Author's Notes: First of all, this is a joint effort (so most of my stuff
won't be like this). We were very tired when writing this, so please
forgive us. We know, it's disgusting. We love Edward, and hate to besmirch
his good name in this way, but it's just so much fun.
Her grandmother's story was fascinating. A man with bladey hands—she'd thought when she was little—now that was nifty. Of course, now, years after Grand Mama had first told it to her, Trampolina found it delightfully kinky. After extensive fantasies involving much blood, she decided she'd like to meet the dude. Now was as good a time as any. She stared through the window of her bedroom, through the snow which the wind thrust diagonally toward the ground, the snowflakes forming erotic shapes and winking at her in the moonlight. Terrible teases, those snowflakes. It was a cold one tonight. All the better, she thought. She imagined Edward would find her boobsicles quite enchanting.
They were sexier even than Trampolina had thought they'd be, these giant ice statues and shrubberies. She couldn't decide which she preferred: the hands ( you know what thoughts THAT put in her head) or the huge mythical creatures, which she imagined had, ahem, body parts of equally mythical proportions. She couldn't wait to go inside the castle, to see their creator, and whatever his proportions might be.
Trampolina didn't bother to knock. Grand Mama had told her that Great Grand Mama had just barged in when she'd first met Mr. Bladey Hands, so why shouldn't she do the same thing? The door squealed on its hinges, like a woman squealing in the heat of pleasure. Darkness greeted her inside the entrance way, but where light was absent, sound was not. She could hear noises. People talking—no, all the same person, she decided, but many times over. Their voices were all the same. And another sound. Scissors. Mr. Bladey Hands! Trampolina called out. She leapt up the stairs, to the source of the sounds....
Her grandmother's story was fascinating. A man with bladey hands—she'd thought when she was little—now that was nifty. Of course, now, years after Grand Mama had first told it to her, Trampolina found it delightfully kinky. After extensive fantasies involving much blood, she decided she'd like to meet the dude. Now was as good a time as any. She stared through the window of her bedroom, through the snow which the wind thrust diagonally toward the ground, the snowflakes forming erotic shapes and winking at her in the moonlight. Terrible teases, those snowflakes. It was a cold one tonight. All the better, she thought. She imagined Edward would find her boobsicles quite enchanting.
They were sexier even than Trampolina had thought they'd be, these giant ice statues and shrubberies. She couldn't decide which she preferred: the hands ( you know what thoughts THAT put in her head) or the huge mythical creatures, which she imagined had, ahem, body parts of equally mythical proportions. She couldn't wait to go inside the castle, to see their creator, and whatever his proportions might be.
Trampolina didn't bother to knock. Grand Mama had told her that Great Grand Mama had just barged in when she'd first met Mr. Bladey Hands, so why shouldn't she do the same thing? The door squealed on its hinges, like a woman squealing in the heat of pleasure. Darkness greeted her inside the entrance way, but where light was absent, sound was not. She could hear noises. People talking—no, all the same person, she decided, but many times over. Their voices were all the same. And another sound. Scissors. Mr. Bladey Hands! Trampolina called out. She leapt up the stairs, to the source of the sounds....