Disclaimer: Characters and characters-one-step-removed all belong to Charlaine Harris.
What? You thought we were done?
Warning: Slash. Highly questionable content. I question it myself but I do it anyway.
Relaxing on her sofa with a pint of Ben and Jerry's, Sookie Stackhouse let out a sigh of contentment. It was the first moment to herself the 28-year-old barmaid had had all day.
Having arrived home from work a half hour earlier, Sookie was surprised to find herself in an empty house. Neither Sookie's roommate, Amelia Broadway, nor Pam, Sookie's friend and Amelia's sometimes galpal, were there. Welcoming the silence—Amelia was a loud broadcaster, while Sookie was a telepath—Sookie wasted no time in plopping herself down to relax with her sinfully delicious treat.
"Ah," she smiled after taking a spoonful of Magic Brownie. Taking pleasure in the peaceful solitude of her quiet house—which lately seemed to be overrun with houseguests—Sookie closed her eyes. Upon reopening them, her eyes fell upon the coffee table in front of her.
Oh! she thought in surprise. Amelia left her computer out.
Leaning forward, Sookie looked at the screen.
I'll bet this is the story they're working on!
Pam and Amelia had recently taken to writing fictional stories that they then posted to an online writing community. Sookie had read a few of her friends' stories but generally had not found them to be up to snuff. Staring at the computer, she took a few more spoonfuls of her chocolate ice cream. After a moment's hesitation she decided to read the story.
"Chances are it's about me, anyway," she grumbled to herself.
A half hour later, Sookie was still leaning over the laptop, her mouth hanging open. Shocked by her friends' storytelling, Sookie was, as her Gran used to say, catching flies.
What on earth? I don't believe those two! she thought. This is the worst they've written yet! Ew! Gross! What's wrong with them? Gran would be horrified that this was being written in her house! Poor Phil! And Cookie! What the hell? Holland Tunnel? Eric's not that big! I don't understand who reads this! I get that it's wish fulfillment but who would wish for that? I'll show them. I'll 'beta' it.
With that silent vow, Sookie grabbed the laptop and pulled it onto her lap.
WHAT SOOKIE READ
Derek Southman pulled the value-sized jar of Industrial Strength Wet Warming Intimate Lube from the file drawer of his desk.
At the sound of the drawer closing, his minion looked up, a wild gleam in his eye. That look told Derek everything he needed to know.
That look held yearning.
Desire.
Lust.
Far be it for Derek Southman to disappoint.
"Take off your clothes," he said coldly.
"What?" the minion responded. Slow and dumbfounded, the minion was obviously in disbelief that his dreams were coming true that night.
"You heard me. Take off your clothes. The skinny jeans. The Grateful Dead t-shirt. Any other boring attire you may be wearing underneath them."
The desire-filled underling, long-suffering in his unrequited lust for the former Viking, made haste in meeting his Sheriff's instructions to disrobe. The Sheriff was uncharacteristically willing to share himself generously this night; his companion could not afford to wonder why. He could only respond—and respond quickly—and hope to experience all the pleasures fate would allow, given he was such a woman.
Phil Douchebag quickly shed his jeans, t-shirt and JC Penney boxers. Finally naked, Phil stood before Derek; he held his arms up in silent offering.
Disgusted, the Vampire Sheriff of Area Four grimaced.
"Gods, you're pale. So pasty and sickly-looking. Has no one ever told you this? There's something you can do for that, you know. Have you never seen 'Jersey Shore'? Would it kill you to get a tan?"
Forlorn at being found so lacking, the rejected lover could only lower his head.
"Well, don't get all upset. I'm still going to fuck you but I changed my mind about you being completely naked." Maybe I should blindfold myself as well, thought Derek.
Rising to his feet, Derek stretched his imposing figure. At nearly 7 feet tall, to say Derek Southman was intimidating was akin to saying the Niagara was a waterfall. As handsome as he was tall, Derek knew the response of all who encountered him was equal parts fear and desire.
That was just how Derek Southman liked it.
A smug smile formed on his lips as he noted the minion licking his own womanly lips in longing. Still grinning, Derek made his way out of his office. A few moments later he returned carrying a Peruvian guinea pig fur coat. He tossed the coat to his minion.
"Put that on," he directed the quivering former farmer.
"I brought this back for you when I came back from Peru," argued the lackey. "It was a tribute of my affection."
"Your point, Douchebag?"
Phil sighed. "Nothing, Derek. I'll wear it as you wish."
In one long stride, Derek had covered the length of the office. The slap he laid across the cheek of his minion was hard and punishing.
"What did I tell you about that?" he asked stonily.
Dejected once more, Phil Douchebag lowered his head.
"Yes, Master," he corrected himself.
"That's better." Turning, Derek kicked the office door shut. Facing his underling, he said, "Put the coat on and go around to the other side of the desk." He chuckled. "Then bend over."
"Yes, Master."
The minion wasted no time in covering up his titanium white flesh in the Peruvian guinea pig fur coat. Delighted to find that the fur tickled him in the most unlikely of places, Douchebag let out a girlish giggle as he made his way around to the other side of Derek's desk.
Derek, however, was finding himself feeling less than excited following the effeminate display of the emo environmentalist. Battling repulsion, Derek shook his head.
"You're lucky Cookie is out of town, otherwise I should never waste the time with you."
"Yes, Master," replied Phil, stretched across Derek's desk, his head hanging over the edge.
Watching the libidinous llama lover lying across the desk, Derek thanked Freyda that he remembered the fur coat. The puny, pasty Douchebag lying naked across the dark mahogany would've looked like the center median on a highway.
Now, draped in the oversized fur, he resembled roadkill.
"You know Cookie and I are married. Yes?"
"I know this, Master," grumbled Douchebag. He was not happy about the union as it was a setback to his being able to spend time with the Sheriff. The bane of Douchebag's existence as a vampire was that he could never have a sex change operation and just become the woman he was deep inside.
"As we are married, she does not wish me to have sex with others."
"Yes, Master."
"But she does understand that I must keep my underlings in line."
"Yes, Master."
"I cannot think of a better way to discipline a disrespectful minion than to impale him with my broadsword." Derek observed. "Can you?" He asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.
Standing watching his underling, Derek's eyes were unwillingly drawn to the horny horticulturalist's round, nearly translucent butt cheeks, half covered by the guinea pig fur; the Sheriff couldn't help but think how they glowed like the snow-capped hills found in the evergreen forests of his native land.
Although it didn't help much given his superior vamp eyesight, Derek nonetheless turned off the light before dropping his trousers.
Derek's intimidating broadsword hung limp, long and low like a third leg. Thick and white, with a titillating uncircumcised head, Derek's cock was a beast among cocks, even in its non-erect state. Grabbing his enormous member, Derek was pleased. He smiled with satisfaction.
While Derek had had a long time to grow accustomed to being a vampire, he remained grateful for one thing. Each day he thanked Odin that he was not just immortal but immortal and incredibly well-hung.
It had really helped pass the time.
Meanwhile, Douchebag, after sneaking a peek at his Sheriff's shaft, gasped. Oh, the length of it! he thought. It went on and on and on! Looking forward to imminent impalement, the minion licked his lips.
Derek heard, of course. "Yes, yes," said Derek knowingly. "Soon you will know pleasure beyond your wildest imaginings. Min lilla slidtvättning."
"Yes, Ah..." The guinea pig clad underling cried in desperate anticipation.
Without another word Derek strode to the back of the desk and positioned himself behind his subordinate. Phil shuddered in anticipation.
"Yes," said Derek. "Good underling. Excellent. Shall I have mercy on you and use some of this Industrial Strength lube on my industrial sized cock? Or shall I just pound you hard and let you scream like the bitch you are?"
"Ah would..."
"Silence! It was a rhetorical question! I was going to use this lube—it's new and has a warming formula and I've wanted to try it as I'm considering adding it to the bar's product line. Of course I have no need to ever use it with Cookie. However, since you don't know how to keep your cock-sucker closed, I've decided against it."
"Oh, Ah don't..." The minion groaned.
"You will learn," nodded Derek, his eyes dancing with the pleasure of being able to inflict harsh and inhuman punishment with his lethal manbits. "And you will learn now. As you can see I am big. I am often too big, inflicting grave internal damage on my sex partners. That changed when I met my beloved. My Cookie's magnificent sex channel rivals the Holland Tunnel."
"Really?"
"Quiet!" Derek hissed angrily into the minion's ear. "How many times must I repeat myself?" Reaching once more into the file drawer, Derek grabbed an oversized dildo which he proceeded to stick in Douchebag's mouth. "That will teach you to be quiet."
Then Derek dropped his right hand to his as-of-yet still flaccid member.
"Do you believe it doubles in size when erect?"
Phil's eyes widened as he stared at his Sheriff's schlong.
"Don't worry,' Derek laughed. "You'll learn to love it." He placed his right hand on his dick and began to glide his palm up and down his length. Inch... by glorious inch.
"Ah," Derek sighed. "Lovely tried to name it the Gracious Plenty but I put my foot down. So we call it the Piggly Wiggly."
"Huh?"
"Get it? It's open all night and takes care of all your needs."
Derek continued to embrace his own manhood—as they'd been together for more than a millennium, it really was his most enduring relationship. Enraptured as it was by its master's special touch, it did not take long for Derek Junior to be ready to spring into action.
Startled by the feel of something cold and hard hitting him on the side of the head, Phil Douchebag's head popped up. Twisting his head to look, he was relieved to see it was a lead pipe. Suddenly he felt a similar thump on the other side of his head. Confident his Sheriff was just playing with him like a cat does a mouse, the subordinate, turning his head in the other direction, expected to see another lead pipe. He was, instead, startled to see a veiny, bulging uncircumcised hard and cold vampire penis.
"Huh!"
"Say hello to Piggly Wiggly." Derek laughed as he swayed his pelvis gently, tapping Phil's head teasingly. "This is a banker's desk, your torso barely covers its width; while you are puny by a Viking's standards, you're not a Pygmy. And yet here I stand several feet behind you, with my cock able to blow sweet cumdrops into your ear."
"Ah!"
"Silence!" Derek grabbed his throbbing manhood and dropped it down hard on his minion's guinea pig clad back. The Sheriff took a few steps backwards, loving the feel of the supple fur caressing his humungous harpoon. Carefully, he cradled his immense girth with both hands, fingers linked underneath its bulk as he lowered the bulbous purplish head to Phil's throbbing threshold. Since he had told his minion that he would be taught a lesson, Derek did not hesitate; he did not take the time to stretch his minion's backside. Instead Derek pushed his battering ram forcefully into the former farmer's fanny.
The underling, unable to scream due to the adult toy lodged in his throat, could only express his discomfort with loud gurgling sounds. Derek watched as his thick and long (perhaps it was three inches?) head disappeared into the angsty agriculturalist's ass. The Confederate veteran thrashed as Derek's magnum slid into him another inch. Spasmodically thrashing, the minion banged his head into his Sheriff's desk as Derek's invasion progressed yet another inch. Derek watched with satisfaction as another inch of his member continued its penetration of the recycler's reticent rectum. His underling's underside accepted another inch of the Viking's longship. After a few seconds, Derek leaned forward to whisper into Douchebag's ear.
"How is that, min lilla slidtvättning?"
"Ah."
"Half-way there."
"Huh?"
Just then a knock sounded at the door. It was Derek's child, Jan.
"Derek, Cookie is here."
"What?"
"Hank Ga…" The Douchbag garbled out.
"She said she cancelled her trip," his child continued. "Apparently she would miss you too much if she were away for a full day."
"Yes," the Sheriff nodded. "It had occurred to me that she might miss me too much to actually go." Derek, a pensive expression on his handsome face, considered the matter. "I must finish with this minion. Tell her I am wrapping up a phone call."
"What're you going to do with Douchebag?" Jan frowned as she watched her maker plunder the posterior of the Peruvian tourist. "And what's he wearing?"
"It's the Peruvian guinea pig fur."
"No," replied Jan impatiently. "Not that. Why are his buttocks so white? Did you put lotion on him?"
"No," replied Derek, shaking his head. "He is just especially colorless." Derek chuckled as he caressed Douchbag's glowing white buttocks. "In all ways, apparently."
"They're almost luminescent," observed Jan.
"Yes, I know," Derek nodded. "In spite of how revolting I find him overall, there is something oddly transfixing about his mancheeks."
"They remind me of the snow globes they sell in Minnesota."
"They call to mind the snow-covered hills of my homeland."
"How sweet," Jan snorted, coming out of her sentimental mood. "Anyway, you're not going to just continue mauling those milky mancheeks, are you?"
"Jan, I have every intention of continuing to bore mercilessly into his bottom."
Demonstrating the truth of his intentions, Derek suddenly drove deep into the database programmer's derriere. In seconds, he was fully sheathed in the horticulturalist's hiney.
"ARGH!"
Derek, his hands caressing Douchebag's bright buttocks, began pumping furiously. "I am going to finish what I started," he grunted. "You know how…" thrust "thorough" thrust "I" thrust "am."
"ARGH!"
"Yes, yes, Derek. But I can only get Cookie to look at shiny things for so long."
"ARGH!"
"Oh," thrust "well," thrust "tell" thrust "her" thrust "I'm" thrust "on" thrust "the" thrust "phone" thrust "with" thrust "ARGH!"
All of sudden, with a loud battle cry, Derek's torpedo blasted into Phil's cadaverous anal crevice.
"ARGH!" Phil Douchebag, experiencing the most action he had in months, quickly followed suit as several cum droplets dripped from his mini-member.
Without another word, the Sheriff pulled his spear from the Southern soldier's sphincter. Derek then opened the window, lifted his underling, and dropped him onto the pavement of the rear parking lot.
"Huh?"
"That reminds me. My dildo please?" Derek held his hand out the window.
A mournful expression on his face, Douchebag—unable to stand—levitated upward in the fetal position so that the Sheriff could remove the dildo from his mouth.
"Yes," Derek smiled. "Very good, min spermieuppsamlare." Derek pulled the dildo from the Douchebag's mouth.
"Master, does this mean I don't have floor duty tonight?"
"Not at all, res docka," growled Derek. "Why would you think that?"
"Oh, I just thought—"
Derek shut the window. "Jan, send Cookie to me." He smiled. "I am feeling amorous."
"Derek, really? You want me to send Cookie in here? This room reeks of Douchebag."
"Bring me some of that cleaning agent. What is it? Mr. Quinn?"
Jan rolled her eyes like the insolent bitch she can be at times. "Yes, Derek."
A few minutes later, another knock sounded at the door.
"Derek? It's me. Cookie."
"Come in, my little one with the cavernous cum-catching chasm. I know we are fated to be together because your incredibly super-sized vagina is the only one I have yet to inflict permanent internal damage upon with the Piggly Wiggly. Min lils tunnel grenen, my soulmate"
Giggling, Cookie Crackhouse made her way into her husband's office. "Oh, honey! It smells Pine Sol fresh in here! You cleaned for me!"
"Yes, Lovely," he smiled. "I did indeed clean for your benefit."
"I believe you! 'Cos I know you never lie to me!"
"That's right! I don't!"
AN: Geez. What can I say? More to cum? Seriously, this was too long (Ew!) and is a two parter.
Vulgar Translations:
slidtvättning- douche bag
res docka -cock puppet
spermieuppsamlare – sperm catcher
tunnel grenen – tunnel crotch