The Ballad of Elsa Nell
This is a song-fic based on the Ballad of Eskimo Nell
Eskimo Nell is one of most obscene songs every written and sang. SO...
This will be atrocious, bawdy, crude, disgusting, evil and foul...
you name it, it's in here.
I expect that it will be taken down... soon
Read at your risk.
You Will be OFFENDED
In the stables of the Castle of Arendelle.
Kristoff is strumming his lute. He remarks to Sven, "You know those new sailors from Alaska had a great ballad."
Sven nods his head.
"I think... I can change a few words..." A slightly drunken slur in his voice, as he mumbles.
"Yeah." He looks at Sven and begins. "How about this?"
When a man rows old, & his balls grow cold
And the tip of his prick turns blue,
It bends in the middle like a 1 string fiddle
He can tell you a tale or two.
So pull up a chair, and stand me a drink
And a tale to you I'll tell
Of Dead-eye Hans and Duke Weasel
And a harlot called Elsa Nell.
When Dead-eye Hans and Duke Weasel
Go forth in search of fun
It's Dead-eye Hans that slings the prick
And Duke Weasel the gun.
When Dead-eye Hans and Duke Weasel
Are sore, depressed and sad
It's always a cunt that bears the brunt
But the shooting ain't so bad.
Now Dead-eye Hans and Duke Weasel
Live down by Weaseltown.
And such was their luck they'd had no fuck
For nigh on half a week.
Just a moose or two and a caribou,
And a bison cow or so,
And for Dead-eye Hans with his kingly prick
This fucking was mighty slow.
So do or dare this horny pair
Set forth for the Arendelle,
Dead-eye Hans with his mighty prick
And Weasel with his gun in his hand.
And as they blazed their noisy trail
No man their path withstood,
And many a bride, her husband's pride
A pregnant widow stood.
They reached the strand of the Arendelle
At the height of a blazing noon,
And to slack their thirst and do their worst
They sought Oaken's Saloon.
And as they pushed the great doors wide
Both prick and gun flashed free.
"According to sex, you bleeding wrecks,
You drink or fuck with me."
They'd heard of Dead-eye Hans,
From the Arctic to the Antarctic
So with scarcely worse than a muttered cur
Those dagos sought the bar.
The girls too knew his playful ways
Down on the Arendelle,
And forty whores pulled down their drawer
At Dead-eye Hans's command.
They saw the fingers of Duke Weasel
Itch on the trigger grip
And they didn't wait, at fearful rate
Those whores began to strip.
Now Dead-eye Hans was breathing quick
With lecherous snorts and grunts
So forty arses were bared to view
And likewise forty cunts.
Now forty cunts and forty arses
If you can use your wits,
And if you're slick at arithmetic,
Makes exactly eighty tits.
Now eighty tits are a gladsome sight
For a man with a raging stand
It may be rare in the Southern Isles
But not on the Arendelle.
Now Dead-eye Hans had fucked a few
On the last preceding night,
This he had done just to show his fun
And to wet his appetite.
His phallic limb was in fucking trim,
As he backed and took a run
He made a dart at the nearest tart
And scored a hole in one.
He bore her to the sandy floor
And there he fucked her fine
And though she grinned
It put the wind up the other thirty-nine.
When Dead-eye Hans lets loose his prick
He's got no time to spare,
For speed & length combined with strength
He fairly singes hair.
He made a dart at the next spare tart,
When into that harlot's hell
Strode a gentle maid who was unafraid,
And her name it was Elsa Nell.
By this time Hans had got his prick
Well into number two
When Elsa Nell let out a yell,
She bawled to him, "Hey you."
He gave a flick of his muscular prick
And the girl flew over his head,
And he wheeled about with an angry shout.
His face and his prick were red.
She glanced our hero up and down,
His looks she seemed to decry,
With utter scorn she glimpsed the horn
That rose from his hairy thigh.
She blew the smoke from her cigarette
Over his steaming knob
So utterly beat was Duke Weasel
He failed to do his job.
It was Elsa Nell who broke the spell
In accents clear and cool,
"You cunt struck shrimp of a Southern Isles pimp.
You call that thing a tool?"
"If this here town can't take that down,"
She sneered to those cowering whores,
"There's one little cunt can do the stunt,
It's Elsa Nell's, not yours."
She stripped her garments one by one
With an air of conscious pride
And as she stood in her womanhood
They saw the great divide.
She seated herself on a table top
Where someone had left his glass,
With a twitch of her tits she crushed it to bits
Between the cheeks of her arse.
She flexed her knees with supple ease,
And spread her legs apart,
With a friendly nod to the mangy sod
She gave him the cue to start.
But Dead-eye Hans knew a trick or two,
He meant to take his time,
And a girl like this was fucking bliss
So he played the pantomime.
He flexed his arse hole to and fro
And made his balls inflate
Until they looked like granite knobs
Up on a garden gate.
He blew his anus inside out,
His balls increased in size,
His mighty prick grew twice as thick
Till it almost reached his eyes.
He polished it up with alcohol,
And made it steaming hot
To finish the job he sprinkled the knob
With a cayenne pepperpot.
Then neither did he take a run
Nor did he take a leap,
Nor did he stoop, but took a swoop
And a steady forward creep.
With piercing eye he took a sight
Along his mighty tool,
And the steady grin as he pushed it in
Was calculatedly cool.
Have you seen the giant pistons
On the mighty Railroad.
With the driving force of a thousand horse.
Well, you know what pistons are.
Or you think you do. But you've yet to learn
The ins and outs of the trick
Of the work that's done on a non-stop run
By a guy like Dead-eye Hans.
But Elsa Nell was no infidel,
As good as whole harem
With the strength of ten in her abdomen
And the rock of ages between.
Amid stops she could take the stream
Like the flush of a watercloset,
And she gripped his cock like a Yale Lock
On the National Safe Deposit.
But Dead-eye Hans could not come quick,
He meant to conserve his powers,
If he'd a mind he'd grind and grind
For a couple of solid hours.
Nell lay for a while with a subtle smile,
The grip of her cunt grew keener,
Squeezing her thigh she sucked him dry
With the ease of a vacuum cleaner.
She performed this trick in a way so slick
As to set in complete defiance
The basic cause and primary laws
That govern sexual science.
She calmly rode through the phallic code
Which for years had stood the test,
And the ancient rules of the classic schools
In a second or two went North.
And so my friends we come to the end
Of copulation's classic
The effect on Hans was sudden and quick
And akin to an anesthetic.
He fell to the floor, and knew no more
His passions extinct and dead
And he did not shout as his prick fell out
Though 'twas stripped right down to a thread.
Then Duke Weasel jumped to his feet
To avenge his pal's affront,
With jarring jolt of his blue-nosed
Colt He rammed it up her cunt.
He rammed it up to the trigger grip
And fired three times three
But to his surprise she closed her eyes
And smiled in ecstasy.
She jumped to her feet with a smile so sweet
"Bully", she said, "for you.
Though I had guessed that was the best
That you two poor cocks could do."
"When next, my friend, that you intend
To sally forth for fun
Buy Dead-eye Hans a sugar stick
And yourself an elephant gun.
"I'm going back to the frozen North,
Where the pricks are hard and strong.
Back to the land of the frozen stand
Where the nights are six months long.
"It's hard as tin when they put it in
In the land where spunk is spunk
Not a trickling stream of lukewarm cream
But a solid frozen chunk.
"Back to the land where they understand
What it means to fornicate,
Where even the dead sleep two in a bed
And the babies masturbate.
"Back to the land of the grinding gland,
Where the walrus plays with his prong,
Where the polar bear wanks off in his lair
That's where they'll sing this song.
"They'll tell this tale on the Arctic Trail
Where the nights are sixty below,
Where it's so damn cold that the Johnnies are sold
Wrapped up in a ball of snow.
"In the valley of death with baited breath
That's where they'll sing it too,
Where the skeletons rattle in sexual battle,
And the rotting corpses screw.
"Back to the land where men are men,
North Mountain,
And there I'll spend my worthy end
For the North is calling: 'Come.'"
So Dead-eye Hans and Duke Weasel
Slunk out of the Arendelle,
Dead-eye Hans with his useless prick
And Duke Weasel with no gun in his hand.
Kristoff shivers and looks around the stables at the ice.
He looks at Sven, "I'd dead, right?"
Sven nods 'yes' with vigour.
He places the lute on a pile of hay.
Turns around and sees Elsa and Anna...dressed in their leather bondage suits. One White as snow, the other as black as Night.
He lays on the floor, his hands on the head. "Forgive me, Mistress and Master" He begs.
The sound of a whip...full of Ice. Another whip of leather...
Pain and Pleasure... who knew?
eskimonell69