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An Excuse For Desertion
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
An Excuse for Desertion
an original story by Karl Hahn
My official title was, "In Service to His Magesty, Protector of the
Four Provinces of the Kingdom of Lynnwood." I like the wording. You
can't tell whether the protector is me or the king. It helps recruit
punks like me from the streets of Greywater. They gave us each a
sword, a shield, and that title, and we all felt like little kings.
They trained us for four weeks, marched us around the outskirts of
the city a few times, and then they marched us eight days to our
posting at Fort Chandrell -- nine days if you count day five, when
they allowed us to rest so our feet might heal.
That was when I first heard. Botwick was the guy who told me. I had
grown friendly with him during training, as had many of the other
men. He seemed pretty easy to get along with, in spite of being a
loudmouth. A group of us were gathered around a campfire that night.
"Any of you ever seen an ogre before?" he asked.
We all shook our heads and stared stupidly into the flames.
"Well, you're gonna," he assured us. "They've got 'em at Chandrell,
you know. The enemy keeps 'em as slaves, and some of 'em escape and
come over the mountains."
"Yeah? And I suppose you've seen one." said one fellow. "So what
they look like?"
"No, I ain't seen one," Botwick replied, "but folks who have say they're
big and stinky and stupid and ugly."
"So, we knew already that. You just know the same shit we've all
heard."
Botwick turned to face his challenger. "Yeah, well I'll tell you
some shit you ain't heard, how's that? And from the looks of you,
I'd better do it now or some of the guys might get the idea you're an
ogre, eh? So, here's the deal. First, they're not like us. They've
got yellow faces, like somebody pissed on 'em. And they're hair's so
wooly and matted they can't get a comb through it. And it don't
matter nohow. They don't care how they look. They like to wallow
like pigs and fuck horses. But don't mess with one. He'd just as
soon beat the crap out of you as look at you."
He went on with stories about how ogres ate spoilt meat and dead
babies, and how they couldn't be taught to shit in an outhouse. And
when he saw that his badmouthing these creatures was getting
tiresome, he turned the discussion back to a topic on everybody's
mind -- how horny we all were. When you march all day, you're too
tired to be horny. But this was our day off, and the talk of ogres
had been only a brief interruption to a daylong discussion of pussy.
Guys began repeating the details of all the pussy they got from
girlfriends and whores before they left, and we all listened with our
dicks straining against our uniforms, even though this was the second
or third go-around for most of the stories.
"Don't wear those tales out," said Botwick. "You'll need 'em later
on. You left all them girls back in Greywater. So what you gonna
do when we get to Chandrell? I'll tell you what you're gonna do.
While I'm out bangin' the first babe I meet, you'll all be back in
camp, palming your pricks."
"Only the second part is certain," I added.
At the end of the nineth day, we stumbled into the fort, exhausted.
And what's the first thing the sergeant had us do? Stand at
attention. Then he paced up and down the ranks. "I'm gonna say this
to you pukes just once," he began. "This is where you'll be for the
next year. It's not what you're used to. Keep your mind on your
duty and your dick in your pants and you'll be all right. The only
women in this camp belong to the senior officers. If any of you so
much as turns and faces one of them, I'll personally cut your nuts
off. The town's a mile down the road, and it's off limits. You go
there, and the townies'll cut your nuts off, then I'll come sew 'em
back on so as I can cut 'em off again. We clear on that? Now, before
we settle in, the colonel has a few words to say to you."
The colonel stepped out of a small wooden building.
"Okay men," he began. "You're here to defend your kingdom against
the Darmians. They have sworn to conquer us, so this is serious
business. But to do so, they've got to come over that mountain
pass." He pointed to some hills in the distance. "You're here to
stop them if they try. You're all that stands between them and your
mothers and sisters. So do your duty, and don't give us any shit
about it. When you get an order, do it right away, and we'll all get
along just fine. Understand?"
He blathered on for a while, but you get the gist of it. Then he
nodded to the sergeant, who saluted and marched us to a flimsy wooden
barracks with a dirt floor. Once there, the sergeant assigned us
bunks, had us stand at attention again, and said, "Listen up,
pukes. You heard what the colonel said. Your first order is to
clean your fat asses up. Take off those filthy uniforms and lay 'em
by your bunks for the laundry maid. Your spare ones smell like shit
too, so lay them out also. Then get out to the well and wash up."
We stripped naked and piled out the door. As soon as we were all
out, the sergeant called out, "Okay Kwinkwa. They're ready."
From behind the barracks ambled the most enormous woman I had ever
seen. I don't suppose I could have reached to the top of her head
with my hand standing on tiptoe. And not tall and skinny either.
She was tall and chunky. She wore a gray canvas skirt, ragged about
the hem, and a blouse that laced up between her tits and held them
tight at about my eye level. They were proportioned about right for
a woman of her size, but that made them as the size of melons.
She carried an empty basket big enough for two men to sit in.
And she was yellow, but not like Botwick had said. She was more
golden color. I had never seen hair like hers before either.
Everybody where I come from has straight shiny black hair. Hers hung
down her back in tight golden ringlets, tied up with dozens of
colored ribbons. And she had bails of it. But Botwick was wrong
about it being matted. Even a dumb soldier like me could tell that
that it was clean and brushed.
Her skirt swished back and forth as she walked. A gust of wind
caught it once and flashed me a glimpse of the golden pillars that
were her thighs. Then she ducked into the barracks. Her ass barely
fit through the doorway.
I was contemplating just how horny I must be to pay such close
attention to this animal, when Botwick shouted, "Fuckin' ogre!" That
fact that had already become clear to us all. We went back to
washing. The ogre reemerged a few minutes later, effortlessly
carrying her basket, which was filled with the laundry of thirty-five
men. We all stood with our sorry dicks dripping soapsuds while she
strolled right by us. She glanced down at us and gave us the barest
hint of a smile. That smile made her a magnet for my eyes. I
couldn't help staring. Just this tiny smile made her fat fleshy
lips protrude like slices out of some bulbous, deep-orange fruit.
"Damn," I said after she had passed. "If the women are that big,
imagine the size of the men."
"They'd have to be huge," said Botwick, "just to keep from fallin'
in. And the dick you'd need before she even felt it -- imagine havin'
a dick the size of your arm?"
After we had washed, we had no choice but to sit around naked. Not a
single man would admit to being a such a pussy that he needed to wrap
up in his blanket, so we shivered until the ogre returned with our
uniforms several hours later. She began laying two uniforms on each
bunk. We all scurried to get them on. Botwick had a bunk near the
door, so she got to him early on.
"Shit, what a stench!" Botwick remarked as she dropped his uniforms
on his bunk. Some of the men laughed. She ignored him and went on
with her work, which was mighty nice of her considering that we were
the naked ones, and she could just as easily poked some fun at our
dicks, which were undoubtably lillipution by her standards.
Soon she approached my bunk. I don't know why, but I reached out my
hand to her, something nobody else had dared to do. She stepped
right up to me, bent down and handed me my uniforms. She stooped low
enough that I could see through the laces of her blouse, right into
the dark canyon between her tits. Her body threw off so much heat
that I stopped shivering at once.
I looked up and saw her face close up for the first time. There was
something savagely beautiful about it, perhaps the broadness of her
cheeks or the catlike eyes or the flaring nostrils, or maybe all of
them together. Not what I was used to -- rather like seeing a giant
marigold when the only flowers you've ever known are miniature roses.
There was one thing very peculiar though -- droplets running down
the two sides of her nose. At first, I thought Botwick's comment had
set her crying, but the liquid was deep amber, and it didn't come
from her eyes. It came from tiny folds of skin below her eyes.
The moment she leaned toward me was also when I first caught the odor
that had offended Botwick. But I kind of liked it. It was a strong
musky scent, but not rancid or fetid -- something between the smell
of a sweaty horse and the smell of a woman's pussy, with a spoon of
liquorice thrown in for spice.
She delivered each man his correct uniforms. That was when I
concluded that what Botwick had said about ogres being big and stinky
and stupid and ugly was right on only one count out of four.
By the time she was done with us, I was nearly dressed. On her way
out, she started singing to herself in some strange language, and she
rocked to the rhythm of her song as she walked. I stared at her
giant ass receding toward the door, watching it sway like a great
ship on the waves, a ship that left a wake of that strangely
provocative scent lapping against my nose and tickling at my insides.
The army worked the crap out of us over the next few weeks. When we
weren't building fortifications, we were out on marches into the
mountains, sometimes bivouacing in the high country and freezing our
asses off. Each time, before we'd leave, we left our dirty uniform
on the bunk, and it would be clean when we returned, so we saw very
little of the ogre.
We did see a male ogre once, though. Once or twice a week, the army
gave us an afternoon off. On one such afternoon, a bunch of us went
for a stroll behind the messhall after right after the noon meal, and
there he was, hauling an enormous can of kitchen slops to the pigpen.
"Hey, another dumbshit ogre," Botwick called out. "Hey you.
Slimetoter. Pigfucker. I'm talkin' to you. You deaf?"
The ogre just kept to his work. Botwick picked up a dirt clod and
flung it at him. It thunked against the ogre's head and fell to
pieces in his hair. Several of the guys began to run, but stopped
when they saw that the ogre just kept trudging toward that pigpen.
"You gonna sleep with them pigs?" Botwick taunted. And then, turning
to us he said, "I wonder what life's like when your balls are bigger
than your brains." He got a big chuckle out of that.
I wasn't laughing, though. Partly because I had ceased to find
anything Botwick said funny, but mostly because I was so puzzled.
This ogre was indeed big, but he was a head shorter than the girl
ogre. I figured he must be a midget ogre, if there was such a thing.
I was also puzzled that he didn't stand up for himself. He was
certainly big enough to beat the shit out of any five of us.
Later that same afternoon I went for a walk in the woods, alone.
There was a brook that flowed just outside the fort, and I followed
it downstream a ways. About half a mile down, I began hearing the
sound of the girl ogre's singing. I approached as quietly as I could.
The sound of her voice together with the burbling of the brook was
enough to mask the sound of my footfalls. I caught sight of her
dress and blouse hanging from a branch. Another few steps, and her
piquant scent wafted into my nostrils. There was a thicket between
me and her voice. I crept into it and peeked out across the brook.
She was kneeling naked in the water where the brook rounded a bend. I
could see little but her back and her ass, which was partly
submerged. Her right shoulder was turned slightly toward me, so I
could also see part of her breast from under her arm. A patch of
sunlight sifting down through the trees glanced off her far shoulder
and sprinkled gold dust into the torrents of hair that tumbled down
her back.
She was busy washing sheets. Floating islands of soap bubbles
drifted downstream. She scrubbed in time with her song. It was
strange to me that this enormous creature could be so musical. Her
voice was childlike, but the notes and syllables sounding from her
lips were as pure and bright as the spots of sunlight that fell all
around her. And although her words were perfect nonsense to me, the
song still told a sort of story, an aching tale of longing and
desire. Amid that sound and the splashing of the brook and the moss
beneath me and her scent filling my head, my thoughts took flight and
left the army far behind. I stared and listened and sniffed motionless.
She finished rinsing a bundle of sheets. She was lifting one of them
out of the water when the wind shifted and blew her scent away from
me. She left of singing and looked up. The sheet slipped from her
hand back into the water. She began turning toward me. She never
actually looked at me, so she can't have seen me. She tilted her
head and closed her eyes. Had she heard me? I didn't breathe. She
turned back and picked out one of the dirty sheets from her basket.
Seeing that he was going back to her washing, I breathed again. Yet
the the absence of her song and scent had made the scene empty now.
In a minute, the wind returned her scent to my nose. It was not only
stronger than before, but also different -- fleshier and more
insistent on whatever it was that it was trying to do to me. The
first whiff made me feel giddy. I closed my eyes for a moment. I
guess it was clouding my mind, because I decided I would show myself.
I'd just get up, walk over to this monstrous naked female and let her
know I'd been watching the whole time. Maybe even give her a kiss.
It didn't occur to me at all that she might take offence and wrap me
two or three times around a tree.
When I opened my eyes again, she still had the dirty sheet in her
hands. She was sniffing it. She plunged it into the water between
her thighs and began rocking. I really needed to meet her. Now.
That was what her scent was telling me. And I was just about to
struggle out of the thicket and introduce myself, when it struck me
that she wasn't scrubbing this time. She had arched her back and
thrown her head back. The sound of deep breaths huffed from her
throat, each one like a gust of wind hooting over a well. I changed
my mind. Nobody likes to be caught in the act. I would stay hidden.
Her scent grew still stronger. I could almost taste it on the back
of my tongue.
The thought of catching her jerking off was titilating. I decided I
would do the same, as that had been my original reason for walking
into the woods. I felt a little perverted, being excited by an ogre,
but who would know?
So I unbuttoned my trousers and began playing with myself. Nothing
happened. My dick just lay limp in my hand. The ogre was beginning
get loud now. She was bouncing up and down. Her butt was making
waves in the brook. And the smell was driving me wild. I couldn't
believe how excited I was, and still, no matter how much I slapped
it, my dick stayed as limp as a dead eel.
The ogre's body stiffened. She squealed with delight. Not just
once, but with each breath for almost a minute. Then she sighed a
few times, pulled the dripping sheet out of the water, and buried her
face in it.
The show was over. I buttoned up my trousers, backed out of the
thicket, and quietly headed for the fort. I was not a happy soldier.
My equipment had never failed me before. At least nobody would know.
But I knew. I could hear my mom's voice scolding, "Serves you right
for being a peeping Tom, you little pervert." As if I'd ever tell
her what happened.
By the time I got back, I had halfheartedly put the issue to rest in
my mind. After all, who could get a hard-on watching a beast?
That evening, the ogre came into the barracks to deliver our clean
sheets. She began flopping one set on each bunk. I sat on my bunk
and tried to ignore her. She stopped for a moment when she came to
me. She pulled my sheets from her basket and was just about to toss
them, when she hesitated. Then, in a single motion, she wiped her
face with them and dropped them on the bunk. I could even see an
amber colored stain she had left on them. Could she be getting even
for my spying on her? How could she know? She never saw me.
Besides even this monster wouldn't have jerked herself off if she knew
I was watching.
Botwick couldn't contain his laughter. "Next time, maybe she'll piss
on 'em for you. Sure glad she don't take a fancy to me." I felt like
telling him what she really did with our sheets.
I didn't have much choice but to make up my bunk with the stained
sheets. They were the only ones I had, and the sergeant would be in
later to inspect. I worked it so the blanket covered the stain.
But the real shock was when I tried to sleep on them. That smell.
It was in the sheets. It was right under my nose. I couldn't close
my eyes without picturing something about that ogre -- her lips, her
thighs, her hair, her breasts, her enormous buns bouncing in the
brook. I had to do something to get her out of my head. If I just
jerked off once, maybe she'd go away and I could get some sleep.
I waited until all the men were either asleep or jerking off
themselves and began quietly stroking my shaft. But still --
nothing. It just folded itself up like an accordian. Now I was
truly worried. Maybe it would never work again. And if anybody
found out I'd be a laughing stock. I kept pounding till after
midnight before drifting off to sleep. The only response I got was
chafed skin. The only sensation I can remember was that smell.
The next morning, they shaped us up and marched us out on a three day
mission into the mountains. While we were out there, I let slip that
I had seen where the ogre does our laundry -- naked. The word spread
quickly. I felt like a jerk for revealing her secret. I would have
to introduce myself to her now, just to tell her to find a new spot.
It was the only decent thing I could do. Even a beast deserves her
privacy.
The ogre picked up our dirty uniforms soon after we got back. I had
rehearsed in my head the words I would say to her during the march
back. "Miss, they all know where you wash the clothes. Find another
place." Simple words, but when she came to my bunk, my lips froze. I
tried to make them move, but nothing. I couldn't even move enough to
make her notice I had something to say. And yet, I still drew her
attention. She stepped right up to my bunk and muttered something to
me. It sounded like, "Yummy tenkee." Then she smiled and went on
with her work.
They gave us the afternoon off again. We all went to the club and
had a few beers. Late that afternoon eight of us had spent all our
money. We came back and sat around the barracks.
"This no pussy stuff is bullshit," said Botwick. "I am so horny I
could fuck a mule." Grunts of agreement rumbled around the
barracks. "And you know," he continued, "one of our buddies has told
us just where to find that mule. I'll bet she'll put out for pennies.
She'll probably take us all. I'm heading for the creek. Everyone
who wants to get laid's welcome to come along?"
"Why don't you just leave her the fuck alone," I argued.
"What is she, your fuckin' sister?" Botwick shot back. "We are
suffering a severe lack of pussy 'round here, or maybe you hadn't
noticed. I s'pose you'd rather sit 'round here and fuck the
knotholes in the wall. All in favor of ignoring this asshole say
'Fuck you!'" Except for my silence, it was unanimous. They all
swaggered out the door.
I lay on my bunk feeling like a real chickenshit. I tried to comfort
myself with the knowledge that there were only seven of them, and she
could probably kick their asses. That worked for about ten minutes.
Then I felt like a turd again. I got up and trotted toward the
brook.
They had found her in a patch of tall weeds as she was returning to
deliver our uniforms. Her basket was overturned on the ground with
uniforms scattered everywhere. A big stick lay nearby, so perhaps
Botwick had tripped her. Six guys were holding down her head and
shoulders while Botwick crouched between her ankles brandishing an
army knife.
The ogre was crying, "No! Bad tenkee! Stop!"
"You son of a bitch!" I yelled. "Get the fuck off her."
Botwick looked up. "Oh, it's mister choirboy come to rescue his
sweetheart. You afraid we're gonna hurt little poopsie here?"
"How'd you like it if the pigpen ogre came and fucked you? She's a
human being, dammit." That got a big laugh.
"Yeah? Well she's the biggest cunt I ever saw. So fuck off, why
don't you!" said Botwick, and proceded to slit the ogre's skirt from
her crotch right through to the hem.
Beast or no beast, she didn't deserve this. I ran over and kicked
Botwick in the side of the head. He fell over. His tongue lolled
out onto the ground and blood dribbled down behind his ear. The
knife rolled out of his hand. I grabbed it. I expected the other
six guys to pounce on me now, but they just kept sitting on the ogre.
I held the knife up and glared at them. "I'm not gonna go away, you
know," I growled. The knife was trembling in my hand. Still no
reaction. This pissed me off even more. A moment ago I was in fear
they would beat me into chopped meat. Now I almost wanted them to. I
was about to tell them all what assholes they were. As I opened my
mouth to speak, a moment of clear thought convinced me it would do
nothing to help the ogre. I let the knife drop.
"What would your kin back in Greywater think of you if you raped this
monster?" I said. "Botwick's a cretin and he doesn't know any better.
What about you?"
"We're just a horny bunch 'o guys," said one. He looked away as he
said it.
"Dammit. I'm horny too. We're all horny. You'll live through it.
Besides, what if she tells her ogre friends about you? I doubt if
we'll find the pieces when they get done with you."
That did it. One by one they all got up. Two of them grabbed
Botwick under his arms. The whole bunch slunk away, dragging him
with them. I let go a deep breath. Then I went over to the ogre's
basket and began putting it in order for her. I didn't do a very
good job of it, though. I was still shaking too hard to fold the
sheets properly.
The ogre sat up and gaped at me for a minute. Her face was covered
with tears. She looked at her ruined skirt.
"Why boy break dress?" she sobbed.
"They weren't very nice boys," I answered, surprised that she would
even speak to me.
"Kwinkwa not have other dress. Why boy break?" she insisted.
"Well," I said, "They were trying to rape you."
"Kwinkwa not know little-one word, 'rape.'"
"They were trying to, er, put a baby inside you."
"How boy put baby if Kwinkwa not want?"
"Well, if you don't want it, you have to do something. You're strong
as a bear. You've got to fight them off."
"Fight bad. Little-ones fight. Fight make little-ones little.
Zimgasswe not fight never, so Kwinkwa not fight never."
She had left off sobbing to make this last point, and now spoke in a
scolding tone. Even so, hearing her voice was calming after what had
just happened. I knew she would be all right. I stopped trembling.
And I began noticing her scent again.
"If I hadn't fought them," I said, "they would have raped you."
"Not need fight. How boy's tenkee be hard if Kwinkwa not give
cosguh?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Tenkee. Tenkee." she pointed at my crotch. "Tenkee be hard to put
baby."
"You mean ogre boys can't get ..."
"Kwinkwa not ogre! Ogre word bad little-one word. Kwinkwa Zimgasswe
girl. Say -- Zim-gass-we."
"Okay. You mean that _Zimgasswe_ boys can't get hard tenkee if you
don't want them to?" She gazed at me with big, clear eyes then
glanced up and shook her head.
"If girl not want, no hard tenkee," she said.
"Then I guess blindness isn't a problem among Zimgasswe boys," I said
without thinking.
Her face filled with puzzlement. For a moment she looked like what
little girl might look like through the eyes of a puppy.
"Not take blind tenkee," she said. "Not work good for girl. Girl need
boy work hard on field. Girl let mama keep blind boy."
"Sorry. I know you don't want a blind boy," I said. "But no matter
what you say about tenkees, those boys would have raped you. They can
have hard tenkee anytime they want. Even sometimes when they don't
want."
"Little-one boys not have hard tenkee for Zimgasswe girl. Boy's
tenkee not boy's. Zimgasswe way, all things girl's. Field, girl's.
House, girl's. Baby, girl's. Boy's clothes, girl's. Boy's tenkee,
girl's. Girl give cosguh, tenkee be hard."
I had no idea what she meant. "Little-one boys aren't Zimgasswe," I
said. "Those boys would have raped you. I'm sure their tenkees were
already hard."
She smiled and shook her head. "Not be hard. Little-one tenkee same
as Zimgasswe tenkee."
I shook my head, no.
"No?" she said. "Boy show Kwinkwa. Boy make hard tenkee now.
Kwinkwa watch."
This was embarassing. I especially didn't want to admit the problem
I'd been having the past few days, even though she, of all people
would apparently have understood. "Well, uh, my tenkee's tired right
now," I said. "Maybe it will be hard some other time."
"Kwinkwa know." She grinned. "Be hard when Kwinkwa give cosguh.
Then boy do good rape on Kwinkwa."
"Well, it wouldn't be rape if it's what you wanted." I couldn't
believe what I was suggesting to her.
"'Rape' silly little-one word. Not mean nothing. Tell Kwinkwa
little-one word if girl want."
"That would be making love," I said. "But wouldn't you rather have
a Zimgasswe boy?"
"Not find Zimgasswe boy here for make love," she said. "Kwinkwa just
find little-one boy. Little-one tenkee pretty." She pointed at me.
"Some day find pretty Zimgasswe tenkee too."
I started to back away. "What about the boy who feeds the pigs? He's
Zimgasswe."
"Daaknann? No. Kwinkwa not touch Daaknann. Boy smell like other
girl's cosguh. Kwinkwa bad to touch Daaknann. Boy not Kwinkwa's."
Kwinkwa stood up. She seemed to be recovered from her ordeal. And
this seemed like a fine time for me to make my excuses and leave.
"I've really enjoyed getting to know you, Kwinkwa," I said. "But I
do have to be going now."
"Boy not like Kwinkwa?" she said, making big sad eyes at me.
"Of course I like you. You're a very sweet girl." I knew I was
leading her on. I didn't want to -- the words just tumbled out.
"I'd like to spend all day with you. It's just that I ..."
Her eyes lit up.
"Then Kwinkwa take tenkee to house," she said breathlessly. "Tenkee
want to ride in basket?"
The thought that she might be wanting to separate me from my tenkee
understandably alarmed me. My first impulse was to run. But then
another interpretation struck me.
"You know, it's not nice to call someone a tenkee," I said.
She giggled. "Zimgasswe not have word, 'boy,'" she said. "Only word
tenkee. Tenkee mean tenkee. Tenkee mean boy too."
"What about 'girl?' Does Zimgasswe have a word for that?"
"Many word. Silgwin, little girl. Silgwa, big girl. Silgwon, girl
have baby inside. Silgween, girl have baby outside. Silgweekwee,
girl not have boy. Kwinkwa silgweekwee. More word too. Boy want to
know?"
"I don't think so," I said. "I really have to go. I'll see you
again."
"No. Kwinkwa put little-one boy in basket. Take to house. Boy see
house, then go."
I clearly wasn't going to get out of this invitation. But I didn't
plan to ride in any basket either. "I'd rather walk to your house,
okay?"
Kwinkwa smiled a huge beaming smile. She strode over to pick up her
basket. The rip in her skirt flopped around as she walked, and I
could see the tops of her thighs through the hole. They were as big
around as my waist. When she bent down, her bent leg came through
the hole, which now teased at revealing her most intimate parts.
She paused in that pose for a moment. Maybe she was looking at me
staring at her. I couldn't tell. I was too busy staring. Then she
stood up. "Come," she said, and bounded off into the woods, her
skirt flapping behind her. I had to run to keep up.
Her house was in a clearing. It was a hut made of twigs and straw,
not nearly big enough for her to stand in. Outside, there was a
garden with flowers and vegetables growing, and crude fire-pit with
some pots and firewood scattered about it. The place reeked of her
scent.
"Kwinkwa get things. Boy look at." she said. With that she got to
her hands and knees and stuck her head into the door of the hut. The
sight of her ass waggling out of the hut together with that smell
began to stoke my soldier's horniness. I was seriously thinking how
good it would feel to slip shaft into this giant. Still no tenkee
action, though. She emerged with a wooden box. "Sit," she
commanded, and kneeled down next to me. Her heat and her scent
washed over my face. I closed my eyes for a second. This was
turning out to be the most enjoyable thing I'd done since I joined
this army.
Inside the box were all her treasures -- some needles and thread, a
fragment of a mirror, a comb, ribbons for her hair, some colored
stones, and an ornate pewter bracelet. She pulled out the bracelet
and held it up.
"Mama give to Kwinkwa," she explained. "Kwinkwa give to boy's mama."
She pointed to me and then to herself. "Boy's mama give boy to
Kwinkwa. Boy's mama like?" She jingled the bracelet in the air.
"Oh, my mother's far away," I said. "Besides, she doesn't need ..."
"Why mama let boy alone? Not good mama. Alone boy sad. Alone boy
not have food. Good mama keep boy, then give boy to girl." She
dropped the bracelet back into the box.
I didn't think I would be able to explain how things worked with us
little-ones. Indeed, her presence next to me was so overpowering I
didn't think I'd be able to explain anything. I can't remember ever
feeling so hot over any woman. And still no hard-on. I looked up
into her broad golden face and pressed myself against her. "Ooh!
Kwinkwa like," she squeeked. I rubbed my cheek against blouse and
felt her hot softness beneath it.
Then I looked up. Her cheeks were covered with that amber stuff.
Not just a few drops either. There were streams of it. She slipped
her hands under my arms and lifted me to her face. "Kwinkwa smell
good?" she asked, then pressed her cheek to mine. I could feel the
stuff sticking to me. She rubbed it in by nuzzling me over and
over. The smell flooded into head and set my insides on fire. Those
flames lapped also at my dick, but still it refused to stand.
"Kwinkwa think little-one tenkee pretty," she said. "Mama not want,
so Kwinkwa take."
She kissed me on the forehead as gently as a child might kiss her
doll. And just like a child kissing her doll, Kwinkwa's huge lips
covered most of my forehead. Then she set me down on my feet. With
her kneeling and me standing, we were about eye to eye. She let out
a deep sigh. Her breath washed over my face. She kissed me on the
lips, pressing my lips deep into hers.
"Tenkee want Kwinkwa, yes?" she said. "Tenkee not say no now.
Tenkee stay."
I wasn't paying attention. One torn half of her skirt had slipped
down, and her monstrous thigh was commanding my attention again. It
was covered with short, downy peachfuzz that caught sunlight and made
her flesh glint like real gold.
She caught me staring. "Tenkee not like dress?" she said.
"Wait. Kwinkwa fix dress. Kwinkwa want look good for tenkee."
She took a needle and thread out of the box. It was startling to see
such enormous hands thread a needle so deftly. She flipped up the
hem and set to sewing straight away, starting from bottom of the rip.
"Kwinkwa be done quick." She babbled as she worked. "Tenkee watch --
learn sewing. Next time, tenkee make sewing. Bad for girl make
work. Kwinkwa run from bad work. Over big hill, little-ones take
Kwinkwa's house. Take Kwinkwa's field. Little-ones say 'Kwinkwa
work little-one field. Kwinkwa cook little-one food. Kwinkwa clean
little-one house. Kwinkwa clean little-one baby.' Kwinkwa not
tenkee! Kwinkwa girl. Kwinkwa run over big hill. Come here.
Little-ones make Kwinkwa work here too. But not go back. Better
little-ones here. Not make Kwinkwa work so hard."
I stood at her side, pressing against her. As she worked up the
rip, sewing it from the inside, the material resisted her more and
more. In the end she stood up, untied the skirt, slipped it off,
and kneeled back down, bare-ass. She set right back to sewing.
This was too much. I just had to stare down at those delicious
thighs and what lay between them.
In another minute she had finished the job and was looking into my
eyes.
"Tenkee think Kwinkwa have pretty taytay?" she asked. She didn't
seem the least bit modest. She set the skirt down. "Tenkee see more
now," she said as she spread her thighs and leaned back. My eyes
were as big as kumquats. Her downy fuzz turned into a tuft of yellow
hair at the top of her pussy, but melted back into soft translucent
fur over the rest it. And that pussy formed from the two most
luscious ridges of flesh I'd ever seen, guarding a deep crevice of
velvet darkness.
"Tenkee want see goomgwas too?" She unlaced her blouse and slipped
that off as well. Those monster tits dropped out. They too were
covered with soft fuzz. In my heart, I had the biggest hard-on of my
life. I could feel my face flushing. I could hear my breathing
whooshing in and out. Her smell was driving me insane. My whole
body trembled. But my dick must have been somewhere else. It still
hung limp in my drawers. But inside, I was aching for her.
"Tenkee touch now," she said in a breathy voice. She grabbed my
wrist and pressed my palm to her nipple. She kissed my lips again,
then pushed my face into her tits. Her hot flesh stifled my
panting. I was powerless to pull away. And I didn't want to, even
though those arms were squeezing the breath out of me. It was pure
joy. I must have blacked out for a few minutes, because the next
thing I remember is seeing her removing the last of my clothing. My
limp dick flopped into her hand.
This was the moment I'd been dreading. I knew she was counting on
getting some tenkee and getting it from me. And now I had to
disappoint her, and all her tenderness would turn either to tears or
to ridicule. With that thought, I had to choke back tears of my own.
But I decided I'd face her with it. No point in trying to make up
excuses.
"I'm sorry, Kwinkwa," I said. I was still panting. "My tenkee
doesn't work today. I really wish it did. I do want you. You're
really beautiful, you know. But I just can't. Please don't be angry
with me."
"Tenkee Kwinkwa's now," she whispered. "Kwinkwa give cosguh. Then
take tenkee."
"Cosguh! Cosguh!" I panted. "What is this thing. Show me, Kwinkwa."
She grabbed me by both arms and gently sat me down on the ground.
Then she pushed my shoulders to the ground also. She kneeled down,
straddling me. She inched forward until I could feel those soft hot
thighs against my ears. Her sweet ravine loomed over my face. She
cupped my head in her hands and pressed it to her.
I slipped my tongue into her crevice and slid it up and down a few
times. I could hear Kwinkwa sigh with each lick. She didn't taste
like any woman I had ever had before. Her pussy had a strong spicy
taste that burned against my tongue. But it had the wonderful slimy
feel and the wonderful forbidden smell of pussy. I was still waiting
for my dick to respond. If eating pussy wouldn't do it, nothing
would, and Kwinkwa had seemed so sure that this would fix
everything. But it wasn't working. My tongue was swelling, though.
Not just getting thicker, but getting longer too. A lot longer. It
was something about her strange pussy juice. Was she turning my
tongue into a dick? There was only one place it could go. As it
slipped into her, she sucked it in deeper. She began to rock back
and forth. My tongue slid in and out and up and down her crack. Her
clit emerged from the fold and expanded into my mouth like some soft,
slippery nipple. It grew to fill my whole mouth. Each time she
rocked, it squished in and out past my lips and along my trapped
tongue. Her rocking turned to jerking -- faster and faster. Her
breathing howled like storm gusts. I could feel her thighs tighten
and her fingers clutch at my hair. Then came that wonderful
squealing I had heard her do at the brook.
She squirted something into my mouth. Not just a squirt, a flood. It
gushed into my throat. Her pussy pulled at my tongue, and I
swallowed by reflex. Just couldn't help it. Then another squeal,
and another torrent. I had no control. She was feeding me this
stuff, and I had to drink it. It was sweet and syrupy like honey,
but spiked through and through with pungent pussy odor. But there
was an undertaste to it too, unlike anything I had ever known. I
could taste it only in the back of my throat. And it was delicious.
It just kept coming. I felt a sharp pain between my legs. Whatever
this stuff was, it could stiffen the dicks of the dead. My tenkee
had sprung to attention. Not just an ordinary hard-on either. It
felt like a balloon about to burst. And she was still flooding me
with this stuff. The excess was running down my cheeks and into my
ears. Some rolled up my nose. I wanted her to finish so I could ram
my smarting tenkee where it belonged. At last, the flood turned to a
trickle. Kwinkwa's hands relaxed. She leaned back, and my swollen
tongue dropped out of her and flopped over my jaw like a dog's
tongue.
She slid backward to my hips. I could see my dick between her legs.
Somehow, she had given me a hard-on as thick as my wrist and as
purple as a passion flower. The pain was bringing tears to my eyes.
She sat back and it slid right into her. Her slimy walls gripped me
tight but with the gentleness of a feather bed. She pressed her
hands against my chest. I was completely immobile under her.
Neither of us moved. But her taytay began rippling over my tenkee.
She was making caresses happen inside of her. And she seemed to know
what each ripple did to me. Several times she brought me right to
the edge spewing cosguh into her, and with just the slightest tickle
held me there for minutes at a time. At last, there was no stopping
it. My dick filled and erupted into her as prodigiously has she had
into me -- gusher after gusher, seemingly without end.
But it did end. Kwinkwa lay down on the ground and lifted me on top
of her. I snuggled against those downy breasts and listened to her
heartbeat.
"Boy smell good, now," she said. "Kwinkwa only girl to touch tenkee
now. Boy's cosguh yummy in Kwinkwa's taytay."
I slid down her tummy and kneeled between her legs. My tongue was
still thick, but it had retracted back into my mouth. I kissed her
wet, slippery taytay.
"Boy want more cosguh?" she asked. I nodded. "Boy always want more
cosguh. Boy have to wait. Take time Kwinkwa to make more."
I was ready to wait as long as it took. No little-one girl could
ever touch me the Zimgasswe way. No little-one girl could ever take
me the Zimgasswe way either. They were mere children. Kwinkwa was
the only real woman I had ever known.
"I love you, Kwinkwa"
I lay my head down on that tuft of hair and put my arms around her
buns. I snuggled into her fur. It felt all warm and inviting and
precious. It felt as though I became a part of what I touched.
There was no place else for me to be. It felt like home.
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