Adult Fantasy Fiction: The Secret Sex Lives of Elves 1.2

"Seems your daddy was really a terrorist in a Mafia sleeper cell and he’s being deported back to Italy..."

I am publishing this book on Steemit one thousand words at a time, a few times per week. Scroll down for the latest chapter.

What this book is about:

Everything you think you know about elves is wrong, wrong, wrong. You. Have. No. Idea! What you think you know: There are elves for Christmas. Elves for cobblers. Little winged Irish fairy elves. Short Shakespearean meddlers. Pretty, sanctimonious stuck up Tolkien types. Yes, even some dark Norse dwarves got pegged with the label. All incorrect. Flawed. Totally stupid.

This story is about how a handful of real elves and a few pathetic less-than-average humans deal with the fall of civilization. And yes, in the telling of this story, some secrets of the sex lives of elves are revealed. Hubba hubba.

WARNING: This book contains adult themes and content!

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If you want to start at the beginning (advisable if you haven’t) click here.

Chapter 1.2: The Peculiar End of Life Experience of Sean Hasker

Sean remained lost in elation over his Senate appointment for some time. Life was great! Could it ever get any better?

“Excuse-me-Sir,” interrupted Rosie, snapping Sean out of his joy.

“What is it, Rosie.”

“The-Mistress-left-a-gift-outside-the-front-door.”

Whoa! Excited, Sean was suddenly there, curiously without travelling between. It was a large crate. The acronym ACME was written on each side. Excited, Sean knew what it was. The crate opened. Then it was there in all its testosterone glory: The jetpack. There was a note on it:

My love, enjoy! Ride it and why not visit Fannie Mae for the day? Love, Miranda

“Yee-haw! I’m going to visit the best ass in the East!” Sean howled. “Twins! Get me dressed!”

He was back in the bedroom, sitting naked on the bed while those sexy women prepared to dress him. As usual, his tighty-whities fell from their grasp as the twins moved from the bureau to the bed. They gave a little show of mimed frustration and then, with their backs facing him, they both slowly bent over straight-legged to mutually pick his underwear up. Oh, what a view of panty-clad heaven. How he wanted to spank them both! Those naughty girls! But touching was only for Miranda.

Sean wasn’t betraying her by thinking these things. Miranda deliberately and easily indulged Sean’s imagination. She knew the twins would excite him. She knew he loved it. Like everything else around him, it was her gift to him. Just. Don’t. Touch.

They loved putting the underwear on him. Sean really had to exert himself to stay still. Look at those twin mouths. Those firm young breasts. Those pairs of milky thighs. He kept to himself, though. He actually did it! The women giggled through it all. Sean was thoroughly titillated, and yet he controlled himself! It was an experience he was learning to enjoy.

But, boy oh boy, when Miranda got back, she was in for some good trouble… Sean smiled to himself thinking of her perfect nakedness, her touch upon him, the feel of her in his hands.

The rest of his clothes quickly followed, and then...

He was outside. The lack of in-between was irrelevant to him. He had already strapped on the jetpack. Using it was apparently intuitive as he took off immediately. Although he deeply desired to visit Fannie Mae, there was one item on his agenda first.

He screamed over the city, looping and rolling, zooming tightly past skyscrapers, sonic booming over streets full of pedestrians staring back in awe. Look up to me, ants!

Out of the city, he overflew the malaise of the suburbs, literally crossing several railroads to arrive well into the other side of the tracks. He landed in front of a small, dilapidated bungalow. Raw cracked cement steps led off-kilter to a small chipped-paint wood porch covered by a flaking aluminum roof. There she was, sitting there, smoking as usual. Beside her was a bottle of turpentine gin. She was middle-aged, anywhere from 40 to 55. She was fat, her hair unkempt, her teeth crooked and blackened from tar. She was wearing a faded red and white summer dress.

This was Sean’s mother.

“Oh, sweetie! I’m so glad to see you! Look at you! I’m so, so sorry!” his mother said pouring out those words with tears while stumbling down the porch stairs at him.

Yo you fucken’ bitch. Fuck you. Fuck fuck fuck you! You did shit to stop Dad he thought but would never say. Miranda would not like that.

“Love ya, Ma!” is what he said.

“I miss you all the time. I’m so sorry about your horrible father. He beat me and did terrible things to me sexually and I know that’s no excuse to not protect you I-should-have-just-called-the-police-but-he-controlled- all-the-money-and-I-was-terrified-that-he’d-kill-me-one-day-but-I-should- have-protected-you-better...” She was clinging to him now, sobbing.

“That’s okay, Ma. It’s okay.” He patted her matted hair.

“I’m so glad he’s in the pen. When he gets out, I’m taking a shotgun to his balls. I swear! I’m done with him!”

Sean found this immensely gratifying. After years of collaboration due to her pathetic alcoholic co-dependency, she was finally denouncing her husband. That violent, drunk boy-diddling freak! Sean wanted to do something for her.

“Mom, let’s buy you better things. How would you like a nicer house?”

“Oh, Son! But how could you pay for it? Surely that nice girl of yours shouldn’t. I’ve got too much pride for that.”

Pride? Then why did you put up with his shit? he thought but did not say.

“Mum, I’ve made the Senate! I’ve got the best expense account in the universe!”

The new home appeared. A solid brick mansion on a gardened half-acre with a white wrap-around covered veranda. Cherry trees were blooming on the lawn. A Chevy Tesla 69 sat in the driveway. His mother was now sitting on a porch swing sipping lemonade, puppies and kittens at her feet. Her hair was made up, her teeth white, her dress vibrant. She had lost weight. There was a letter in her hand.

“It’s lovely son.” Sean was beaming. “Look! I just got a letter from The Ministry of Corrections, Citizenship and Counter-Terrorism. Seems your daddy was really a terrorist in a Mafia sleeper cell and he’s being deported back to Italy after he’s served his sentence! We will never see him again!”

“Wow!” Sean was ecstatic! ‘Things are really looking up, Ma!”

“I love you son.”

“I love you too, Ma. Gotta go.”

He kissed her and took off.

##-- End of chapter 1-2 --##

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