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From: mdmvirago@aol.comestible (Virago Blue)
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Subject: {ASSM} Hormonal Hell (Virago Blue)(satire, MF, silly, fantasy)
Date: Sat, 19 Feb 2000 23:10:09 -0500
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Warning: This is intended as reading material for human beings over the age of
consent, whether that be 18 or 21 where you live. It's not intended to hurt
feelings or fuel the fire between the battle of the sexes. Enjoy at your own
risk. Comments welcome.
Hormonal Hell
(c)2000 by Virago Blue
Firelight gamboled against the gray stone walls of Virago's keep. She was
waiting for a guest this eve, a caller she was most looking forward to
entertaining. Discarding the afternoon's practice armor from her healthy
frame, Virago entered her private bedchamber with a smile. Her sword she
lovingly enshrouded in blue satin and placed near her curtained bed. She
delayed her bath a moment to rub her temples. "Goddess, not yet."
She stripped the remains of her suede tunic and leggings and eased her aching
body into steamy lavender scented water. Lavender had a magic about it, an
ability to soothe her taut nerves. Immediately she felt her tension easing
away with each stroke of the rough washcloth over her full breasts and muscular
thighs.
"Madame? That young man is here to see you." Her maidservant bowed from the
room, leaving Virago with a feeling of foreboding. Shaking her head, she
continued her bath.
"Show him to the library, will you dear?" Virago called out to her maid.
"Yes m'lady."
Virago stepped from her bath and blotted water from her long legs. She paused
to study herself in the floor length mirror. She peeked at her backside and
noticed with relief the marks of last month's activities had faded to scarcely
recognizable bruises. The other tell-tale sign had yet to show itself.
After slipping a midnight blue sheath over her naked body and securing an
erotically detailed breast plate over her chest, she fluffed her waist-length
hair. She payed distinct attention to the top of her golden head, turning
upside down and brushing the shimmering locks furiously before throwing them
back behind her shoulders. Satisfied the top of her hair was charged with body
and still soft to the touch, she tousled the rest in a vampish way.
Last but not least she bound a dainty chain mail girdle about her waist. Tiny
bells and jewels jingled and twinkled as she walked, the long end of golden
chain brushing against her bare thigh as it peeked through the slit of her
gown. A jeweled sheath completed the picture, in which her warrioress's sword
hung with dignity.
Virago traversed the cold and dank halls of the mysterious castle. All furry
vermin dare not make a nest in her home, for there was a seething evil beneath
the floors of this castle, a horrific rumor many denied existed. But it did.
Virago once more patted the top of her hair and felt down her buttocks before
entering her library. A gentleman waited for her, sipping a brandy and
admiring her collection of books.
"Ah, Madame Blue, we finally meet." The gentleman approached, lifting her
work-weary hand to his lips, kissing her skin with an old world charm Virago
had long since missed.
"Perkins. How delightful to finally meet you. Please have a seat." Virago
motioned for him to be seated, offering him a plate of chocolates.
"Thank you, Madame Blue." He reached for a chocolate, Virago's hand reaching
for one after he had made his choice.
"Virago. Please call me Virago." Virago smiled, reaching for a few more
chocolates. Her nerves were beginning to pull taut once again. She knew
without a doubt that to sit still would be impossible now. She drifted to a
window and turned back to Perkins, her silhouette intimidating against the
backdrop of sunlight and iron bars. "Where shall we begin, Perkins?"
"Tell me about the Battle of Duncinalia. I find that story fascinating."
Perkins removed a small tape recording device from his satchel and clicked it
on. A notepad sat balanced on his crossed knee.
Virago studied him. Bookish and charming. He wouldn't last long but he would
be fun for a weekend or two. She watched how he pulled his earlobe every now
and again, as if he were trying to listen more intently. "What journal do you
write for, Perkins?"
"Uh, pardon me? Oh, Modern Warrior."
"Oh. Hmmffff. Warrior is it then?" Virago dismissed the last comment and
began her tale. She would pause briefly, catching Perkins examining her naked
leg or the finely crafted details of her breast plate. His expression began to
change, growing pensive and concerned.
"--and so you see, once the villagers realized their strategy wa---what is it?"
Virago stopped mid- sentence and glared at Perkins. "What?"
"Nothing." Perkins shook his head vigorously, looking away from the top of her
head. "Please go on."
Virago paced behind the man, peering over her books. Finding the book she
wanted, she handed it to Perkins, diverting his attention away from her hair
for the moment. "I think you will find some interesting artist renderings
regarding that little skirmish in this volume." She stood behind him, resting
her hands on his narrow shoulders.
Perkins began thumbing through the pages, trembling slightly. "Amazing
actually."
"Amazing? What do you mean?" Virago's hands caressed his shoulders. She felt
her need growing. "The pictures?"
"No, not the pictures." Perkins laughed. "The fact that you took a town of
barbarians, you were outnumbered 2 to 1 and you're a woman! Must have been
some nasty PMS, surely."
Virago's hands lifted from his shoulders. She stepped to her desk, back to
Perkins. Nervously she wrung her hands together, careful he didn't notice.
She leaned on her desk to steady her shaking. "What did you say?" She tried
to say it quietly, somehow it didn't work. The scraping of the chair against
the slate floor drew her attention. Apparently he had stood and was walking
away. She felt her head then felt the bottom of her spine above her buttocks.
It was too late.
"Perkins, I repeat, what did you just say? Answer me." This time her voice
sounded icy and demanded. She closed her eyes as she heard a strangled groan
from behind.
"I...I said...m'lady...that surely Premenstrual Syndrome must have fueled your
anger."
Virago's shoulders slumped and her head lowered to her chest. "Fine, then,
Perkins. PMS. I'm so sorry you just said that. I have no other choice now."
Virago straightened and threw her shoulders back. She turned to face Perkins,
regret written all over her face. "This will be a story of a lifetime.
Fortunately you will be unable to tell it, only live it. Again, let me
reiterate my apologies for having to do this to you."
"Wh--wha---whatever do you mean?"
He sounded frantic now, desperate and afraid. He continued backing toward the
double doors leading to the main hall.
Virago shook her head. "I'm truly sorry for you Perkins. Truly. I liked
you."
Perkins shrieked when two hands clamped down on either arm. Long, red
snakelike tails wrapped around his torso and waist. Each tail was tipped in a
large bloodthirsty point, razor sharp and deadly. He turned, gasping with
recognition at the two women that held him. "No! No! Not you! But
these...."
"Yes, I know, you recognize them. You're bound to recognize many more by the
time you are settled in." Virago said.
"Settled in! Where are you taking me." Perkins struggled futilely against the
women as they walked him down the long corridor.
Virago followed, shaking her head. "To Hormonal Hell. Where else?"
"NO! You can't do this! You will never get away with this! Such a place is a
myth, doesn't exist, you said, you PROMISED!"
Virago shrugged. "I lied."
They walked for what seemed like miles, twisting and turning through torch lit
corridors, down stone stairways and through barred doors. Virago removed a key
hidden in her jeweled sheath and unlocked the carved wooden door. Moans and
screams greeted them from within.
"Please. Please, no. I'll make it up to you somehow, someway. I will rally
against chauvinists for you, I will pledge my life to making pigs see the evil
in their ways. I will, I swear it!" Perkins pleaded in desperation.
Virago turned with a gleam in her eye. "Perkins, do you think I make the rules
in this place?" She shook her head sadly. "I only enforce them." She pushed
the door open, a wave of steamy heat wrapped around them. "I am only one of
the Bitch Goddesses."
Perkins stood, mouth agape. Nothing could have prepared him for the absolute
size of the place. Miles of shackles and pits, barred rooms and torture
devices stood, some empty, some holding whimpering beings.
"Perkins, since I like you, I will give you a once in a lifetime tour of the
place before finding your accommodations. Being a journalist I'm sure you will
be fascinated." Virago took his hand in hers and patted it gently. Once again
he was staring in horror at the top of her head. She patted the top of her
head and felt her horns peeking through her golden waves. "Getting close."
Her own tail sprang free from under her gown and teased the back of Perkins
thighs.
Perkins jumped back in horror.
Virago sighed and began their tour. It was a sad sight, all these men,
probably well-meaning and kind in their own way but one slip of the tongue and
they can very well serve the rest of their days here.
Naked women cavorted in front of the shackled men, taking turns teasing each
prisoner. One red- headed vixen was happily bouncing away on one man's cock,
tugging at her tight nipples and screaming out in pleasure. Before the victim
had a chance to find release she had hopped off, working her way to the next
prisoner. Each one never had a hope in reaching a climax.
Virago shook her head.
"What the devil's name is that?" Perkins pointed down into a pit of naked
teenage boys. A pornographic movie played from several screens in the pit.
Most of the boys were crying, shaking red and blistered hands in front of them.
Virago nodded. "Yes, sad isn't it? But they have hope, the other's do not.
You see, that is the juvenile detention holding pen. Each one of those boys
made some kind of disparaging comment to a young woman, whether it was to his
mother or to a young girl in his school. Good news, though..."
"Good?"
"Yes. They serve only a year or two, hands covered in a cayenne lubricant
while watching those movies. Of course, they can never masturbate, the pain
would be too much. That's probably why some of them are weeping. But they
will be free soon, able to continue with a normal life, free of the cayenne
cream and hopefully learning an important lesson. It gives a little hope to
future generations, don't you think?"
Perkins was white as a ghost. "And what of him?" He pointed to a woman
happily sucking and licking a young man's cock, the man a bewildered yet happy
look on his face. Another woman stroked him lovingly, offering the man one of
her nipples to suckle.
"Once in a while we find a lad lost in the thick woods surrounding the keep.
We bring him in for a few days and play with him in front of the others. He is
allowed to orgasm as much as he wants but at the same time he is shocked by
what he is experiencing. He will invariably be sent back to his village and
become a good citizen with a healthy respect for women."
Perkins nodded, whether in disbelief or agreement she couldn't be sure.
"Another thing, some women caught in the throes of PMS develop an insatiable
appetite for sex. The lucky males who know this benefit nicely. That's why
all these women in here are enjoying themselves."
"All of these women are suffering with PMS?" Perkins asked in astonishment.
"Yes. Even me." Virago winked, her tail once more tickling Perkins between
the thighs.
"I didn't know."
"Yes, well, many think it is funny to joke about such a thing when they really
have no idea what they are talking about." Virago cringed at the cracking
sound of a whip. "Of course some women get a little moody, that's only
natural." She pointed to one of the torture chambers.
"Oh my God! That's--that looks like---!" Perkins screeched.
Virago pulled him away. "Yes, well, on with our tour. You don't want to catch
her eye just now."
Perkins whimpered. "But I always thought she was so sweet and timid."
Virago chuckled. Just then another naked woman handed Virago a clipboard.
Virago's bluegreen eyes scanned down the columns before handing the clipboard
back. "Thank you, dear. Tell me, when should we expect the next chocolate
delivery?"
The woman curtsied before answering, her breasts bobbling obscenely. "He's on
‘is way Madame Bitch Goddess, ma'am. The last batch went like hot cakes,
they did."
Virago nodded. "Very well. Find me when they are delivered. I'm having one
of those powerful cravings."
Perkins was beginning to feel clammy to the touch. "It seems we have an
opening right down this way. I'll personally see that you are settled in and
that your meals are delivered to the proper specifications." She smiled over
at him. "We're not barbaric, you know."
Perkins shook his head in bewilderment. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks,
pulling Virago back. "It cannot be! Tell me that's not HIM!"
Virago rubbed at the growing tension in her forehead. Her eyes settled on the
man, THE man of her wildest and not so wildest dreams. Tears immediately
filled her eyes. She bit into her clenched fist to stop the sob. It didn't
help, her sobs poured forth loudly as she clutched Perkins' hand to her breast.
"I was horrified myself. I worship the man, absolutely worship him. Those
brown eyes, that devilish brogue, even his balding head held an ungodly
attraction." Virago turned away from HIM for a moment to compose herself.
"But it can't be...I refuse to believe it. Sean?" Perkins eyes bugged with
disbelief.
Virago nodded, her eyes glistening with tears. "It happened the fateful night
of the Barbara Walters Special. He started his downward spiral with the
mention of how a woman may need a slap or two to calm her down, or some such
nonsense. Of course we all were shocked. NO! we cried in unison, NO, not our
Sean!" Virago gazed on the God, closing her eyes before turning back to
Perkins. "Then he stepped into an interview with one of us and she continued
to ask questions about his...about his...duties as a man. He finally made a
dire mistake by mentioning the folly of PMS. His fate was sealed." Virago
wiped at her tear-stained cheeks. "Please. No more. He was my biggest
disappointment."
"Of course. But...if HE's here, who is the other one?" Perkins asked
curiously.
"A clone. That is taken care of down the hall. All these men can't just
disappear without raising some sort of suspicion. We must cover all our
bases."
Perkins nodded.
"Well, here we are Perkins." Virago unlocked a door leading to a twelve by
twelve chamber with sparse furnishings. "We start off with mild punishments.
If you tolerate those well your mistress will decide your next step. I'm
really sorry to do this to you Perkins but, well, you asked for it." Virago
kissed him on the cheek. "Say hello to--"
"But that's--!"
"Yes, it is. Be nice to her for she holds your fate in her hand...er hands
now." Virago patted the cute little blond on her bare back as she busied
herself with undressing Perkins."
Virago paused outside the chamber door, rubbing her temples once again. Her
back now began to hurt. "Where the bloody hell is that chocolate?" She
screeched before striding to the main chamber. "And bring me . . . " She held
out her pointed finger, scanning the growing group of lads found wandering in
the forest. ". . . no. No. Nuh uh. . . Not him either." Virago tapped her
foot impatiently, finally settling on her victim of the night. "HIM!"
She made herself comfortable in a chair in the chamber, carefully removing her
chain mail and obscenely detailed breast plate and quickly ripped the fine
midnight blue sheath from her already heated body. "You." She pointed to the
stranger.
"Me?" He asked.
"Yes, you. BITE ME!" She uttered loud enough to draw an audience, settling
her body in the chair.
She tossed her unruly mass of hair behind her shoulders and waited. The man
looked her over, obviously confused. "Well? Go on. What are you waiting
for?"
"But, m'lady, I . . "
"Alright, alright! You'd think you've never bitten a woman before. Sheez.
You may start with nibbles and I'll tell you when to get a little harder."
Virago rolled her eyes and reached for an offered chocolate, exposing more of
her hip to the stranger. She smiled as his nibbles started . . .
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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