The story game
 

***

Rotter got out of bed, muttering something about "that fucking dodgy latch again". He walked over to the door, slammed it shut and bolted it. "Sort it out in the morning."

The End.

Well fuck me, that was fun!

Could always start another one.

The door creaks open again. A gorgeous tall dark brunette sticks her head out and tells Rotter "I've been walking the streets 6 months for you and you still let me sleep on the couch" !

"I thought I'd locked that fucking door. Fuck off, I'm sleeping."

*grabs a bucket of popcorn*

Late meeting her friends for dinner, Tiffany decided to take the short cut through the park near her apartment. Ignoring the few park stragglers, the pretty brunette walked quickly, the sound of her 6-inch heels echoing in the darkness...

...from the shadows, he watched her admiring her shapely figure. The way she tried to walk confidently through the darkness amused him. If only she knew the trouble she was going to find herself in shortly...

"Dammit!" Tiffany scowled as she nearly fell. Managing to catch herself in time, she looked down to see her heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk. Pushing her dark, shoulder length hair back over one shoulder, she pulled her foot free and adjusted her black leather mini-skirt. Smoothing down the red sweater stretched tautly across her breasts, she sighed, hoping no one saw her misstep. Suddenly, she heard a rustling in the bushes nearby. Peering into the darkened area, she sighed in relief to see nothing. Probably some stray animal, she thought and continued on her way...

Suddenly a group of large, furry creatures with long pointed muzzles, jumped out from the bushes and began singing at the top of their voices:

"Under ground, over ground, Wombling free, The Wombles of Wimbledon Common, are we."

The furry creatures took notice of the innocent girl... standing there she looked in dismay startled at how such animals would take notice of her... she was after all, a virgin... dare they might approach her... but the group did, lusting after her fleshy delights... licking their lips wanting only her body, and none else... wanting, needing, not thinking... the taking of her for nothing more than gratifying their own carnal needs... to spill, to shoot, to implant their sinister seed into her inviting womb...

Oh...god! Tiffany froze in her steps. Wombles! No woman could withstand their lust or their need to make good use of the things that they find--things that the everyday folks leave behind. Shrieking in fear as they leaped out, Tiffany looked this way and that hoping to find some avenue of escape.

Managing to rouse herself to action, Tiffany broke into a run with three males fast behind her. Looking back, she had no way of knowing Great Uncle Bulgaria was blocking her path ahead. Too late! She ran smack into his heavy girth, falling flat on her ass.

"Ohhh.....!" she moaned attempting to sit up. She felt a furry foot pressing down upon her chest.

"And just where d'ya think you're goin' Pretty?" the rather short man-critter asked as he stared down at her. Tiffany tried to move...to pull her skirt back down...anything to keep their eyes from seeing her tasty wares! Was there no one to save her?

It was at that moment that Madame Cholet entered the park, and like a mad parody of the Baseball Furies scene from The Warriors, set about the gang of delinquent litter picking tree huggers with her huge wooden spoon, yelling "get back to your crisp packets and come tins, you lazy cunts!".

The cowardly little fuckers ran off, whilst Uncle Bulgaria had a coronary and a hernia in a rose bush.

Poor Tiffany, not sure what was happening struggled to her knees and scrambled to the nearest tree. Hoping to avoid the melee that ensued, she stifled the urge to scream. Tiffany was grateful for the major distraction caused by the wooden spoon wielding little lady-critter.

Backing away, Tiffany moved out of sight of the hairy little denizens. Too bad she wasn't paying much attention to the direction she was headed. Far enough away, she breathed a sigh of relief. Looking about, she pulled her torn sweater together to hide her exposed breasts. She'd gone too far into the park forest. Now she was lost and not sure which way was out. Limping along on one broken heel, she hoped those 'things' hadn't drawn anymore undue attention to a lone female.

Too bad Tiffany's hopes were soon to be dashed. She was being 'noticed' alright, and not in a good way...

"Oh good grief" thought Rotter to himself, watching the chaos in the park. Seems the stupid cunt out on her own at night was determined to get in to trouble. Looking for trouble himself, he followed her quietly because he knew she was asking for it.

It wasn't the first time he'd done this.

The dominant Womble*, Uncle Bulgaria (modern parlance for what was better known as a Werewolf), was the alpha male of the pack. His foot still hard pressed upon her chest... pillowy and fleshy as it was... held poor Tiffany in her place. Not known for smiling often, the Uncle put on quite a grin as he stared down upon his prize, his little victim. Hearing the tread of a human nearby and not wanting any other witnesses who could discredit their pack's reputation, Bulgaria waved his hand at one of his assistants... a younger protege whom he was "grooming", and would eventually take the lead, extended out his sharp wolverine-like claws, and with one cut across the abdomen opened up Rotter causing his guts to spill out all over the scene. Poor Tiffany was sickened by the sight as the pack leapt upon the offering... and a massive feast it was... but oh, poor Tiffany, poor girl, she did not know of the feast she was yet to provide...


* - Sidebar: A fictional animal to have inhabited around Wimbledon Common, picking up litter, refuse, and other sorts of rubbish - was the story known amongst the populace there; but those who have studied the creature, experts in their own right, can attest they gather more than the tossings of townsfolk. Witness testimony have shown the Wombles taking more than just refuse... historically they're known as the great pillagers of Southwest London... taking whatever fits their desires... some having even speculated their decendency from Werewolves - after all they've been described as being hairy, with long snouts, and retractable claws... no... they're not herbivores as they've been often described... these are meat eaters... vicious... partaking of the flesh... and NOT to be trusted whence you're out all alone...

Unperturbed by the sudden inexplicably violent turn the plot had taken, Rotter grabbed Madame Cholets wooden spoon and smacked the clueless luvnlust around the back of the head, advising him to "do keep up, old chap". He then quickly penned a note to the BBC advising them on this defamation of character, (of the Wombles), before performing adhoc abdominal surgery then, finally, turning his attention to the extremely confused Sweetl, erm, "Tiffany".

He lit a cigarette, nodded in her direction and said "Put yer knickers on gal, I'm buying you coffee."

The not so clueless LNL, defending his friend Rotter from the mob of Wombles, forgave him for smacking him about with the wooden spoon - especially given his disorientation under the extreme circumstances. Having fought off the bloody creatures (defamed as they should be), I was absolutely astonished at the quick skill of my friend to patch himself up, having known his prior service as an MD in the Royal Marines.

With the Wombles and their whole lot out of the way, I stood rather proud watching Rotter with the girl. Much like Bogie in a movie, he lit his cig and gave a memorable line... Giving him his moment of glory, I kept my distance behind them...

MD. Royal Marines? Now you really have lost the fucking plot!

Tiffany couldn't believe the sight in front of her. She tried to make sense of it all, but couldn't think due to the incessant ringing of an alarm clock. That ringing just would not stop.

"No..no...no!" she screamed, waking herself up from a horrendous nightmare. She bolted upright, wildly looking about her room. There was nothing and nobody there. No maniac Wombles, no dead Wombles, no Madame Cholet or werewolves. Just an empty room.

Pushing her duvet aside, Tiffany sat up on the side of the bed, her head in her hands. It was all just a dream! A bad...weird dream. Standing up, she made her way to the toilet.

"Oh...god...what a horrible dream! That will teach me to eat pickled onions and cheese sammies before bedtime!" Tiffany scolded herself as she splashed her face with water. "Just a silly....I'm such a big silly!" she laughed lightly, then looked up at herself in the mirror. Walking back into her bedroom, she noticed the window was open.

"Hmmm...when did I open the window?" she wondered. Shrugging her shoulders, the pretty young woman, wearing only her lacey pink bra and panties, shut the window and climbed back into bed. Her eyes quickly drifted closed.

She slept soundly once again, never hearing the creak of her closet door opening...

As the girl in the bed began to snore again, the hurriedly hidden gang re-emerged from the wardrobe. The youngest of them crept toward the light switch and waited as the rest set up electrical equipment, silently, in the dark.

When their leader nodded readiness, the lights came on, and Tiffany was rocked awake by a loud guitar chord, and a rendition of "Remember you're a Womble!".

Tiffany shrieked and fell off the bed at the startling noise. Being such a quiet girl, she was horrified at the loud music. The song made her want pass out in fear. Her worst nightmare had become real.

"STOP! NO! PLEASE!" she begged them. They took no notice as they continued to sing their agonizingly cheerful song. She crawled to the telephone on hands and knees. Reaching up for the phone, she pulled it to the floor. Her trembling fingers dialed the only one who could save her...Willo the Wisp!

Surely, he could help her...and rid Tiffany of the Wombles. She didn't even mind if brought Mavis with him. Tiffany obviously needed the help.

"Please...W-Willo...!" she cried before the phone was rudely snatched from her slender fingers. Poor Tiffany's night was about to get worse...

Tiffany looked up and gasped in horror "Noel Edmunds!".

Noel Edmunds crept closer to the beautiful young woman. Her heaving bosom was quite a treat. The skimpy lingerie did nothing to hide her ample assets. In a last ditch effort to keep from being molested, Tiffany kicked out at him as he leaped on top of the helpless beauty.

"Please...no...no...don't touch me! Please let me go! I promise...I'll laugh at your terrible jokes...I'll watch reruns of Multicoloured Swapshop...and...and...I don't think you were just upset because you couldn't get on to Tiswas--you really are a great actor!"

Would he fall for it? Would he believe her? Was he really all that funny or great? Never trust a man with tiny hands...

The Wombles were bad enough, but a former BBC Radio DJ forcing himself on a young woman, who could dream up such sick perversion? Just then, Madam Cholet waded in to the chaos, wooden spoon in hand, and brought it down hard on the back of the the irritating beardy twats head.

In the meantime, Willo the Wisp and Dangermouse were just picking themselves up off the ground after being kicked out of a burlesque club for their rambunctious behavior.

"Clear off you wankers!" yelled the establishment owner as they stumbled down the street. The two mates staggered down the street singing rude songs. Suddenly, Dangermouse's mobile rang playing "God Save the Queen". He knew that always meant trouble.

"Halloooo!" he drunkenly crooned.

"Dangermouse is Willo with you?" it was Mavis Cruet, and she sounded worried. She quickly explained the call from Tiffany, and how it had been cut short. "All I could hear was screaming and Wombles and wicked little DJs! You must save her!"

The two quickly found Tiffany's home...despite being drunk off their asses. Mayhem ensued. There was cake mix, broken 45s and wooden spoons flying through the air. After they helped Madame Cholet subdue Edmonds (beardy little twat that he is), they bound and gagged him and tied him to a lamppost with an "L" plate around his crotch.

They thoroughly routed the little bugger and ran off with his money and his clothing to buy more booze and go wenching, with Madame Cholet in tow.

Tiffany was pretty damned confused by them time they left. She had a very strange 'WTF' look on her face.

"Well...I'm not sure what just happened here, but I'm pretty sure I didn't get fucked." she scratched her lovely ass and climbed into bed. Pulling the duvet up, she smile...at least she was going to finally get some sleep...

Meanwhile at the house of Tiffanys equally delightful sister, there were muffled cries for help. Muffled because Rotter was plugging away at the back of her throat with his hard cock. The bastard! He didn't even know her name.

When Tiffany found her sister (after a rather goodnight's sleep strangely enough), the poor thing was blubbering like an idiot. Tiffany could barely make out what the distraught, disheveled, disarrayed younger woman was going on about.

Her sister, Terri, could only point to the open window...stammering about a wicked...vile...evil man. Poor Terri promptly passed out, covered in cum. However, she had scratched the letters of her rapist in the dust on her very dusty nightstand.

Tiffany's eyes were drawn to the rather large letters...F...R scratched in the dusty nightstand top. Here eyes widened in fear.

"There is only one man that would be this vile! The fucking bastard! I'll make him pay for this!" Tiffany vowed. Leaving her cum covered sister, Tiffany ran from the house.

Too bad she didn't check the back seat of her car as she jumped in and locked the doors...

Yes. Sucks to be Tiffany!

Rotter had seen and heard everything. "Pay for it eh?", he thought to himself, with a very rare smile. Rotter pays for nothing.

The journey was short. He waited until the car had stopped, and the girl got out. He listened to footsteps and knocking, looked out from the back seat to see the girl knocking at his own front door!

"How the fuck did she know?"

Quietly, Rotter opened the car door, walked up behind the silly thing with the knife in her hand, simultaneously grasping the knife hand, twisting it up behind her back, making her drop it, whilst pushing her body hard against the door by pushing his left elbow between her shoulder blades.

Tiffany suppressed a scream, gasped.

"Looking for me, cunt?"

Rotter span her around and punched her in the face, and kicked her hard between the legs.

Brutally attacked, Tiffany groaned in pain as she regained consciousness. The last thing she remembered was arriving at that brute, Fucking Rotter's home. Before she had any idea he was behind her, the bastard gave her a thorough beat down.

Now, she lay, on the floor of some dark, cold room. Wriggling her hands, it became apparent that Tiffany's feet and wrists had been bound.

"DAMN IT! BASTARD...SHOW YOURSELF!" she yelled trying to push herself into a sitting position. If she ever got free, she'd make him pay...or at least give him a thorough tongue lashing...

Tiffanys protests were in vain. Rotter had gone out to top up his meter card. It was bloody freezing in his gaff with no electric, and how was he going to enjoy torturing the silly girl when he couldn't see her face?

"Cheap bastard!" Tiffany mumbled to herself. If she could just roll to the door, pull herself up, then get the door open...she could escape. Looking around the room, she searched for anything to tear at her restraints.

After a few minutes she fell back against the floor. If she ever got free she would throttle him. For now, she would wait her chance to get free. She would let him think he'd won.

Soon, Tiffany heard the door opening...

"I forgot my wallet!"

Rotter looked at the girl on the floor, shook his head. He took a Stanley knife out of his pocket and cut her free.

"I can't be arsed to walk all the way back their again, so you best go, there's a good girl."

He smiled, handed her £20 and the electric key, and pushed her out of the door.

Tiffany gasped as Fucking Rotter shoved her out the door. To anyone else, the scene would have appeared to be some guy tossing his girlfriend of the moment out the door after a night of "you-know-what". But things are not always as they appear.

"You fuckinglousyrapistbastard!" Tiffany yelled, shaking her fist at the closed door. After a minute or two, and a glance around to make sure he would not open the door, Tiffany turned to walk away. Smiling like a Cheshire cat, she sauntered to her car. Humming a jaunty little tune, she slipped into the car and slammed the door. Pulling off, Tiffany thought about her day.

"Damn! The things a girl has to do to get a bit of cash! Cheap bastard...he could have at least given me 40! Oh well...I wonder what Shysnale is doing tonight?" a lusty smile played upon her lips. She always did enjoy a French accent.

Tiffany drove off planning her next big adventure...;)

Half way back to her house, she suddenly got this strange urge. She spotted a newsagents with a pay point sign, and stopped outside. Picking up the meter key she had thrown on the floor of her car, she got out and walked in to the shop.

"Twenty pounds on this, please."

Tiffany thought to herself "what am I doing?".

That wasn't the only 'strange' thing Tiffany found herself doing, even as she questioned her sanity. She asked the clerk for two ounces of rough shag and a box of Quality Street.

Walking back to her car, she couldn't believe she had paid the 20 quid on the electrics for that bastard! To make matters worse, she'd bought the other little 'gifts' for him, too!

Feeling like a puppet on a string, Tiffany found herself driving back to that maniac's home. Was it all bad dream? Was she losing her mind? Or was she under the control of something or someone far more sinister?

Who would use poor Tiffany this way, and more importantly...what else would she be forced to do against her will?

The doorbell rang. Rotter got up, smiling. Looking through the spy hole at the girl on his doorstep, he noted it had started raining. He let her stand there, getting wet.

Tiffany could hear the muted sounds of someone coming to the door, but it remained shut. She rang the bell again. There was no response.

Next, she knocked. Silence. Dammit! She thought to herself. Tiffany began to hit and kick the door violently as the rain soaked her through and through.

"OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR! I KNOW YOU'RE FUCKING IN THERE!" she yelled still pummeling the door. She paused, trying to steady her breathing.

The door suddenly opened...

Poor Tiffany, she has been standing out in the rain for 4 days now :skull-ton I think she wants to get wet on the inside.

And that mouth on her!!! I am sure it can be put to much better use.

It's a good thing that Rotter invited some friends over. :skull-roc