Page: 1 2 3 ... 7 8 9
CustardDragon
Why don't I have a custom title?
Яegisteяed: 02-2006
Location: Texas, London, UK.
Screeches: 4466
Kaяma: 44 (+49/-5)
|
|
Argue | Plagiarize
|
|
CUSTARD'S FANFIC....CHAPTER SEVEN ADDED 14-04-07
A ROMANTIC FICTION, BY CUSTARD J. DRAGON
I should like to dedicate this piece to Starry, my inspiration. I do it all for you!
A new chapter awaits at the end.....as I can now be arsed to update it........
Worf breathed a heavy sigh.Planet Grebo 9 was impossibly hot, and his tight nylon top chafed like billy-o.
This, coupled with the fact that he had just walked in on Dr Beverly Crusher, clad only in lacy black stockings and matching basque (Beverly, not Worf.Worf was wearing his abnormal clothes)served to make him unbelievably randy.
'Whatever shall I do?' mused Worf, as he climbed into his neon PANK!!!! space pickup truck, ignoring the strange sounds from the back,and the scales strewn all over the upholstery.
Back at his quarters, Worf had an idea. A nice hot steamy shower with plenty of soap should both calm his raging Klingon libido and clean his sweaty torso.
Yes, that was it. Slowly and sensually, Worf peeled off his top, all the while picturing Dr Beverly, resplendent in her seductive lacy attire.He undid his weird tight trousers, and cast them aside with reckless abandon,as he switched on the water spray.
'Ahh' Worf sighed in relief as the water jets massaged his grotesque scaly brown skin.
He reached for the soap and lathered up his manly unshaven Klingon chest, throwing his head back in ecstasy and imagining it was Dr Beverly's feminine digits performing this most intimate of intimate tasks for him.
Suddenly, a knocking on the door shook him out of his pornographic reverie.........
Last fondled by CustardDragon, 4/13/2007, 9:51 pm
|
|
9/16/2006, 10:02 pm
|
Link to this post
Use CustardDragon's Litterbox
|
J Man275
Spacebat's Secret Lover
Яegisteяed: 06-2006
Location: In front of my pc
Screeches: 3245
Kaяma: 30 (+50/-20)
|
|
Argue | Plagiarize
|
|
Re: CUSTARD'S FANFIC....NEW CHAPTER AWAITS!
Hmmm....interesting...wheres the rest of it
---
|
|
9/17/2006, 6:01 am
|
Link to this post
Use J Man275's Litterbox
|
starrytrekchic
Bunny Lover
Яegisteяed: 01-2006
Location: Shadow's Hat
Screeches: 36002
Kaяma: 70 (+183/-113)
|
|
Argue | Plagiarize
|
|
Re: CUSTARD'S FANFIC....NEW CHAPTER AWAITS!
I went searching for the next chapter...cause it's in the living dead SOMEWHERE...but I could not find it... 
---
|
|
9/17/2006, 6:25 am
|
Link to this post
Use starrytrekchic's Litterbox
|
clabarfuil
The Whoriest Whore in all of Whoredom
Яegisteяed: 04-2006
Location: Snail hunting
Screeches: 28959
Kaяma: 66 (+111/-45)
|
|
Argue | Plagiarize
|
|
Re: CUSTARD'S FANFIC....NEW CHAPTER AWAITS!
I was going to use that in my plotting against the Dragoon but I could not find it either starry.
|
|
9/17/2006, 9:18 am
|
Link to this post
Use clabarfuil's Litterbox
|
CustardDragon
Why don't I have a custom title?
Яegisteяed: 02-2006
Location: Texas, London, UK.
Screeches: 4466
Kaяma: 44 (+49/-5)
|
|
Argue | Plagiarize
|
|
Re: CUSTARD'S FANFIC....NEW CHAPTER AWAITS!
Oh! Bloody hell, it did actually post it before the BC went down last night and I had to cyber with Matt.
Hang on!!
|
|
9/17/2006, 10:34 pm
|
Link to this post
Use CustardDragon's Litterbox
|
CustardDragon
Why don't I have a custom title?
Яegisteяed: 02-2006
Location: Texas, London, UK.
Screeches: 4466
Kaяma: 44 (+49/-5)
|
|
Argue | Plagiarize
|
|
Re: CUSTARD'S FANFIC....NEW CHAPTER AWAITS!
CHAPTER TWO....
As the door slammed backwards upon its space-age uranium hinges, Worf uttered a cry of carnal sex-rage.
“How dare------!”, he bellowed, fuming like an enraged horny wildebeest on heat and in doing so, quite forgetting that he was in his disgusting, scaly, brown, grotesque Klingon birthday suit, his Klingonhood standing a full three feet long and ready for warp-speed love action.
But it was not Dr Beverly Crusher that stood, framed in the steam rising from Worf’s shower room of lust.
No. Oh no, INDEED.
Worf could barely make out the figure, until she stepped further into the room, closing the Kryptonite door behind her.
The girl-he could see it was a girl now-moved closer to him. Worf noticed to his annoyance that she wore a lascivious grin above wild eyes reminiscent of the crazed robot crawdead Worf had once fought on planet
Cheescako-78 .
Like the star of a Carry On movie, Worf clapped his foul, lumpy Klingon hands theatrically over his genital region.
The girl merely laughed cruelly, an evil cackle fit to wake the DEAD, and Worf looked into her mad green eyes that glistened with, Worf concluded to himself, more than just a mere hint of insanity and meglomania.
“Who are you?” demanded Worf, in as masterful a tone as he could muster, whilst surreptitiously trying to reach his shiny aluminium space-towel to cover his Klingon assets.
“Mwahaha!” cackled the intruder again, and whipped the towel from Worf’s reach.
“Why so old-fashioned?" she sneered "Soon, you shall be nothing but my sex-puppet. For I am the evil DRUNKEN PIGEON, and I have brought the Bird Club to capture the Starship Enterprise! And,” she added, enigmatically “One false move, and Dr Beverly Crusher gets to sit in a locked room and listen to poetry for sixteen hours straight!”
“Poetry?” said Worf. “Well, that doesn’t sound too bad.”
“You think so?” screeched the Drunken Pigeon insanely, producing a small volume from underneath her flamboyant, lime-green feathered cloak.
“Read and weep, you scaly Klingon one man freak show!”
She flung the book on the tiled floor at Worf’s revolting Klingon feet. They were like rotten gnarled old tree roots. Producing a hip flask from an inside pocket, Drunken Pigeon swigged deeply from its depths. She belched loudly. The sound resonated around the small room, and the suspicious smell of rancid Space-Whiskey permeated the damp air.
Worf bent down gingerly, and thumbed the pages of the slim volume, regarding the cover with some confusion.
“F***ing SIGH BIA**h MO FO’ JIVE ASS HOE DOWN SLUTS” he read aloud, thumbing the pages.
His look of horror grew as his eyes scanned the unintelligible wanksta drivel inscribed upon them.
“Crivens!” shouted Worf. “I can’t let Dr Beverly Crusher be subjected to this mind numbing torture!”
Drunken Pigeon sneered, hip flask in hand, as she slopped gone off whiskey all over the hypersonic warp space carpet.
“You will never see Dr Beverly in her sexy underwear again!” she cackled. “ For we shall throw her into the vortex of Deep Space Nine!”
Worf leapt naked from the shower cubicle with enraged abandon. He was furious with this drunken avian dictatress who had forced her way into his bathroom, and into his deepest, most intimate space age shag fantasies.
But seconds before his vile, crusty, revolting brown hands could close upon the Pigeon’s throat, the door to the bathroom flew open once more.
There, in the doorway, stood two more of the invaders. One, another female, had long blonde hair with ginger roots, and was swigging from a bottle of French red wine and smoking a cigarette. The other wore hundreds of blingin’ strands of shiny beads around his neck, and was attempting to hold his nose whilst trying to simultaneously look down the top of the struggling Dr Beverly Crusher, who stood gagged between the two, still scantily clad in her sexy black basque, and lace topped fishnet stockings.
“Looks like this leather gag was useful after all.” muttered the blonde, looking sideways at her Drunken Kommandant.
“F**k you, homies, F*******G sigh! F****** F***ity fu** f***!!!” swore Dr Beverly as she fought uselessly against her captors.
The beaded gang member rummaged in his back pocket of his weird space running shorts, and produced a tazer, zapping Dr Beverly to bejesus with it, laughing maniacally as he did so. The blonde-haired Bird laughed along, and smashed the empty wine bottle over Dr Beverly’s unconscious head just for good measure.
All of the Birds sniggered appreciatively.
Worf was not amused.
“What have you done?” Worf’s cry was that of a spurned rhinocerous on heat.
“Take her to our ship!” screamed the Drunken Pigeon. “As our hostage!”
His curiosity piqued, Worf looked out of the Starship Porthole into the blackness of the emptiness of the nothingness of space.
Only this time, the nothingness was not nothingness. It was somethingness. And that something was…..a vast spaceship, in the shape of an enormous feathered Turkey!
Worf could just make out the evil Bird Club members, nine or even ten of them in total, all clad in their sinister feathered cloaks of different colours, though none so flamboyant as the cloak of their illustrious leader, who clearly had questionable colour sense. They dragged his beloved Dr Beverly up the gangway and into the vast, feathered space galleon as it hovered in mid air, occasionally emitting a curious gobbling noise into the void of space.
Worf turned to his captor.
“Now, Worf, son of Moog,” she snarled. “ Now you are in my power!”
Producing along, thin stick from an inside pocket, she aimed it at Worf’s left ankle.
“Crucio!” she yelled
Worf felt as if his putrid, gnarled, brown warty Klingon skin was on fire. Worse.luck, he was still naked.
Then, he heard the words of another, sinister incantation, and he blacked
out…………………………
"Where am I?"
....."Worf opened his eyes, and the room slowly came into focus. His last recollection was...................his mouth being forcibly opened, and a strange potion being poured down his throat. Although pleasant-tasting, when it hit his oesophagus, it burned like bejesus, and he could remember clutching wildly at his vile, crusted brown Klingon throat in a fruitless effort to ward off the agonizing sensations. Soon after, however, he had blacked out.
But now, now, where was he, he wondered?
Worf cocked his ugly brown Klingon head to one side, and listened. The faint sound of sleazy saxophone music reached his ears, and he felt the smooth touch of the sheets upon his skin. He was laying upon something soft and woobly*, and on closer inspection, he saw it was a huge waterbed.
Worf marvelled at the sumptuous orange nylon sheets and the lime green canopy that rose up majestically to encase the huge aqueous divan in it’s very own world of crazed passion and sexual frenzy.
But even as he registered this thought, Worf stopped himself.
“What’s happening to me?” he asked himself, inwardly. “One minute, I am being accosted by a weird Space dictatress, the next, it all goes black….and I am…here. And this is no time to start thinking aboot my crazed Klingon lust…they took Dr Beverly BeetleKrusher prisoner and here I am in a strange orange waterbed with a stonking hard on. It is imperative that I effect my escape immediately.”
But to Worf’s surprise, he could not move. His grotesque scaly brown Klingon wrists had been bound fast with the plastic wrapping of a frozen vegetarian quiche. His toenails too, appeared to have been tampered with, for now they were a violent hot PANK!!!!. Worf had to admit that the colour went rather well, though, with the revolting poo-like hue of his Klingon feet, and they distracted attention from the festering space-verrucas that he had picked up in a dodgy whorehouse called ‘naladin’s’ on Planet Turkestroganoff 9.
Suddenly, the music became louder…..and Worf heard footsteps behind the sheer turquoise draperies in a small alcove to his right………………………………......
To be continued....soon.....
* PS 'woobly' is a word I have made up in an attempt to describe something that wobbles and makes an amusing gluggy wobbly noise at the same time...a water bed for example. It's artistic license, dammit.
|
|
9/17/2006, 10:38 pm
|
Link to this post
Use CustardDragon's Litterbox
|
CustardDragon
Why don't I have a custom title?
Яegisteяed: 02-2006
Location: Texas, London, UK.
Screeches: 4466
Kaяma: 44 (+49/-5)
|
|
Argue | Plagiarize
|
|
Re: CUSTARD'S FANFIC....NEW CHAPTER AWAITS!
CHAPTER THREE
Meanwhile, on the balcony of the Bird Club’s turkey-like mothership, the CustardDragon, one of the Drunken Pidgeon’s idiot stooges, threw the rest of her second bottle of wine over the railing and debated her next move. For Doctor Beverly Crushey was a mere feet away, tied up and unconscious, and something inside the deranged Dragon’s head told her to tip the unfortunate space-quack over the edge like an errant piece of cig ash. Just then, however, the door opened, and a figure shuffled in, carrying an unfeasibly large pile of…
“Books! Look at all these books!” muttered the voice excitedly, in a laughable Canadian accent, from somewhere behind the stack of tomes.
“And they’re all aboot World War Two! All eighty six of them!”
The Dragon grinned. She knew that the Bird known as OG would be absorbed in the thrilling reading for hours and would not notice her stealing her copy of Harry Potter and The Goblet Of Fiennes, sorry, Fiyerr. But she was almost jealous, for there was work to be done. The Drunken Pidgeon had still not arrived with Worf for alcohol fuelled and unreasonable bargaining in the throne room, and so she called out for her comrade in arms, the illustrious Turkey, to accompany her back onto the Starship Enterprise, in search of the Pidgeon.
The Turkey appeared at last, clad only in a towel and a smile, for he had been in the shower and looked extremely wet and sexah sort of a bit like a male model. In fact, if Lord Voldemort had come from the Deep South, he would look exactly like that.
“Sorry, El Custardio, for I was just having a hypersonic Kryptonite Space shower.” he said, in a smouldering fashion reminiscent of Johnny Depp. But ‘course I shall come with you to find our leader. And if we see that !@#$ dirty birdy poivert Worf along the way, so much better for us, so much the worse for him.”
CustardDragon looked a little concerned that the Turkey seemingly had not thought to change out of his towel, but she decided not to argue, for another suspicious looking character had joined them along the way, and this one had a very dodgy Russian sort of look aboot her. She produced three large space warp Tazers and handed them round, strapping her own into a holder on the back of her emo get up, and stashing the spare ammo into a curious giant furry hat.
“Where the heck did you get these giant blasters?” asked the other two.
The bird, who was known only as the Raven, grinned enigmatically. “I stole…er….no!…I bought them off some guy who said he was in the Army…and I adapted them in my mad science lab below deck” she cackled madly.”Because that’s how I do.”
“So what happened to the guy?” asked the Turkey.
The Raven gave a twisted grin of glee, and produced a large sandwich from her back pocket. “Tastes like chicken,” she muttered. “At least, that’s what Fen said, when he was firing up the brand new nuclear powered barbecue we had to test out.”
The space doors slid open at the utterance of the top secret password ‘[fish]’ and off they went to plunder the Starship Enterprise and reduce it to dust, so that never again will a crappy repeat be shown at teatime unless it is the one where they first meet Q and he looks sexah and masterful…….and so the thot plickened.
TO BE CONTINUED
At some point……
|
|
9/17/2006, 10:42 pm
|
Link to this post
Use CustardDragon's Litterbox
|
CustardDragon
Why don't I have a custom title?
Яegisteяed: 02-2006
Location: Texas, London, UK.
Screeches: 4466
Kaяma: 44 (+49/-5)
|
|
Argue | Plagiarize
|
|
Re: CUSTARD'S FANFIC....NEW CHAPTER AWAITS!
CHAPTER FOUR:
DEFLOWERING
The curtains parted, and Worf’s repulsive gribby Klingon eyes nearly popped out of his weird and misshapen skull. In front of his line of vision, he could see a beautiful woman…in fact, the most beautiful woman he had ever clapped his vile, gnarled….etc etc……..eyes upon in all his life.
She was clad in a turquoise sequined leopard print bikini with a matching feathered boa, and before Worf knew it, he felt his Klingonhood stirring at the sight of such loveliness.
Before he could speak, she was close enough for him to reach out and kiss her passionately upon the lips. He inhaled deeply, and the heady perfume of stale Hillbilly moonshine only served to increase his ardour.
“Oh Worf,” this vision of loveliness uttered, in a voice that was to Worf’s foul, scabby Klingon ears an angelic choir sent from above to serenade the inner reaches of his brown, crusty heart.
“Show me your manly Klingonhood, Worf! Show me what it is to be a woman having a alcohol-fuelled and meaningless tryst with a freakazoid like you!”
Worf frowned. But he could not control the uncontrollable uncontrolled lust coursing through his veins. After all, women could be weird and play hard to get at times, he reasoned, especially when a good shag could well be in the offing.
With a primeval cry halfway between submission and triumph, he leapt like a lust-seeking missile upon the nubile body of the visiojn before him, his Klingon hands everywhere and more, though how that would be possible, he was not quite sure.
To be continued.....
Last fondled by CustardDragon, 9/17/2006, 11:11 pm
|
|
9/17/2006, 11:09 pm
|
Link to this post
Use CustardDragon's Litterbox
|
Full Reply
Page: 1 2 3 ... 7 8 9
|
