June 21, 2013

Telling Stories

Posted in stories at 5:00 am by littlesubmissions

Author’s note: I would just like to say that of all the lines I have ever written in porn stories, “Damn the Magna Carta!” may be my all time favorite.

“Ugh. Don’t wanna be sick anymore.”

He looked up at her, and smiled sympathetically. “You should probably try to get some more sleep, it seems to help. And you’re not as leaky when you’re asleep.”

She threw a pillow at him. “Don’t wanna sleep, and don’t wanna be leaky.”

He caught the pillow, and tossed it back to her softly. “So what do you want? Chinese food and a cough syrup chaser?”

She shook her head, her hair forming a frizzy static filled halo against the pillow. “No, I’m not hungry.” She flopped her entire body against the couch and pulled the covers tighter around her, then frowned. “Tell me a story.”

“A story? What about?”

“A princess. And I want a happy ending. And no bodily fluids. Well, maybe some bodily fluids, but not ones that come out of people’s noses.” She reached for a tissue and grimaced. “Those bodily fluids are forbidden.”

He saved his document and closed the laptop, then rolled the chair across the floor closer to her, propping his feet up on the coffee table and carefully avoiding the pile of books and assorted accoutrements of the common cold. She grabbed his legs and pulled him closer, propping them up on the blankets over her lap and flopping her arms over them, trapping them next to her body. He folded his hands behind his head, and thought a second.

“Once upon a time, there was a princess.”

“Was she beautiful?”

“Uhm hum, quite beautiful, actually.”

“Was she leaky?”

“Not at all.”

She burrowed down into the couch further, shoving her ass between the cushions and reclining into the pillows. “I like this story.”

“I’m glad you like it, but unfortunately, the princess had something of a sad. That very evening she had to go to a rope suspension class, and she didn’t really feel like going.”

“Oh noes!” She grinned at him and then made an exaggerated frown. “Why didn’t she want to go?”

“Well, the princess didn’t really feel like it, but she had said she would, and didn’t want to let her friends down. So she put on some jeans, and a black shirt, because that’s what most everyone wears to these things, and went anyway.”

“She could have just had them all executed, being a princess and all.”

He shook his head. “Tragically, this princess lived in the awkward era of post Magna Carta restrictions, and executing people to avoid social engagements without a trial by their peers was severely frowned upon.”

“Damn the Magna Carta!” She pounded a fist on his leg.

He nodded gravely. “And the Charter of Liberties it was based on, but that’s not really relevant to the story. What is relevant is that she didn’t really want to go, so she didn’t leave early, and she had trouble finding parking, so she got there a little late, and had to sneak in and sit in the back to avoid interrupting the class.”

“A princess sitting in the back?”

“Well, like I said, she didn’t really want to go anyway, so it was fine with her at the time.”

She nodded, mollified by the explanation. “What then?”

“Well, as I said, she didn’t really want to go to the class, so she wasn’t paying much attention. In fact, she was trying to see the shirt of a young man sitting near her, because she thought it was a shirt about a game based on pretending you were a vampire.”

“A game based on pretending you were a vampire? Why would anyone play that?”

He pitched his voice low, and swept his arm in a wide arc. “Nobody knows!” Then he continued in his regular voice. “But for a time a disease called LARP had swept the land, and many had spent their evenings pretending to be vampires, and making silly hand gestures to resolve imaginary conflicts. Then their venue had shut down, and some of the most afflicted had graduated, and people had gradually stopped. Our princess had been one of these people, and she thought the shirt might be a sign that the young man had also been a victim.”

She giggled. “So what did she do?”

“She waited until the person teaching the class tied a knot wrong and almost turned the class into an impromptu breath play lesson, and then scooted over and tugged on the young man’s sleeve, and asked if that was a vampire shirt.”

She held up an index finger. “Question: Was this young man a prince?”

He shook his head. “No, not at all. He was something called a yuppie, actually. He mostly did research and thought about things and wrote those thoughts down. Hardly anyone ever read any of them, but it was a living.”

She nodded gravely, and made an imperious flip of her hand. “Continue.”

“Well, the young man nodded, and asked the princess if she played. She told him she used to, and he said he used to as well, and it turned out they knew some of the same people. And then they exhibited a symptom of the LARP disease that no has ever been cured of: They started talking about their old characters.”

She threw her head back and laughed until it turned into a hacking cough. “Oh, fuck you.”

He handed her the box of tissues and waited for her to take one and blow her nose, then put them back on the table. “I know, it’s a horrible affliction and I shouldn’t mock those who suffer from it. But. They had a lovely discussion while the presenter did his thing, and it continued after the talk was over.”

“So what happened then?”

“Well, she found out that he was new to the area, and took him around and introduced him to people. Later, she realized he hadn’t really said much, and had mostly listened, and she didn’t really know much about him, just these vampires he had pretended to be. So she asked him if he was going to stay for the play party later or not.”

“What did he say?”

“Well, he kind of hesitated, then said he wasn’t sure, and asked if she was planning to stay.”

She snorted. “Smooth.”

“Yes, well, LARP tended to infect many people who were already socially scarred. It really is a terrible affliction, and we’re decades away from a cure. Anyway, she hadn’t been planning to stay, but she’d been enjoying herself, and decided she might as well. So she said yes, she was going to stay, but didn’t know if she’d do any actual playing. And then he said he guessed he would stay as well. So they sat and talked awhile.”

“Then what?”

“Well, she watched him, and while he mostly focused on her, she noticed his attention would drift off whenever one of the women hurt one of the men. Especially when they were tied up and being whipped.”

“Did he now?” She arched an eyebrow.

He nodded. “He did.”

“And then?”

“Well, the princess did something, but he didn’t know it at the time, and she just sort of let the conversation die. And they sat there awkwardly, until he finally said something really inane, like, ‘That looks kind of hot.'”

She snickered. “That sounds like something he would say. What did the princess say?”

“She asked him if he’d like to try it, and he just kind of licked his lips and nodded. So she stood up and led him over to the St. Andrew’s cross, which was purple, and may not have been entirely historically accurate, and they did some quick negotiation. Then she told him to take his shirt off, and he did, but kind of slowly and his cheeks got hot and turned red.”

“Oh, he’s a little shy… I like the shy ones.”

“He was shy, actually, and didn’t really have any experience being naked in front of people, or especially doing sexual things in front of them. So he was quite happy to turn and face the wall, and put his arms up to be tied to the cross.”

“Then what?”

“The princess hit him with a lot of things, telling him to rate the pain on a scale of one to ten, and then she settled into a rhythm, and started hitting him more quickly, and harder. Then she’d run her hands down his skin, and feel how hot it was, and listen to him moan, and moan into his ear herself.”

She nodded and kept grinning. “So what happened next?”

He shrugged. “They lived happily ever after.”

Preview: “Get in the box.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.


  1. Brugmansia said,

    As a survivor who still feels the rare twinge of that incurable symptom, I appreciate it when people mock us. I find it alleviates the suffering, for a time.

    Sweet and funny story. Your writing sort of swings between universal and more personal, but both are great! Thanks for sharing these.

    • littlesubmissions said,

      Thank you for the lovely comment. I kid about the LARPers because I care.

      And yeah, I’m not sure why I swing back and forth, and I’m sure it frustrates some people, but it is what it is.

  2. Mike Cook said,

    Loved the little story. I am glad that you are writing and posting again. Thanks

    • littlesubmissions said,

      Good to see you in the comments again Mike, and I’m glad as well.

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