|The Story||The Authors|
|"Eeeeewoooooooooooooooooooooooggga!" came Li'l Debbie's throaty keening as she knew, for the first time that morning, the delights of Shishra or "The Conflagratory Lingam is Caused To Approximate a Ripe Turnip Amidst the Eunuchoid Congress of Auparishtaka."|
The ever-resourceful Mr. Tickles, meanwhile, had chopped down a stand of palm trees and fashioned a primitive sort of catapult. |
This he dragged down the beach to where Donovan's mystic crystal ship lay at anchor in the shallow, sunkissed lagoon.
Atop a makeshift platform bed, held aloft by crude stilts and otherwise generally straight out of The Swiss Family Robinson, the gentle Scottish bard was using his feet to rub Li'l Debbie down with rendered whale fat while with his nimble fingers he worked a live sea-slug in and out of the petallike folds of her yoni, these actions causing her to groan and thrash about the conjugal bed in spasms of exquisite ecstacy.
Enraged beyond words, the dwarf aimed and cocked the catapult, installed his tiny self in the basket, and cut the cord...
Zeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep -- straight and true as the arrows of Artemis, the areodynamic dwarf shot through the air, and came to impact straight in the bullseye of the ongoing bridal festivities --
-- that is to say, head-first, a tiny stubborn battering-ram, headfist, like a misguided babe seeking a return to the womb, headfirst he landed between Donovan's furiously pumping buttocks and lodged, the whole upper half of him -- inextricably, it seemed -- inside Donovan's bum. The little dwarf legs kicked furiously, and Donovan just howled in pain.
|With no apparent escape backwards the angry dwarf decided there was naught to be done but proceed onward. Donovan reeled howling and screeching and waving his invaded posterior like some enraged rabid dog trying to dislodge Mr Tickles from his anal cavity. L'il Debbie still in the throes of conjugal bliss and new to the mystic side erotic delights of considered this to be part of the activities.|
|The realities of the dwarf's large, shiny belt-buckle squeezing past Donovan's prostate gland as Mr. Tickles thrashed furiously forward caused the composer of such sing-along favorites as "Mellow Yellow" and "The Fat Angel" to experience ninety-seven consecutive orgasms in the space of just under three minutes. He yelped, flailed and twitched with the impossible palsy such a mix of agony and ecstacy, bucking upon a suddenly scared Li'l Debbie (Who was this man? she asked herself...What is he doing to me? Why is he making those terrible noises?) Donovan gave one final scream and then collapsed unconscious atop her, his still-erect member pulsing between her thighs with a life of its own.|
Li'l Debbie screamed in absolute horror as Donovan began to kick and bray like a donkey that had just been stung by a giant mutant killer bee and Mr. Tickles' lower half flopped around like a wet rag hanging out of a donkey's ass. Meredith, who had arrived on the beach just in time to witness Mr. Tickles' headlong foray into the great unknown, could only shake her head and laugh. |
"Oh, Mr. Tickles," she chuckled to herself. "You've done it again you silly little man."