone else’s stew, especially when the someone else might be a lovely young lady, he had long since learned to disregard that voice, and he was very hungry, and it was delicious stew. So he took the pot off the stove, put it in the sink, and started eating it right out of the pot. He got a wicked sense of pleasure out of doing this, because his grandmother mother hated it when he ate over the sink. Not to mention that it was very good stew.
He had almost finished the whole pot, when he heard the door open behind him, and a little voice gasp in surprise. He wheeled around. There, standing in the door, was the most inviting young lass he had ever seen. Her hair was encircled with a wreathe of baby's breath, but he wasn't looking at her hair. Her corset was drawn tightly, and exposed an ample amount of bosom, but he wasn't looking at her breasts. Her skirt was relatively short, showing off her shapely legs, but he wasn't looking at her lower extremities.
It was her face that grabbed his attention. She had the largest, sweetest smile he had ever seen. And her eyes...he had never seen such hungry eyes in his life.
Monique, on her part, was taken aback. The first thing she noticed was that the stew pot was no longer on the stove. She had been gathering natural herbs and spices for the stew, and was more than a little miffed that the pot had disappeared. She also liked her stew. And she noticed that the stranger was eating out of the pot over the sink. But then she noticed who it was who was eating the stew out of the pot and over the sink. She didn’t realize it was the prince, but she knew it was not one of those fucking dwarves, and whoever it was, it was a welcome relief to see someone whose head was higher than her waist. (Although she did have a few fantasies about the dwarves and oral sex, but she knew it was one of those things that only looked good in her head, and only late at night, and only when she was really desperate.)
"Oh," said Prince Sydney, after mentally undressing her and placing her in the lingerie he could see hanging on the line outside the window. "I suppose this was your stew..."
Monique just silently nodded.
"I was wondering the wood, gathering switches," he nodded his head toward the pile of switches he had left on the table, "and uh, well, I saw this place and smelled the stew, and, well, uh, it was delicious." In truth Prince Sydney was in terror at the moment he knew would soon come. It would not be long before she got over her surprise, and asked him his name. He hated his name. His therapist told him to accept it as one of the natural bumps in life, but his therapist was also under the supervision of the King, who had named him Sydney. The King was his Grandfather, who was also named Sydney, and he always wanted a Sydney the Second, but there was no way his own son would name any of his offspring Sydney.
Sydney the First had actually named his son Sydney the Second, who changed his name to Marion as soon as he was 18. That was almost enough for the Sydney the First to disown him, and when he found Marion wearing his wife's clothing one day, and pretending to be a naughty milk maid with the Tinker, Marion was banished to a far part of the Kingdom. Sydney the First married him off to a foreign princess, who was really pissed when she found out about the Milk Maid fetish at first, but later she came to accept him as he was, and they are now a happy couple. Besides she had her own fetish concerning clotted cheese and ravens.
Sydney the first adapted Sydney the Second, and raised him as his own.
So it was that Prince Sydney the second stood in mortal terror of the moment that was to come. He waited for the inevitable "Who are you?" to which he would say, "The Prince," only to hear, "You mean YOU are Sydney?" followed by incessant giggling. That was always the way it went. In spite of the fact that he was a prince, and a damned good one, his name made people giggle. As a young boy, he was constantly getting into fights over his name, until his grandfather found out about it, and threatened to have his entire school executed.
But the moment the prince feared did not come. Instead Monique looked over at the large pile of switches on the table, and murmured "My, what big switches you have!"
Prince Sydney, being totally unfamiliar with fairy tales (His grandmother was one of those "modern women" who eschew the anti-feminist values of such archaic stories...even though it had been years since she had read one) did not know the proper response, which was "All the better to spank you with, my dear." Had he known, he would have made for a much shorter introductory meeting, because when Monique saw the switches she got a strange tickling and a familiar dampness between her thighs. In her mind flashed a dozen images of the Prince tying her to the clothes line outside, and bring the switches smartly down across her bare bottom. But of course Sydney, being all in a tizzy about his name, and totally unfamiliar with the way of these kinds of stories, was, in short, clueless.
Monique saw the bewilderment in his eyes, and was wondering if he had any balls at all. So again, she cast her eyes to the switches, and again, she said, this time with a short little whimper, "My, what big switches you have," but the Prince only stood there mute.
Finally exasperated, she said, "Well did you leave me any stew?"
The Prince silently shook his head.
She sighed. Not only was this little wimp totally clueless about the creative possibilities of the switches, he had eaten all her dinner. She was about to tell him to get the hell out of her house, when she noticed the royal emblem on his vest.
"Are you the Prince?" she gasped. Sydney nodded.
“Prince Syd?” asked Monique. Again Sydney nodded, dreading the inevitable giggle which was to come.
“Awesome!” said Monique. “Really awesome!”
“Excuse me,” Sydney said. “Did you just say ‘Awesome’?”
Sydney looked at her, feeling like an idiot. Of course he LOOKED like an idiot, just gaping silently at Monique, but she was a) honored the Prince had chosen her humble hut for his lunch, b) still wondering if the Prince had the wherewithal to actually use the switches, c) looking at the first male she had seen who was over three feet in several years. She was trying to sneak a look at his lower parts to see if he was more endowed than the dwarves (who were, unfortunately in proportion to the rest of their bodies).
“Sure,” she said, moving closer to him. “Do you take your name after Sid Vicious? He was always my favorite of the Sex Pistols.”
Sydney was dumbfounded. Of course, being a Prince, and being under the tutelage of Humboldt he had never heard of rock, much less punk rock, much less the Sex Pistols or Sid Vicious. But he was starting to notice that Monique was not giggling at him. In fact, he was beginning to notice that she looked rather flushed.
To be continued....
Sir_Winston54
Assume the position!
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- Jul 15, 2004
- Posts
- 14,027
Keep going... I'm gonna sit here in the corner with Betticus and munch on popcorn and watch the little subbies get all flushed like Monique.
BTW, this is funny - and fun - as hell. Keep it going! (Please.)
BTW, this is funny - and fun - as hell. Keep it going! (Please.)
Betticus
FigDaddy!
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- Apr 9, 2004
- Posts
- 12,240
I know that everyone is familiar with Santa Claus. There is a little known twin brother to old Kris Kringle though. An evil twin you might say but he is just misunderstood.
The stories that they tell you as a child are carefully censored to exclude the brother. You see, Santa takes care of all the good little boys and girls. His elven beancounters even check the list twice for good measure. But no one ever talks about what happens to the boys and girls on the naughty list.
The good boys and girls get gifts. They tread through life carefully just hoping that when Christmas comes their dreams will be fullfilled with candy and teddy bears and toy trains.
It is the job of Santa's twin brother to mete out discipline and punishment at Christmastime to the poor unfortunates on the other list. The naughty ones. The precocious, teasing ones. The ones like our little subbies right here.
His name has been forgotten through time, he gets no appreciation. He is just known among the elves and reindeer as Dom Claus. No year of feasting on milk and cookies for him as his job is to pump the giant bellows below the toy making factory. His body grown enormously strong and muscular through the centuries of hard labor. His only outlet for his frustration comes but once a year when he gets to work out his aggression on the luscious, bare bodies of his nubile young victims. No children for Dom Claus, his victims of choice are the ones that drive him to lust. He likes the desperation of a woman when she realizes that her atonement for a year of wanton debauchery and evil is at hand.
Wearing his black leather Dom Claus suit, with his wide belt studded with hooks. Tools of discipline hanging from each one, crops and canes and whips, piercing needles and iron tongs, plugs for every orifice, gags and shackles and handcuffs and leg spreaders. The toolbelt of Dom Claus is as endless as that damn sack of toys his wimpy brother carries.
No reindeer and no red sleigh, a black coach pulled by huge black wolves is his ride. There is no escape.
The stories that they tell you as a child are carefully censored to exclude the brother. You see, Santa takes care of all the good little boys and girls. His elven beancounters even check the list twice for good measure. But no one ever talks about what happens to the boys and girls on the naughty list.
The good boys and girls get gifts. They tread through life carefully just hoping that when Christmas comes their dreams will be fullfilled with candy and teddy bears and toy trains.
It is the job of Santa's twin brother to mete out discipline and punishment at Christmastime to the poor unfortunates on the other list. The naughty ones. The precocious, teasing ones. The ones like our little subbies right here.
His name has been forgotten through time, he gets no appreciation. He is just known among the elves and reindeer as Dom Claus. No year of feasting on milk and cookies for him as his job is to pump the giant bellows below the toy making factory. His body grown enormously strong and muscular through the centuries of hard labor. His only outlet for his frustration comes but once a year when he gets to work out his aggression on the luscious, bare bodies of his nubile young victims. No children for Dom Claus, his victims of choice are the ones that drive him to lust. He likes the desperation of a woman when she realizes that her atonement for a year of wanton debauchery and evil is at hand.
Wearing his black leather Dom Claus suit, with his wide belt studded with hooks. Tools of discipline hanging from each one, crops and canes and whips, piercing needles and iron tongs, plugs for every orifice, gags and shackles and handcuffs and leg spreaders. The toolbelt of Dom Claus is as endless as that damn sack of toys his wimpy brother carries.
No reindeer and no red sleigh, a black coach pulled by huge black wolves is his ride. There is no escape.
snowy ciara
Nerdalicious!
- Joined
- Jul 26, 2004
- Posts
- 6,403
getting some more chocolate milk and popcorn... sneaking in between Betticus and Sir Winston... Dom Claus seems a bit scary...
