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Archive name: potted.txt (Mf, inc, rp, nec, tort)
Authors name: Lor Oldmann (alasder@planet-save.com)
Story title : Potted Fairy Tales for Real
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Potted Fairy Tales for Real (Mf, inc, rp, nec, tort)
by Lor Oldmann (alasder@planet-save.com)
***
A serious attempt to explore, examine and experiment
with the erogenous zones of traditional folk lore and
fairy tale.
***
Potted Fairy Tales for Real: The Metal Kettle, Snow
White, and The Golden Distaff.
Fact: fairy tales have been around for as long as human
beings have realised that they can communicate their
thoughts to one another by the spoken or written word.
For the extant oral tradition we have to go into the
heart of Africa, to the Stone Age people of Borneo or
to the Aborigines of Central Australia.
The most famous collection in written form has to be
the 'Kinder- und Haus-m„rchen' by the brothers Grimm,
and the most famous fairy tale teller is, of course,
Hans Christian Andersen, which utterly useless bits of
information distort the real nature of the genre.
The inescapable fact is that fairy tales were told
originally to give expression to the deepest, darkest
imagining of the human psyche. In other words, they
were indescribably filthy and wicked; what we find
embodied in the original fairy tale are unrestrained
lust and murder, total disregard for any sense of
decency, righteousness, moral or political correctness
or any consideration for human dignity or self-respect.
What the Frenchman Perrault, the German Grimm brothers,
the Dane Hans Andersen and the Scotsman Andrew Lang did
was to give these utterly disgusting thoughts some
measure of respectability without actually destroying
their texture. Fairy tales, in one form or another,
have occupied some of the most peculiar minds of the
past: Socrates, Plato and Aristotle, for instance,
Zarathustra, Jesus of Nazareth and Mohammed in
religious circles, the philosophers Kant, Nietzsche and
Martin Buber, not to mention modern film producers, the
latest Harry Potter craze and the slightly earlier and
better Tolkien stories, and sad compilers of semi-
illiterate horny little pieces on Little Red Riding
Hood on the internet.
One of the oldest of all fairy tales dates back to the
period of prehistory when stone age man and his dogs
came into contact with the much more sophisticated
bronze age or early iron age women. The aboriginal
Neolithic man is shrouded in mystery and given the
supernatural status of 'fairy' or 'man of peace' in the
earliest folk lore.
Note in passing: the term 'fairy' as a redneck's
description of a 'queer' or 'gay' in fact finds its
origin in 'fairy' as a synonym for 'Neanderthal' or
'cave man', even 'he man' or 'hard man'. The stories
that follows are suitable only for mature adult minds
with a sense of humour and not for squeamish little
pricks who think that sex is intrinsically flawed and
that only the missionary position after prolonged
prayer is permitted -- but only just. Unlike subsequent
stories in the series, they are related in terms as
near the original oral tradition as it is possible to
get in the early 21st century.
*** The Metal Kettle
A woman owned a kettle. Because it was made of metal it
cooked food much quicker, more thoroughly and much more
efficiently than any stone pot. A fairy man often came
to her, when her husband was absent making money in
metals presumably, to borrow the kettle.
While he was inside the house, his dogs would sit at
the threshold and growl at any who came near. The stone
age man and the metal kettle woman would haggle over
the conditions of the loan every time, but the outcome
was always the same: the woman would get fucked by the
fairy man (because stone age man meat still had a touch
of animal about it while metal age man had lost
something in translation), and, the man made a solemn
promise that when he returned the pot it would contain
some of the cooked meat (for stone age man was still a
hunter while the more civilised bronze age man had
started to till the ground and had become something of
a vegetarian whereas his woman longed for meat). Of
course, being in that dark misty edge of time, all this
was done in verse:
The cost of the kettle is meat, Raw, savage and
replete,
Di da di da di da de da, and brought back here
complete.
(Christ! What do you expect for free? Lord Byron?)
Anyway, after a series of visits like this, the woman
suddenly finds herself with morning sickness. Her
husband is pleased, for he has been having doubts about
his complete manhood - he has been married for over a
year, and she was old enough to bleed when he married
her! And it will be nice to hear the patter of tiny
feet...
Yog (for that is fairy man's name) continues to visit
on the pretence of borrowing the kettle although he is
beginning to like the bargaining for its own sake and
his fairy wife is getting a bit past her sell-by date
and not nearly as good-looking as this chic. In the
ninth month, the young metal kettle woman decides it is
time to go home to mother (for such was the tradition
among bronze age women - to have their babies in the
company of other women, in an attempt to preserve some
mystery in life).
So she instructs her husband: 'See this potted hare,
you bin guzzlin'? And the steamed salmon and stewed
venison? Well, I gotta confession! It was not me what
did the cooking. It is this guy who comes along to
borrow the kettle from time to time, like every other
day. He gets it on a regular basis like! And he brings
home the bacon in the pot as part of the deal! Now
listen carefully! This is what you have to do."
True to form, Yog turned up to borrow the kettle. At
first he seemed a bit disoriented. The kettle person
seemed different: bigger and hairier, definitely older
and certainly uglier - almost as ugly as his wife, and
the tunic it wore reached below the knees instead of
just below the vital parts. But a deal is a deal! He
lifted the kettle man and threw him to the floor.
There was a bit of a struggle, mostly one-sided, and
some slight difficulty in finding an orifice, but
having found it, he fucked as only stone age man could,
shot off, collected the kettle and left with his dogs.
Metal kettle man lay for a while in deep contemplation
on the floor.
'So this is how we get the goodies,' he reflected with
a wan smile on his face. 'Ah, well, c'est la vie!'
When Yog returned the following day, with braised baron
of beef, metal kettle man, who was not yet completely
familiar with the routine nor had fully understood his
wife's instructions, hauled up the skirts of his tunic
and bent over. Stone age man, assuming that it was a
case of economic inflation, obliged, fucked the bronzed
age man stupid for about a quarter of an hour then left
metal kettle man licking his lips as he turned his
attention to the contents of the pot.
Three or four week later, metal kettle women returns
home with her infant son and a severe case of PND.
Fairy man appears soon afterwards, for the third time
that week, to borrow the kettle. He is perplexed and
not a little disgruntled, for there are now two metal
kettle people.
A deal is a deal is a deal! He lets his eyes wander
from the cot in the corner to the younger, smaller and
undeniably prettier metal kettle person. He then lifts
the older, hairier, and positively uglier of the two,
throws him face down on the floor and fucks the shit
out of him, for it has to be said: stone age man has
developed a taste for mature backside. He shoots off,
lifts the kettle and departs, leaving the woman
flabbergasted and lost for words.
Not for long, though. She berates her husband for being
a double-crossing bastard son of a faggot bitch, for
besmirching the good name of fair(y) trading, etc. etc.
Her PND suddenly reaches boiling point and explodes.
She decides to reclaim her kettle, and for that purpose
goes in search of Yog.
She has never been in fairyland before, and it is a
while before she finally finds the right cave. And
there on the fire is her pot simmering away quite
nicely with a delicious estouffade de bouf … la
proven‡ale (for such is the location of the earliest
version of the story).
The cave was dark and there seemed nobody around except
an old man, apparently dead drunk or fast asleep. She
lifted the kettle from the fire and made her escape,
but the old man woke from his slumbers and whistled for
the two fairy dogs from deeper inside the cave. These
gave chase. The kettle was cumbersome. The woman
decided to pour out some of the stew as a means of
lightening the burden and tempting the dogs away from
pursuit.
Of course the dogs took the bait, but soon gobbled up
the food and resumed the chase. She did this a couple
of times, but in the end the manoeuvre proved
unsuccessful. Just as she reached home, at the
threshold, the dogs caught up with her. They pounced on
her and knocked her to the floor. The contents of the
kettle spilled. One dog sniffed the now cold meat
sploshed about the floor and consumed it; the other
sniffed the still hot meat between the woman's thighs
and made a meal of licking before finally mounting her.
She screamed blue bloody murder at the shock of the
forced entry, for she had never experienced anything
like a dog cock inside her. It was as if it were
growing bigger and harder by the second as the beast
hammered into her.
She felt her assailant becoming more agitated in his
thrusts, and then exploding hot, blistering, heavy
semen inside her as, still deeply embedded inside her,
he swung away, and they were stuck, butt to backside.
And the poor bitch wondered what the hell was happening
to the world, and why two and two no longer made - er,
what was it? Oh yes, four - or thereabouts.
Meanwhile, the other dog, having finished off the stew,
turned his attention to the man of the house who,
witnessing the display, simply assumed it to be another
deal struck by his wife with the fairy folk. He knelt
down, prepared to let the second dog have its evil way.
The animal sniffed for a few moments and obliged and
the earlier saga was reprised.
While all this was going on, Yog, presupposing that it
had been stolen, set out to make amends for the missing
pot. He arrived on the scene just as Metal man was
being well and truly fucked by the dog and metal woman
was still attached to the other dog by their naughty
bits. Yog felt the muscles of his stomach retching, and
he wondered at the degeneration of the human species.
He was disgusted.
'I don't know what the world is coming to!' he
exclaimed. 'It certainly wasn't like this in my young
days, or in the days of my father!' He whistled and the
one dog pulled out of the woman with a resounding plop
and the other dog retreated with some reluctance and
hesitance from her husband.
Yog proceeded to beat the shit out of the two dogs for
their disgusting, disgraceful behaviour then went back
the way he had come from fairyland, greatly saddened by
the breakdown of communications between cultures. He
always said that nothing good would come from meddling
in metal and other such dark smoky mysteries. And so it
proved. The fairy man never came back to borrow the
kettle.
The second fairy tale comes from the Middle Ages. Best
known for the Walt Disney travesty based on the Grimm
brother's version. It is the tale of...
*** Snow White in the land of Dwarfs.
In a certain Land in the country we now know as Germany
there was a brutal and inhuman practice (found among
the wild animals of Africa) of abandoning deformed
offsprings to the forces of nature. The cheetah in
Africa will take a runt of the litter far into the
brush and leave it there for predators. In this
particular Land, unwanted children were taken deep into
the forest and left for the wild beasts or whatever.
The wild beasts were wolves, bears, wild boars and such
like; the whatever were the fairies or the survivors of
such an evil practice who, somehow or other, managed to
defeat all the odds and form a strange society of
freaks. Freaks they may have been, but they were human
creatures with hearts and needs, and so they organised
themselves, made laws and marriages, and were not
averse to breaking these laws and their marriage vows.
They may have had to endure a miserable existence, but
they appear to have also been horny little bastards
(many of them were quite literally that!).
The Land beyond where the forest was, was ruled by a
king and a queen who had a daughter called Snow White,
because her skin was so clear that it was possible to
see the blood pulsing through her arteries (rich red)
and veins (royal blue). She was the most beautiful
creature on earth. As the little girl grew, her skin
became as white as the untrodden snow, her cheeks as
rosy as her arterial blood and her eyes as blue as the
blood in her veins. Only her jet black hair prevented
her from scoring full marks on the Nazi racial
stereotype scale.
As always happens in these set-ups, the kid's mother
died and the dad was so heart-broken that he instantly
married the first really gorgeous, sexy broad that
waddled along the catwalk to the palace within the
week. This step-mother had a magic mirror which she
hung on the bedroom wall where the ex-queen's portrait
used to be, and when her husband was away she would
stand before this mirror and admire herself and talk to
her reflection. Then one day in such a conversation she
broke into verse which is a really dangerous thing to
do in a fairy tale:
Spiegel, Spiegel an der Wand, Wer ist sch”nste in dem
Land?
She peed herself when the reflection not only answered,
but insulted her.
You O Queen were razzle-dazzle,
But Snow White beats you to a frazzle.
When she recovered she was livid and decided that the
conceited little bitch, who dared to consider herself
lovelier, sexier, sweeter and more tender-hearted than
her dear step-mother, had to go. Permanently!
*
The king had been away fighting some neighbouring king
in the medieval equivalent of the European Hooligans
Cup. It would be some time before he would return - if
he was victorious. So the queen told a woodman, who is
always poor in these stories and who always gets the
dirty work to do, to take the child, now sweet
fourteen, deep into the forest and abandon her there to
the wild beasts, the weirdoes or the fairies. (This
last category has to be included in order for the story
to qualify as a fairy tale.)
The freaks of the forest could not believe their luck
when three of their number, returning from work in the
clay mines where they looked for gold and diamonds,
found this pretty little piece of cheesecake sitting
alone, skirts above her parted knees, making a daisy
chain in a tiny clearing.
'She ain't for real,' declared one of the dwarfs.
'People don't just leave things like that lying
around.'
'It's a mirage created by them damned fairies,'
suggested another.
'Or a fucking trap!' exclaimed a third. 'Let's get the
fuck outa here!'
'Hold on,' insisted the first. 'What have we got to
lose?'
'Our fucking lives,' grumbled the third.
'Anyway, let's have a closer look at it.' The second
freak approached edgily and gingerly on tip-toe with
hunched shoulders, because that was the nature of his
affliction. 'What have we got to go home to?'
'There's Nell...'
'...who doesn't have a breast,' sneered the first;
'more of an udder'
'Or Wanda...'
'...who has two prices.' The first freak laughed.
'Depending on whether she picks away the scabs!'
After a great deal of such banter, they finally
approach Snow White. At first they were satisfied with
looking her over, but graduated to prodding and
feeling, much to Snow White's obvious annoyance.
'Looks all right to me!' said the first.
'Hard to tell with all those clothes on,' said the
second. 'Let's strip her and see what she is really
like.'
'Let's get the fuck outa here before it's too fucking
late,' said the third.
But the other two removed the girl's clothing despite
her protests and flailing fists. All three freaks
gasped in astonishment at the perfect beauty before
them where they could actually see the blood coursing
through her arteries and all that jazz. When they had
recovered from their shock, freaks one and two
proceeded to feel this goddess up.
'This is a dream,' stated the first freak at her tits.
'We're all going to wake up any moment now...'
'Then let's fuck her before we do,' said the second who
was already tasting her cunt.
'It's ten to fucking twelve statutory in the fucking
castle dungeon for rape in this fucking Land,' moaned
the third, now quite seriously concerned. 'And fucking
life or the fucking death penalty if she's a fucking
minor."
'How old are you, honey?' enquired the first freak.
'I'm fourteen, you deformed pigs,' screamed the sweet
child, 'and if you lay a finger on me, my father will
cut your balls off and stick them all the way up your
stinking ass-holes! I'm princess Snow White and my
father is the fucking godfather around here, you
freaking shit bags.'
'I like a girl with spirit,' said number one.
'I like a girl with pussy,' countered the second.
'Every girl has pussy,' observed the first.
'So?' ejaculated the second. 'I like them all.'
So all three fucked her solid for the rest of the day,
although it has to be said that freak number three had
reservations. Freaks one and two had nothing left in
reserve. So they took her home with them.
Meanwhile back at the castle. The king has returned
from his battle. After a while he asks where his
daughter is.
Queenie shrugs. 'Around,' she says, then under her
breath adds 'a round little ball of useless shit!'
It took another week or so for the king to come to the
conclusion that his daughter wasn't around and another
couple of weeks for him to forget all about her. For as
he said, 'After all, it was only a girl. Not like it
was a son!' Then on reflection he added, 'Mind you, she
was quite a looker, er. that er. girl.er.what was her
name?'
Meanwhile, Snow White grew more beautiful by the day
and more and more popular even with the females of the
freak village, the great majority of whom were ugly to
such an extent that it became an art form.
'It's such a pleasure having such a pretty little girl
in our midst,' said one really impossibly and
dreadfully ugly specimen. Even the dogs of the village
ran away in terror from her.
'The men folk seem to think so,' said the girl with
something of a sneer.
'And such a relief,' added the hag.
Snow White was slightly taken aback. 'What do you mean,
you utterly disgusting monstrosity?'
'My hand was beginning to get tired,' sighed the woman.
'It was my mouth,' claimed another ugly bitch. 'It was
getting that I could hardly eat or speak, the way they
went at it, and I lost all my teeth.'
'I was getting that I couldn't sit down,' stated a
third atrocious creature.
'It was my ankle,' said a fourth and the others stared
at her in disbelief.
Well, anyway, that's all by the by; the fact is that
Snow White became more and more beautiful, attractive,
desirable, sexy, notorious and rich by the day. Her
reputation inevitably went far beyond the forest home
of these freaks, until recognisably normal men came
from far and even farther afield to get a piece of the
action and savour the goodies. And even more inevitably
it reached the ears of the king that there was a prize
piece of pussy deep in the forest of his own Land so he
resolved to try it for himself.
As he was fucking her for the fourth time in quick
succession, for he vowed that he had never had anything
closely resembling it in his entire life, he had the
odd feeling that there was something vaguely familiar
about this hot piece of sex.
He enquired about her name, her station in life, her
history and her price, and was shocked to find that he
was fucking his own flesh and blood - and paying for
it. He was also outraged at the conceit, the deceit and
the double-mindedness of his second wife, and decided
that the bitch had to die.
So the beautiful Snow White returned to her proper
place in the royal palace amid the general acclamation
and loud rejoicing of the people. The wicked stepmother
heard the commotion, put two and two together and made
a hasty exit. And everyone was happy.
The freaks were happy because they were now permitted
to trade with the rest of the Land, the courtiers were
happy because the stepmother had proved to be a real
pain in the afterthoughts among them, Snow White was
happy because she was back where she rightly belonged -
among the plush and velvet and wealth of the palace.
But for some reason the king was the happiest of them
all. He went around all day every day with a smile on
his fat face. And he never went to war no more!
*** The Golden Distaff
The golden distaff in this early medieval folk tale is
little more than a red herring. Certainly it is a magic
piece of equipment (invented by fairies, of course, to
edge it into the genre) that produces a thread of the
purest gold, but it has little place in the story other
than provide a bit of class and the occasional bit of
guidance to the perplexed.
After all, it isn't your common herdsman or wood-cutter
who could afford a shirt woven from the purest gold.
Much more important to the story are the five
characters: Dora, the heroine who is, in fact, a
princess who has been kidnapped by these goddam
fairies, sexually abused and cast aside, and who
obviously is the most beautiful creature who has ever
lived, Grona, her evil and exquisitely ugly foster-
mother, Jarna, the foster-mother's plain jane of a
daughter, Harn, the inevitable wood-cutter, and the
equally inevitable king who has to remain anonymous for
legal reasons.
Shortly after his coronation, the anonymous king went
hunting deer and wild boar in the great forests of his
kingdom. It was a blisteringly hot day and when the
hunting party came to a clearing with a little house,
the king approached with the purpose of asking for a
drink of cold water.
The door was opened by the most beautiful young girl he
could have dreamed about, and instantly he fell in
love. Her lips were full, pouting, red and ripe for
kissing and her breasts were bursting from her bodice.
To prove his love, he carried her to a bed, ripped the
clothes from her body and raped the hell out of her,
for even in those dark, far-off days, heads of state
fucked their subjects just to show how much they cared.
Later, on the way back to his palace after completing
his hunting for the day, the king is overcome by a
sense of guilt, shame and bitter remorse. Alone he
returns to the cottage and tells the beautiful, now
tearful kid how much he loves her and how sorry he is
that he has done such an evil deed, and to prove how
sorry he is he throws her back on to the bed, rips the
remains of her clothing off and fucks her senseless.
When she recovers somewhat after he has slapped her
about a bit, he reaffirms his love and tells her that
he intend to marry her and to start the preparations
for the wedding on the Sunday after the next full moon.
'But I love the wood-cutter,' declared the violated
maiden.
'Fuck him!' exclaimed the king. 'What sort of future
can he provide?'
The girl reflects upon this thought for fully three
seconds, then nods agreement. 'OK!' And the matter is
settled. She is full of it! And more! She can't wait to
tell her ugly foster parent and her repulsive daughter
the good news. She is only mildly surprised when they
don't jump up and down and dance around in vicarious
joy. For who the hell is going to sweep the floors,
make the beds, cook the meals, wash the dishes, light
the fires, thatch the roof.? For Grona and Jarna things
look pretty bleak.
A few weeks later, the king orders the hag Grona to
bring the beautiful Dora to the castle in time for the
dawning of the first Sunday after the full moon. For
then the marriage can take place. The evil old witch
hatches a wicked plot. She takes the young girl even
deeper into the forest and pierces her heart with a
stiletto.
To make sure she is well and truly dead, she cuts off
her head, and to make doubly and trebly sure, she cuts
the hands and feet off the corpse and buries the bits
and pieces in seven different locations because
arithmetic was never her best subject, having
conveniently found a spade that was left over from an
earlier fairy tale. She then returns to the clearing
and the cottage to do a renovation job on Jarna.
On the dawning of the Sunday after the full moon, Grona
turns up at the castle with Jarna dressed up to look
like Dora. The king takes her word for it, but has
doubts, because even the veil over her face cannot
minimise the chasm between true beauty and a pock-
marked, smelly-arsed, bow-legged, cross-eyed little
tart.
Nevertheless, the king assumed the drink he consumed at
his stag party has something to do with it. He goes
through the motions with the sacrament of holy
matrimony, scuttles through to the royal bed chamber to
indulge the traditional three days of crazed sex. He
has Jarna, supposing it to be Dora, (one wonders why it
didn't click when she answered her name in the wedding
ceremony: "Wilt thou Jarna have this guy as your
legally wedded husband?") every way possible in every
position in all her orifices. Even if he had his
doubts, he reassures himself, she fucks well, and that
is the end all and be all of marriage!
Meanwhile back in the forest Harn the mentally retarded
woodcutter edges into the story. He has not had it for
more than a month and has a hard-on that would crack a
mare in twain. When he reaches the cottage in the
clearing there is no-one around. He notices the golden
distaff lying where Dora often sat spinning. When he
lifts it, blood drips from it for some reason, and
although he is not brilliant in the brain department,
he knows instinctively that distaffs, especially golden
distaffs, don't bleed.
It is at this point that the story becomes a little
hard to believe. For this golden distaff began to
tremble and move the wood-cutter's hand like a
diviner's twig. Because he had little choice in the
matter, the wood-cutter followed and the distaff led
him deeper and deeper in the forest until they came to
the very spot where Grona had done the extreme dirty on
the lovely Dora.
A golden thread was unravelled from the distaff to a
point on the ground where the man noticed that the
earth had been recently disturbed. He found the spade
that Grona had carelessly left lying around to rust. He
dug up the still loose sods and uncovered the dead,
bloody head of the beautiful girl. Of course he
recognised it at onece.
He took the head home to his own poor cottage with
quite illegal and really very naughty intentions, for
he still loved Dora, but before he could take it to bed
he had to clean it up a bit. He bathed it tenderly. But
as soon as the water touched the beautiful face, it
came alive. And spoke his name.
The wood-cutter shit himself and dropped the head into
the bucket of water. It continued to speak, however,
albeit with a splutter, and it told him of the evil
things that had been done to here. It also told him
where her other bits were, and that if he were to
recover them, the fairies (in the background of the
story) would ensure that she could be restored to
wholeness and her former perfect glory.
This was done. Dora did not exactly marry the wood-
cutter, but they moved in together, into the house in
the clearing, because it was bigger, cleaner and
altogether a lot more modernly convenient with more
comfortable beds in which they could fuck to their
hearts' content. Nor did they live happily ever after.
. For only a month later the king was out hunting deer
and wild boar again in the forest. He became separated
from the rest of the hunting party, night was
approaching and a winter storm was threatening. Quite
by chance he came to the same clearing where he had
first fucked the girl he believed to be his wife.
He reflected on it sadly, because she had turned out to
be not the treasure he had hoped for; instead she
proved to be a bitch of the first order every bit as
bad as his mother-in-law. It was in that melancholy
mood that he approached the little house to seek
shelter for the night. Imagine his surprise and his
flabbergastation when the door was opened by the
beautiful sex kitten he had imagined he had married.
Dora explained what had happened, and the king was
furious and vowed to have his awful wife and her evil
witch of a mother put down as painfully and as soon as
possible. And to prove how furious he was and to put a
seal on the sincerity of his vow he threw Dora across
the bed and fucked her solid. She tried to explain
about the wood-cutter who was at that moment somewhere
out in the forest cutting down trees (at night, in an
approaching storm? As previously noted, he was not
entirely college material on top!) and that, while they
were not quite legally married.
'Then fuck him!' exclaimed the king. 'Come back to the
castle with me and we shall live happily ever after!'
'After what?' asked Dora.
Nevertheless, she agreed. There was a note of real
pathos in her voice, as she mounted behind the king on
his horse, and looked back sadly at the cottage and
said, 'I'd leave a note for the poor sod, but he can't
read!'
It is at this point in the story that the element of
tragedy enters stage left. For there was an extremely
old (I mean really seriously old, old - like nearly
fifty-something) nurse in the castle who recognised
Dora as soon as she enters (stage right).
'You can't marry her!' the nurse said to the king. 'She
is your kid sister!'
'Oh, my gawwwwd!' exclaims the king inwardly. 'What
have I done? I have gone and fucked my own sister! Oh,
hellfire and damnation, what kind of pervert have I
become?'
And the nursemaid tells how, as a young three year old
baby, the princess Edeline, for such was her real name
although she much preferred Dora, was snatched from her
bed by rather large fairies and taken into the darkest
forest where she was discovered by the apparently
ageless Harn the woodcutter who, because his means was
rather limited and hadn't the first shade of an idea
how to care for a young child, gave her into the care
of the widow Grona because she had a daughter of her
own of approximately the same age. And how the hell the
ancient nursemaid knew all this and did fuck-all about
it at the time is a mystery.
The king is so distressed that he takes Dora to his
bedroom and fucks the hell out of her for one last
time, or maybe for a couple of last times, for
obviously, even though they were living in fairy tale
times, there had to be some restraint, and after all,
fucking your own kid sister, I mean to say, how low and
detestable can one get! And a king of all things! 'My
God,' as Yog would have said a couple of fairy tales
back, 'what is the world coming to?'
Well, anyway, to make amends for all the evil that had
been done, the king hanged Grona for being a murderess
and burned her for being a witch. And, instead of
killing her, he sent Jarna into the forest to live with
Harn as compensation for the loss of Dora (whom we now
know was the princess Edeline). And then a strange
thing happened!
A few days later, Harn turned up at the royal castle to
express his gratitude for having been provided with a
wife and a real sexy one at that. The same nursemaid
who had recognised the princess Edeline, fell down on
her knees and started to pay homage to the poor
woodcutter.
'For,' she said to the king, 'this is none other than
your older brother who was kidnapped by fairies when he
was a baby of three years. He is the rightful ruler of
all the kingdom.'
'Aw, fuck off!' said the king. 'This is getting too
fucking complicated!'
And they all lived in utter confusion ever after. And
if you believe any of this shit, you're sick!
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 25