Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Oh, how with more than dreams the soul is torn,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
- Paul Laurence Dunbar

I came to consciousness in a cavernous room lit with guttering torches stuck into holders on the walls and fitfully smoking braziers in the corners. "Alas! Imprisoned by feminists once again," was my first thought upon waking. It seemed I was securely manacled to a large rough slab of what first I took to be white oak, but on closer examination of the grain it seemed more likely to be burr oak or perhaps even live oak, which is native to the southeastern portion of our land and is unique in that it is an evergreen variety. But whatever kind of oak it was it had a plethora of splinters, a trait of which I was immediately made painfully aware because I was stark naked in my shackles.

Looking around the room as best I could I beheld naught but flickering shadows and a massive wooden door whose grain I could not make out. I heard the scurrying of small creatures at the sides and back of the slab to which I was chained, but try as I might I could not catch a glimpse of them. From the scuttling noises, however, I judged them to be rats, most likely Norwegian rats which are native to...

My rodential revery was interrupted by the creaking of the door to the chamber as it slowly swung open on its rusted iron hinges. From the darkness of the corridor beyond emerged two ominous figures dressed in loose fuligin cowls with great oversized hoods covering their features. From their diminutive stature I thought them to be either human women or members of a vicious strain of pinheaded dwarves from the dank forests of Galleria. I hoped for my sake they were pinheaded dwarves.

The two creatures slowly approached my slab. I squirmed uncomfortably at my naked state then immediately stopped this as my pale and clammy flesh was pierced by a score or more of sharpened splinters.

"Who are you?" I croaked. "Why have you shackled me to this slab? Where are my underpants?"

"There will be time enough for your questions later," the shorter of the two figures said in a honeyed voice that dripped with silky cruelty and caused a quiver in my ungirded loins. "But just so you know, we burned your underwear and then disinfected the fireplace. Shub Niggurath, man! Don't you know how to use a washing machine?"

"Great," I thought. "Human women. I am lost."

At that the two females dramatically cast aside their robes. The smaller person that had spoken earlier proved to be a flaxen-haired woman who I judged to be in her early thirties. She was dressed in a black leather bustier upon which eldritch symbols were daubed in a crimson substance that I could only hope was a particularly whorish shade of red fingernail polish. I also could not help but notice to my increasing discomfort and embarrassment that the woman was what the natives of the Sonoma region on our west coast call a "total vixen." Besides the arcanely-decorated bustier she had on black leather hot pants with a small pocket in front that contained a silver mark from Draconia minted in 1634. Her stockings were made of a sheer black silk that made my tongue ache with desire; these in turn led to the tops of feminine footwear roguishly known in some circles as FMBs. These boots were also black, and had dark purple and red piping on the sides and 3-inch titanium heels. The heels on the boots alone were enough to make a lesser man quake with trepidation. I am made of sterner stuff however, as was becoming painfully obvious.

Moving my eyes at random about her body to avoid further betrayal of my rising interest, I noticed that the blonde's shoulders were lightly sprinkled with freckles, her luscious full breasts rose and fell in her bustier with each panting breath, golden baubles adorned her petite porcelain ears, and she was inexplicably wearing what seemed to me to be a lime green golf visor. At that point her moistened scarlet rosebud lips opened to say,

"Knock it off."

To emphasize this the woman smacked her palm smartly with a Ferragamo leather quirt that I had somehow failed to notice earlier. As my passion subsided somewhat I resolved to state her age as 24 should I be put to the question. This was not a woman to be trifled with; I felt certain of that.

My petite blonde succubus suddenly seemed to notice her golf visor. She quickly doffed it and tossed it out of the scene with some slight embarrassment.

"I am Mistress Kristen," she said in ominous throaty tones. "You may have seen my name on a deliciously wicked line of underwear. You will address me as Mistress when I allow you to speak. And this is Mistress Eva, known as Eva the Excoriatrix. She is a wife, mother of seven children, has PMS, and in general is not someone with whom to fuck. You will not address her at all if you value your future reproductive capability."

At these words I tore my eyes from the blonde and stared at the other woman, who to this point I had not noticed in my feverish state. This second woman was a tall full-figured brown-eyed brunette who I observed to be sneering at me with some disdain. To merely call this newly-beheld goddess an incendiary bombshell is akin to saying that the voice of the infamous bard Gilbert Gottfried is only slightly annoying. The woman was wearing a short chain-mail bodice cunningly crafted from tiny circlets of silver; beneath this she had on a black lace bra that somehow both lifted and separated and ultimately did little to conceal her succulent breasts. Her voluptuous hips were encircled by a wide leather belt upon which were set rubies and garnets, and into this belt were thrust two coldly gleaming silver flensing knives. My dusky co-captor was also wearing diaphanous pantaloons as might a houri. and it seemed to me that underneath this sheer confection she sported a black thong that may or may not have had tiny silver studs embedded in it. As I was trying to determine if this was indeed the case by careful scrutiny of her nether regions I heard a menacing growl form in the back of her throat. I quickly decided to avert my eyes.

"Fellate me how you will, I shall never succumb to your wiles, foul creatures of the night!" I cried valiantly. "And by the way, nice tits, both of you. Damn."

"Naughty, naughty boy," purred the blonde demonette. "So flippant. So in need of tutoring...."

At this point my cat licked my face and I sat up straight in bed. "Mimi, go away damn it, leave me alone, I was just getting to the good part!" I moaned in anguish. "There was diaphanous, there was voluptuosity, there was even a Ferragamo quirt!"

Alas, I never made it back to sleep this morning. But you better believe I'm going home for a nap this afternoon. I fully expect to expiate for my impertinence several times over.

-- Hulles

60 comments:

cK said...

My favorite portion of this is the detailed line, "Where are my underpants?"

Funny how underwear is always underwear even when it is worn alone; hence, under nothing.

But then a hat is a hat even when not on a head. For example, a fez, the origin of which is...
-cK

Anonymous said...

Too bad they could not have given you a black leather kilt to wear - then it would not have mattered if you had underpants!
Maybe when you go back to this dream, you can pencil in the kilt. I don't know, but spankings are much more fun with a kilt!

Erin

Hulles said...

cK, Erin, is someone sitting on someone's lap to read this? My God, people, have you no shame? And Erin, by the way, I'm assuming you wear the kilt in the family... I don't need one myself in my dream. It would just get in the way of the terrible fellating about to be inflicted upon me and get all yucky and stained and shit unless it was properly ScotchGuarded (speaking of Scots)...

I love this shit.

SuperBee said...

Someone should probably be concentrating a little less on his Dungeons n' Dragons light S&M/Bondage Literature, and a little more on his WORK.

Ohhhh. I wish I could concentrate on writing this Mortgage Modification Agreement. But the Stratera I took is making me all jittery and anxious...

Anonymous said...

Now, if I was wearing the kilt, I'd be spanking myself, and you know that I'd rather be the spanker than the spankee!

Erin

Hulles said...

SBee, jittery and anxious do not become you. Reach further into your pharmacopeia (sp?). And as far as me concentrating on work, I give you Yeats:

How can I, that girl standing there,

My attention fix

On Roman or on Russian

Or on Spanish politics?


Dang, I'm on a roll.

Erin, it's called reciprocation. Perhaps young cK needs to be, shall we say, firmly instructed in this principle? Perhaps tutored, as Ms. Painter might say. (Kidding, I don't want to know any more details. The yuck stops here.)

Dang, I AM on a roll.

cK said...

I'm really waiting for the day the Baroness pulls a wedgie on Unca Don. I was on the receiving end of one of those. I think my toes left the ground.

But at least when I'm in a kilt I'm only vulnerable to one form of punishment.

(This message brought to you by the Minnesota Department of Too Much Information [MnDTMI].)
-cK

Sassmaster said...

*peeks through door*

Oh! I, uh... Oh my...I thought I... this is really none of my business.

*heels can be heard quickly, but primly, tapping down the hall*

cK said...

Nice one.
-cK

LaCosta (Lollie) said...

Okay you two, cut it out with the spanking talk. I just can't keep the image of cK and Erin toying over who is going to be the spanker and spankee in my head. Guh. I'm going to really try to unremember this...

LaCosta (Lollie) said...

And Hulles - thanks for the People update. Lefty and Righty appreciate the mention.

Hulles said...

Lollie, you're welcome. Any breasts of yours are, um, well, I guess friends of mine. Hugs to all three of you. And your warty toe as well.

Hulles said...

And I'm glad the bloomers are back.

Hulles said...

Sassmaster, I left you a comment earlier (I thought) but it seems to have disappeared somehow. What I said was, this is so your business, prim heel tapping notwithstanding. Now get in there and comment. Or is the Joan Cusack pic just for show? Your nom de blog handle is not WimpyApologyMaster, after all. Get 'em, girl.

Sassmaster said...

Hulles, it sounds to me like you're looking a third scantily clad whip cracker to show up tonight as you slumber. But it's SASSmaster, not S&Mmaster. And that particular Joan Cusack character wouldn't have walked away primly from such a scene. She would have died of fright. The woman she played in Grosse Point Blank might be another story.

You want sass?! I got your sass, right here.

Kristen Painter said...

First of all, what were you doing in my closet?

Second of all, what conspired in your life to turn your brain into such a caldron of naughty thoughts?

And thirdly, well played, darling. Well played. I haven't laughed that much since...um...it's been a while.

Sassmaster said...

I just googled "Ferragamo quirt" and Hulles came up first in the search results. That's some search engine optimization, right there!

Hulles said...

Sassmaster, much much better. Welcome back, I was concerned.

Kristen, what the hell do you think I was doing in your closet? Duh. Thanks for your compliments very much. And for being a good sport about all this.

Sassmaster, too funny! Guess who'll be coming to my site now? At least they'll have good taste in quirts.

Hulles said...

And btw, why were you googling "Ferragamo quirts?" Just curious....

Kristen Painter said...

And for being a good sport about all this.

Oh honey, don't think you're not going to pay someday...*wink*

Hulles said...

Kristen, you know where to find me. Bring it on. HULLES.BLOGSPOT.COM, your first stop for sardonic postmodern humor and that one thing. XO.

Anonymous said...

This business is well ended.
My liege, and madam, to expostulate
What majesty should be, what duty is,
Why day is day, night night, and time is time,
Were nothing but to waste night, day and time.
Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
I will be brief: your noble son is mad:
Mad call I it; for, to define true madness,
What is't but to be nothing else but mad?
But let that go.

~Polly

jax said...

OMG...I'm laughing so hard I'm cackling. Usually my dreams consists of a chainsaw and body parts flying everywhere. At times I have dreams where I'm being hand fed grapes from a harem of gorgeous men in only their loincloths and built like the men from the movie 300...at other times I am being hoisted in a golden throne as the men parade me down a long and winding road. It's good to be trapped in that dream state! Well done Hulles!

Hulles said...

Polly, I love it when you quote scripture to me. But more seriously the WS is very nice. Funny you picked that one, I've always liked it although the "brevity is the soul of wit" line is lost on me much of the time (which I hope isn't the point of your including it). But the last four lines have always spoken to me. And I really like that it ends "But let that go."

Jax, as I mentioned in the comments to the previous post you missed being in my dream by a ... hair. Your dreams sound interesting, as long as you don't have Tony Curtis playing any of the men in your dream. But you're right, it is good to be trapped in that dream state, happens to me all the time, particularly when I'm stopped at a stoplight in a busy intersection.

Thanks lots, Jax. Next stoplight I'll be dreaming of you.... Dang, you guys aren't lying about the Diva thing, are you?

Hulles said...

By the way, everyone does know this post grew out of the comments at the end of my previous post, "Tit For Tat," right?

There were a couple of meretricious remarks (and Jesus Maria y Jose I can't believe I pulled that word out of my murky cauldron of naughty thoughts, I looked it up and it's just the word I wanted) at the end of the comments that I couldn't get out of my head last night before hitting the sack, with the result you see here. Naughty, naughty girls.

Kristen Painter said...

Someday, Divas are going to take over the world. You're just one small step in our plan of domination.

Hulles said...

I mildly resent the "small," but I can live with the rest of it just fine.

Heather Harper said...

What did you eat before you went to bed last night? ;)

Jen said...

I'm beginning to think I'm the only nice girl left. ;)

And just where has Mr. Blackmoore been?

Merlin said...

Great stuff Hulles : we dream alike.

It looks as though Eva hasn't seen this yet. I can't wait.

" Adorable" M.

Hulles said...

Heather, near as I recollect it was a bologna and cheese sandwich, refried beans and creamed corn, chased down with a nice glass of water. So nothing exotic except the creamed corn. Maybe I'll eat some more tonight as an experiment.

Jen, you are a nice girl, and if you want to stay one you'll avoid Mr. Blackmoore like the plague. Which, I believe, he recently had and perhaps it lingers.

Merlin, I think one of us should be frightened that we dream alike, but I'm not sure which one. Yeah, I haven't heard from Eva -- yet. Uh oh.

Jen said...

You know I'm a sucker for those bad boys. Probably why I hang out with you so much. ;)

Eva Gale said...

I had to read this twice for laughing so hard the first time. !Brilliant! This is the most I've laughed and the most fun I've had in a long time. Thank you, you are most entertaining. Kristen was right, well played.

You know, we have MORE Divas. How many do you think you can handle?

Eva Gale said...

Never worrie Hullsie, I have a sense of humor.

And just a note? Kristen is Amazonian. Envision that.

Eva Gale said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Eva Gale said...

A sense of humor, but sometimes can't spell...

Worry. Sorry.*g*

Hulles said...

Eva, I'm so glad you liked it. (Whew!) And I can pretty much handle as many Divas as there are. Like I said to Amazonian (!) Kristen, bring it on. Do I need to start taking supplements and working out? Please say yes.

Hulles said...

And by the way, if all I got wrong with Kristen was her height, just working off the bio pic, I don't feel a bit badly about the Amazonian thing. How close did I come with you? Again, just working from the bio pic. Curious is all.

Merlin said...

Good question Hulles.

I think we should be told.

Incidentally as I'm a bit younger than you I think I should be more worried that we dream alike. It might mean that I'm morphing into you !

M.

Eva Gale said...

Considering that there are over 1700 of us, I think you need more than a One A Day. You and Merlin might need to think on the severeity of that before you take us all on. You know-consult your Dr. before starting such a regimen. Could be exhausting.

And yes, you got me right.

Hulles said...

Merlin, you are right to worry. The last person who morphed into me was me, and look what happened.

Eva, gulp. I hope it's BYOBG (Bring Your Own Ball Gag) if we all get together sometime, I'm not sure I can equip an army.

Kristen Painter said...

I was going to say you nailed Eva (in your description)...but then you'd get all flummoxed and bothered and dreamy-eyed and have to write a new story based on that comment alone.

So I won't.

Eva Gale said...

Aww, hun. There'll only be the need for one ball gag. Unless Adorable Merlin wants to join in.

Hulles said...

Dang, lost my comment. Well, here goes again: Kristen, I'm always flummoxed and bothered and dreamy-eyed. I want to meet a woman who makes me sharp-witted, clear-eyed, and politely but firmly assertive while queued in line at the bank. But thanks anyway for not mentioning that about Eva.

Eva, I snorted so loud when I read your comment that the poor (hot, btw) woman next to me went about 3 feet vertically into the air. TOO funny.

So. It sounds like logistics won't be a problem....

And re Merlin, sorry, Hulles doesn't play well with others if they happen to be of the male persuasion. Sorry, M. We'll need separate punishment pavilions.

However, we could get two large conference rooms in the same hotel. That way we could have coffee and donuts for the Divas that are waiting their turn for the Inner Circle of Pain and Pleasure, and they can easily roam between the De Sade Room and the Torquemada Room (dibs on the latter one)(No oneexpects the Spanish Inquisition!).

Kristen Painter said...

Lost your "comment", huh?

I think they have pills for that nowadays. *wink*

Hulles said...

Wouldn't know, never required one myself. My comments have unfailing been there when I need them.

Merlin said...

Don't worry Hulles : I'm a one man show too. Nothing personal you understand ? I'll share a beer with you any time but not a woman.

There again where did Eva get this figure of 1700 from ? 1700 what ?

If she's talking about women well that's about 3 years supply.

Might as well book the whole hotel (and the pink dwarf with the telephone).

M.

Hulles said...

3 years supply? I thought we got them all at once, sort of a menage-a-mille-sept-cent-un. (I'm the un, duh.)(Trois.)

Getting the whole hotel is a grand idea. Good work on remembering the dwarf with the pink telephone (pink dwarf with a telephone?).

Merlin, I hope you know I never joke about this sort of thing. It'll happen. We need Divage, just like Mars needs women.

Eva Gale said...

We have seperate rooms for both of you.

Merlin, there are 1700 Romance Divas. And actually, I sent Tate his way. Once she gets though with him he may be a quivering wrinkled mess.

Hulles said...

The difference from how I am right now being the quivering, apparently...

Tate, come on in, don't be shy, heh heh. Oops. This is an old post, she might not read it, have to put up a shiny new one tomorrow with fins and automatic headlight dimmers and shit. Eva, you're the bombdiggity by the way (thanks Lollie for the word btw).

And Eva and Kristen, I meant to ask -- can I become a Romance Diva (and still retain my gilhoolies)? I'm curious to know what the answer is. Is there hazing and a secret induction ceremony where I have to run naked through the convention hotel we just got done creating? I could be so okay with that... Hasta manana with an enyay that I'm too tired to look up the char code for.

Tate said...

I am soooo dissappointed, Merlin won't share a woman? WTF? Girlyman.

Merlin said...

Correct Tate.

But I have no objection to women sharing me - if they're man enough.

M.

Merlin said...

Hulles,

Pink dwarfs with telephones : dwarfs with pink telephones.

I was very tired and a bit "out of it" late last night. It's easy to get confused when you've got 1700 wild women of wonga on your mind.

M.

Eva Gale said...

Kristen can answer on the cohones.

Tate wants to be a sammich.

Hulles said...

Tate, dear, nice eye. welcome. I hope you like horseradish and mustard. And I'm with M., no sharing, Hulles selfish, Hulles needs all the love.

Merlin, yeah, I know, I'm dazed and confused as well. (No singing over there, dammit.)

Eva, I'll be sure and talk to Kristen about this. I'm sure the subject will come up in conversation very soon. And I'm going to try and encourage Tate to be eaten open-faced, no need for two slices of bread. Good lord, I almost couldn't write that. It seems that a) even I have my limits and b) I'm willing to cross them at the drop of a hat. But I thought it was too funny and appropriate to censor and that by a big stretch it could possibly be considered an innocent remark.

Hulles said...

Tate, I'm not normally like this. I'm really a nice boy who helps old ladies cross the street before he mugs them. It must be these wicked girls that suddenly showed up in my blog.

Say, you wouldn't be a wicked girl, would you?

Tate said...

Am I wicked? Depends who you ask.

I love being a sammich but open faced is good too. I am pretty picky about the condiments though.

Merlin said...

Hulles,

I can vouch for the fact that Tate is a nice, shy girl who likes flower arranging and going to Church.

We discuss these topics on a regular basis so there's nothing for you to worry about.

M.

Hulles said...

I'm disappointe, merlin, I hate nice girls. Perhaps I can make an exception for Tate though. A man could fall in love with an eye like that...

Hulles said...

I'm also disappointed in my spelling.