First Place Winner:
ONE TIN SOLIDER

by Peter Fraley

A lone figure cloaked in tarnished tin stood before the antique drawbridge to the Castle Anthrax as it slowly lowered across the dry moat. The former barrier of piranha infested water and crocodiles had long ago been replaced by a far more deadly barrier of black-tailed scorpions scurrying across the bleached and broken bones of ancient, fallen warriors. Descending inch by inch, the decaying, iron-bound beams of wood creaked and groaned in protest to the keeper of the gate.

`Do not let this foul creature cross! Do not defile the Consecrated of God within by his presence!' the bridge seemed to moan with each pull on its massive control wheel. But the gate keeper, deaf to its cries, toiled with all her might until, in a cloud of dust, the protest abruptly ceased.

"Dear Sister, I am Sir Galahad, a knight of the Round Table. I've quested the Holy Grail for six years now. The buzzards circling overhead and my trusty stallion, Bruce, have been my only companions. I've seen no mortal for seven moons and tasted no water for three suns. I beg of thee kind Sister, grant that I may refresh my weary soul with a drink, a bath, and perhaps even a night's rest away from the vultures of the desert and the snakes of the forest. Your castle floor would make for me an honorable bed. Or, dare I hope, that perchance a cushion of straw is available? For my tongue is swollen and my spirit disheartened. Your kindness will be rewarded in Heaven, for I, like you, am on a divine mission."

The Sister stared long at the raggedy knight. Dirt in every crevice, deep battle scares traversing face and neck, and enough BO to knock an aqueduct rat off of a manure cart at 100 paces, told in an instant a story that would have taken a fortnight by tongue. She bowed her head and waved her arm across the courtyard before him in accommodation.

That evening, as he lay in a wooden tub filled with rosemary perfumed rain water, he took another sip of first-press wine from his cup and sighed. The hearth-warmed bath water washed away not only weeks of filth, but seemed to wash the very core of his being. Years of futile search were cleansed by the hand of God working through the kind generosity of this hallowed Sisterhood. A divine catharsis bestowed upon him by these angels in human form. Wingless angels. Yet, angels indeed.

Galahad slept.

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A soft knock at the door. Without waiting for a response, in crept the nun who had earlier lowered the drawbridge allowing Galahad's entry. Sister Merry Melons looked cautiously about the room. Seeing no one but the sleeping knight, she slammed the door behind her. Galahad shot up in his now cold bath, splashing water across the floor and over the Sister's bare feet. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and when his mind finally caught up with the situation, he flushed with embarrassment. Feeling about the floor with his hand, he grabbed a goat hair washcloth and covered his erect nipples.

"Oh mighty Sir Galahad, I fear our cloistered existence here must seem utterly boring to a knight so seasoned in battles and in life. We are but six score nubile virgins, consecrated to Yahweh, none over 19, except Mother Superior Cindy who just turned 22. Um, and, did I mention, none of us has ever, never, ever known a man. Although, on a dare Sister Elle once walked beneath a huge marble crucifix and looked up under Jesus's loincloth. She swears she saw the head of the sanctified penis and a partial holy testicle. Which is, of course, perfectly alright since we are the Brides of Christ after all. Though quite lonely brides, really, `cause Christ doth tarry and, well, you know, there wasn't much of a honeymoon or anything."

Galahad's brow furrowed and he lifted his washcloth even higher.

"Nay, nay, worry not about your nipples," she said. "You are in the presence of an anointed handmaiden of the Lord. It is perfectly normal for them to be erect. You'd be surprised how often ours are when we're dressing each other in the morning."

Sister Merry noticed the tiniest of cuts on Sir Galahad's index finger. "Oh, but you are wounded!"

"T-t-tis nothing. A mere flesh wound I got while tearing up a clump of grass to use on my bum after I ran out of toilet pap-"

Merry frowned.

"Wait, wait, now I remember. No, it was a mere flesh wound I suffered whilst valiantly fighting a, a colossal Cyclops, um.on a precipice, a precipice overlooking the ends of the Earth, from which with one false step I would have fallen forever, past the lion, the elephant, and the turtles all the way down. It's pretty well healed now, but, by the burly balls of Hercules, I swear to you, it stung like the dickens when I first cut it. I mean when he, he the Cyclops, when he first cut it in the heated battle and all."

"Wow! You must be the bravest knight in the whole wide world," Merry cooed in admiration. "I'll hear nothing of this talk of a mere flesh wound, though. What if it got infected?" Spinning towards the door on the pad of her naked foot, Merry clapped her hands twice and called out, "Sister Elle, Sister Bambi, your presence is required!"

She opened the door and in fell two nuns clad in thong bikini habits made of an utterly sheer gossamer. Three tiny yellow polka dots were strategically placed on each bikini to cover the holiest of holies, but the upper two on Elle were stretched to the point of tearing by her ample, upward turned breasts, engorged aureoles, and thimble-sized nipples. Meanwhile, the lower dot on Bambi's suit had problems of it's own. In her zeal to do the work of God, Bambi's exuberant devotion had resulted in a wet, delicious honey that soaked into the bikini fabric, causing the dot's glue to fail to the point where it threatened to release it at any second.

"You are physicians?" asked Galahad.

"Well, no," Bambi giggled. "But I have practiced CPR on all the other nuns. Two or three times on the youngest ones, whenever they'll let me."

The giggle was all it took, and her loose dot fluttered to the ground exposing a beautiful, pink rose of flesh that could be clearly seen through the transparent fabric of her thong habit. As Bambi leisurely bent to retrieve the small circle of cloth, the delicate petals of her labia slowly spread in wanton desire, and a tiny hole of unspeakable pleasure winked at Sir Galahad from between its soft, wet folds. Bambi's eyes brightened with devilish delight as she watched him watching her.

"Never mind the tiny hole of unspeakable plea. I mean, never mind the wound!" shouted Galahad. "I must confess. I came here because I have seen the Holy Grail."

Bambi feigned a pout.

"There's no grail here," said Merry, her forehead creased in confusion.

"But I have seen it. Amongst the clouds. Above the Castle! Don't tell me it's not its not. Seeing the Grail, why that's all that's kept me alive this past week. Surely you must-"

"OH WICKED, BAD, NAUGHTY SISTER MERRY MELONS!" boomed a voice from outside the room. In strode Mother Superior Cindy Ireland. Stripped to her waist and standing in near exhaustion, Mother Cindy's flawless breasts heaved up and down. They shimmered with perspiration under the room's flickering torches. Rivulets of sweat ran down the tight, abdominal concavity below her rib cage and into the soft, blonde pubic mound barely peaking above her rolled down habit.

Mother Cindy had just come from the Purgatory Room where she had been administering punishment to two neophytes, Sisters Vendela and Niki, who earlier that day had been caught completely naked in the stable sucking on the hard, four foot cock of Galahad's stallion, Bruce. The powerful beast was still ejaculating steaming jets of animal jiz in mighty spurts down the girl's throats, across their faces, and all over their spontaneously orgasming young bodies when Cindy had unsuspectingly walked in to the stall with an apple and some sugar cubes. One of the girls, in her ecstasy, had lost all bladder control and was spraying piss down the side of the other's leg as she climaxed.

There was no denying that a sin of enormous depravity was in progress.

Cindy threw Bruce's treats against the wall and dragged the girls by their ears, naked and crying, towards the Purgatory Room with Vendela blubbering all the way about how it wasn't her fault that Niki fucked the horse.

"Hush now!" Mother Cindy shouted. "Such sacrilegious language from a handmaiden of the Lord. Still your sinful tongue Sister, I order you, and accept your just chastisement with at least a modicum of grace and dignity."

Once in the Purgatory Room, Cindy set herself to the physically grueling task of punishment. After having the young girls hop onto separate tables, she made them lie on their backs and insert their feet into birthing stirrups. The stirrups had been purchased solely for the purpose of these disciplinary sessions, since there was little chance of a pregnancy in a castle full of chaste nuns. Although, Bruce's coitus with Niki, if Vendela wasn't lying, had no doubt broken her hymen and Niki alone among them could no longer consider herself a true virgin.

Our Father Who art in Heaven, a horse, a beast of burden no less. She wondered what such a wild, satanic experience would feel like, felt her knees buckle slightly, and quickly purged the blasphemous thought.

Cindy unbuttoned the top of her habit and rolled it down over her hips. She retrieved two, yard long strings of anal rosary beads hanging from the spread hands of a Virgin Mary statue that towered over Niki and Vendela's tables. The 22 year-old Mother Superior then repeatedly inserted the strings of marble-sized beads into each of their tanned, athletic buttocks, and rapidly yanked them out.

At first the girls squealed with delight at the new experience. But after an hour of discipline, their tight, fresh anuses had become swollen and tender. With each new pull of the beads, the girls shrieked in agony.

On the twenty-fifth pull, Vendela, the nun who had lost bladder control in the stable, lost it again. Her urethra opened wide, sending a stream of urine directly into Cindy's face. Cindy had become so exhausted from administering the punishment that the arcing rooster-tail of tawny water actually felt like a balm. She relished it, gulping large mouthfuls of the slightly bitter liquid and spitting them out again.

"P-p-please, no more," begged Vendela, after her stream had quieted to a mere trickle. "It's just that doing God's work requires such, such abstinence. We were only watering Sir Galahad's cute horsy as part of our evening chores. The poor thing, he looked so lonely. We were petting Bruce's pretty mane and telling him not to be so sad. Then Niki turned for only a second to close the gate and all of a sudden, he mounted her. I didn't know what to do. His huge thingie poked right through her habit, and he kept pushing and pushing until he was about a foot into Niki. She started screaming, `He's ripping me in half! He's ripping me in half!' I panicked. All I could think of doing was licking his testicles. And, praise be to the Blessed Mother Mary, it worked. He pulled himself out. But by now Bruce was so horny, he was stamping his hooves and whinnying. We were scared to death, and we knew he'd never let us out of the stable alive. That's when that sick bitch, Niki, got the idea of doing him. So it's all her fault!"

Cindy gave Niki a stern look of disapproval and Niki began to cry. It touched Cindy's heart. Such a sweet, innocent child of God. Taken against her will-at least initially-by a common farm animal. Punished and now repentant. Poor Niki had suffered enough.

Cindy knelt before her and gently lapped at her small, pink, swollen anus. Niki moaned softly. Cindy then cunningly flicked her tongue around its puckered rim. It tickled so delightfully, Niki couldn't help but laugh. Her throbbing sphincter gradually relaxed and let down its guard. Suddenly, Cindy's hot tongue invaded it like a velvet sword being thrust into a sleeping victim. Only this victim, instead of screaming, let out a whimper of pleasure and held her breath hoping the sword wouldn't soon be withdrawn.

It wasn't.

Cindy pressed herself in one inch, then two inches. She could feel Niki's anus begin rhythmically clamping and releasing her tongue with the intensifying convulsions of pre-orgasm. Cindy inserted her tongue to its full length, three long inches, and wiggled it vigorously while simultaneously masturbating Niki's bulging clit, now completely emerged from it's fleshy hood, with the tip of her slender middle finger.

Niki's hips, previously still, now wandered in lazy circles. Horizontally at first, then vertically. Yes, up and down, that's the way. Her revolving hips pressed her body against Cindy's finger above, then tongue below. Finger above, then tongue below. Niki's lips moistened and spread, and her vaginal entrance, invisible at first, dilated cautiously, like the pupil of a cat's eye opening in the dark. Slowly, Niki's womanhood blossomed into a beautiful Venus flytrap-with an insatiable mouth-wanting Cindy's finger; wanting a penis; a cock; a goddamn, giant, rock-hard cock! Wanting to ingest it to its very hilt. A Penis flytrap. Yearning to explore it, to spit it out, and then to ingest it again.

Niki's muscular buttocks abruptly tensed and grappled Cindy's head as her perfectly sculpted body arched impossibly upwards. Her heart fluttered to the point of bursting. The surface of her groin, abdomen and chest flushed with adrenaline. A second later, a massive orgasm shot up her spine, ripped through her cunt, and invaded her very viscera and limbs as she climaxed, again and again and again!

Cindy smiled slyly to herself as she patiently waited for Niki's buttocks to release its grasp. She kissed the super-heated skin in the cleavage of Niki's ass as it clasped her face. When Niki finally unclenched her cheeks, Cindy sat up and smiled a knowing smile at her. You may think you're done little Sister, but oh no, you're not getting off this easy. Not by a long shot.

Since anyone at the convent could remember, Cindy's goat-skin satchel had never left her side. She reached into it now and removed one of the six priceless ampoules of azure liquid. They were given to her by the gnarled hag of the forest several years ago in return for a large supply of food. There was no doubt that the convent's gift of dried meats, bread and barreled water had saved the witch's wretched life. No one living her solitary existence in the forest could have survived the hellish drought that year without the kindness of strangers. And she was very grateful.

All six of the dainty bottles that Cindy had received laid unspent in a bed of dry grass within her satchel; it's only contents. The sorceress had given Cindy explicit instructions on how to use them, but Cindy was left with more questions than answers when the hag told her of their ultimate purpose: "These are the Phallus of Jehovah my sweetums. Choose their time with the same caution you choose your eternal fate. For to use them is agony, and to experience them is to pierce the eye of Allah with a needle and to drink the elixir of His vision from its collapsing orb."

Cindy liked these two newcomers to the convent immensely, Niki and Vendela; so full of cinnamon spice, virtue and vice. She would have never expended one of the hag's ampoules on anyone else except them, or, of course, the magnificent Sister Elle. Niki and Vendela had disappointed her bitterly today, and now the time, after all these years of barely contained curiosity, was finally right. But Cindy hadn't a clue of the ampoule's true power. She was about to give a delicate young lady a lesson that would scorch the memory of even the most battle-bloodied warrior, forever.

After blowing out one of the lamps, Cindy poured its oil all over her right hand and arm. Then she wrapped the ampoule in a swatch of cloth and placed it in her palm. She fixed in her mind what she had to do to teach this saucy little acolyte that bestiality can never satisfy one's soul like the hand of God. After making the sign of the cross, Cindy dripped the remaining lamp oil over Niki's pudendum, closed her hand over the ampoule, grit her teeth, and rammed her fist up Niki's adolescent cunt.

Shock exploded across Niki's face as a fierce gasp tore from her throat. Empathy for Niki's suffering rent Cindy's heart in twain, yet she continued to push and twist. First the knuckles, then the hand, then the entire wrist disappeared into Niki's tight, youthful snatch. And still she pushed.

The pain was too much for Niki. She screamed until her lungs could purchase no air, choked a few times, then hyperventilated. Her vision tunneled down to a pinpoint as she began to blackout. She bit down hard on her lower lip, drawing blood. All the events of Niki's short life flashed before her. She stared incredulously as dead relatives danced across the ceiling, coaxing her to float up and away from this incredible torture, beckoning her to leave her corporeal body forever.

Cindy, crying herself, and barely able to see Niki through her tears of pity, could nevertheless tell that she was losing her. Hold on, little Niki. Hold on. I'm so sorry. Just hold on a bit more.

Niki's abdomen racked with whimpering sobs.

At the furthest depths of Niki's vagina, Cindy could feel her cervical opening finally yielding to the pressure and spreading around her knuckles. When she thought it had become wide enough, Cindy shoved with all her might. Her fist slipped past Niki's cervix into her uterus. Niki fainted.

Already, deeper than the stallion had purportedly been, Cindy gathered her energy for a minute, then thrust her arm one last time. It went in another two inches. Certain that she was in as far as she could possibly go-as per the hag's vehement, wide-eyed instructions-Cindy clenched her fist tighter and tighter until she felt the ampoule shatter within the cloth.

Instantly her hand went cold, then numb, then hot. Now, unbelievably, it was, it was having an orgasm, an incredible orgasm-in her hand! Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus, this isn't possible! The orgasm began spreading, crawling like an army of fire ants up her arm and across her shoulder. Millions of miniature marching footfalls swamping her right quadrant from hand to heart with the feverish prickles of nirvana. Today you shall be with me in Paradise. Cindy's head lolled back and she sat down hard on her ass. A warm, dark smile spread across her face whilst a warm, dark stain spread across her habit. She too, had involuntarily released her water.

Niki's eyes flew open like she had been slapped in the face with a lighting bolt. She came back into consciousness with her vision overrun by brilliant violet waves-a wild aurora borealis demonically undulating throughout the cortical folds of her brain, consuming her consciousness. Ice-storms rained down upon her fragile body, then a fireball leapt from her belly and flashed outwards in a burgeoning sphere, devouring all: pelvis, stomach and chest; legs, arms and neck; feet, hands and head. Everything and Everywhere! Just as suddenly, the fireball retreated, headed towards an epicenter-her clitoris-gathering enormous energy as it went, leaving numbness in its wake. Pandora's box had been opened unleashing a savage creature within her, and it was evolving into something.

WHAT'S HAPPENING?!

Vendela laid naked and cowering on her table, utterly enthralled. A pale blue mist emanated around Cindy's arm from Niki's secret place. She could smell it. It was acrid, rancid. The cloud stung Vendela's nostrils with the odor of fetid oranges. Then, as if detecting her presence with some hidden intelligence, it transformed into a Siren's call of confectionery dreams, of Turkish delight. Vendela curled into a fetal position and sucked her thumb. A scrumptious apparition of Turkish delight melted like liquid silk into her taste buds while she watched with horror as Niki's eyes grew and grew until they looked like they'd pop from her head.

Niki thrust out all four limbs in a giant human "X".

OH MY GOD!!!

The Mother-Of-All-Orgasms detonated inside Niki like a medieval hydrogen bomb! Cindy's forearm tingled with sexual delight as it absorbed the tremendous climatic contractions running up and down Niki's vaginal canal in vigorous peristaltic surges. The orgasmic bomb, magnitudes of power beyond the fireball that preceded it, mushroomed outwards in a shock-wave juggernaut, consuming every cell in its path. But it didn't stop there. It invaded Niki's mind, her soul, her spirit, her karma. An orgasma-storm of unbearable ecstasy!

Tsunamis of pleasure overwhelmed her again and again. Niki yelled until she was hoarse, with thanks to God, Beelzebub, the big, friendly horsy and especially with thanks to Cindy, in a nonsensical babble that only the highest levels of rapture can elicit.

But the elixir, ever so aware and evolving, metamorphosed once again. Time slowed, stood still, reversed direction and then accelerated to the speed of light. Niki's lips drew back from her teeth and gums, and she let loose a bone shattering scream as the very essences of life crashed violently upon the shores of her soul's outermost boundaries.

Birth!...Death!...Birth!...Death!... Birth!...Death!...

The heat and pressure of ten-million lifetimes burning through her in a span of minutes. Ten-million volcanic tales told by ten-million idiots. Each scorching iteration devouring the one before in less than the blink of an eye:

A tumultuous eruption ejecting molten blood and tearing the birthing maw asunder. Unspoiled, red-hot flesh bursting forth into an exciting new world filled with soaring possibilities and ineffable cruelty. The rapid arterial flow of blistering lava across a lifetime's worth of strutting and fretting upon the stage. A brief candle spitting out all the sound and fury in it's possession before the Reaper's breath extinguishes it forever. The congealing flow and cooling peace of advanced age. The hardened crust of life's last, brief year. The tenuous veneer of sanity cracking and flaking off an icy core of madness-the desperate kind of madness that comes from the realization that one's very existence is nearly completed; that one will be heard no more. The desolate ghost of a shadow human staring frightfully into the snarling jaws of eternal oblivion. The final, silent, mysterious call of dusty death itself-pure cosmic unconsciousness; one more soul, lost forever, signifying nothing--The sudden next eruption!

More and more rapidly the cycles came, until together they melded into titanic pulses of intolerable pleasure and exquisite pain. Diametrical opposites furiously colliding inside of Niki, annihilating each other like matter and antimatter: yin and yang, yin and yang, yin/yang, yin/yang, yyianng, yyianng!

Vendela watched in stupefied awe as, at times, whole body orgasms convulsed every muscle in Niki. At other times her writhing would stop entirely, and the surface of Niki's skin would ripple like a field of golden wheat being blown by a hot summer wind, twitching and swaying to some primeval drumbeat only it could hear.

Niki was no longer on this planet. Niki was somewhere else, far, far away. Grand mal seizures of rapture coming and going, ebbing and flowing; so perfect, so perfect. Heaven eclipsed. Heaven outdone. Heaven but a walking shadow.

As the final drops of Allah's collapsing orb drained into Niki, the vision quieted into receding sets of euphoric waves, liquid rapture breaking on the seashore, a tide gently carrying each wave set out just a little further; slowly, ever so slowly. A lingering goodbye. A pendulous silver thread of saliva held in fragile suspension between the lips of two parting lovers.

And, at last, the afterglow of a relaxing beach campfire. Midnight embers casting an amber radiance. The serenity of a warm and mild saltwater breeze. An enchanted moon, up above, ravishing Niki, and whispering love, ravishing Niki, and whispering love.

Vendela stared jealously at the two while she absently fondled the tumescent nipple of her left breast. When Niki had lain still for several minutes, Vendela gathered her courage and squeaked out a tiny, "Wha' `bout me, Mother Ireland?"

Cindy, trembling with weakness and covered in sweat, withdrew her fist from Niki and licked Niki's ecstatic secretions from her arm. Her tongue immediately shivered in a series of mini-orgasms from the ampoule residue. She smiled lovingly at Vendela, winked, and reached into her satchel once again.

The Lord's work is never done.

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"OH WICKED, BAD, NAUGHTY SISTER MERRY MELONS!" shouted Mother Superior Cindy as she stormed into Galahad's cavernous bath chamber. Seventy tanned and eager young nuns quickly pressed into the room behind her. And behind them all snuck in Vendela and Niki, each wearing nothing but a grin-a shit-assed grin so wide it would have made the Cheshire Cat hurl his litter box into the face of the Queen of Hearts in a suicidal fit of jealousy, triggering his own beheading. They looked at each other and winked, while an occasional puff of blue smoke curled up from between their legs.

"Against my mandate, she has been setting alight the beacon which, unfortunately, is grail-shaped. We've had this problem before."

"T-t-tis not the real Grail?" stammered Galahad.

"Oh bad, disobedient, evil, naughty, naughty Sister Melons," said Cindy. "Oh, she is wicked, wicked, wicked. And, as it always is, when wickedness wants to play, wickedness must also pay. For here in the Castle Anthrax, we have but one punishment for lighting the grail-shaped beacon. You must tie her to a bed and spank her!"

The entire castle erupted into a chant, "Tied to a bed! Spanked `till she's red! Tied to a bed! Spanked `till she's red!"

Cindy continued, "You must spank her thoroughly. And after you have spanked her, we'll bring up all our kitchen utensils and you can do with her whatever you please."

"This can not be!" protested Sir Galahad. "I am sworn to chastity until my quest to find the Holy Grail is complete."

Anonymous female voices yelled from the crowd: "I've got your quest right here, Mr. Knighty Knight!" and, "Why don't you check between my legs, Sir Galacock. I think I saw the Holy Grail there just yesterday!"

"Chastity? For a guy? How silly! How stupid!" goaded Cindy. "You're not a fag, are you, Sir Girlyhad? Some sort of emasculated, limp-wristed, nipple-clamped, rim-licking, sword-swallowing, cum-guzzling, prissy little, butt-reamed, girly knight?"

Galahad flushed with anger and almost leapt from the tub, then remembering his nakedness, reluctantly slid back down.

"Why, don't be ridiculous!" he shouted in rage. "If it weren't for my damnable vow, I'd be holding you upside down by your ankles right now-you insolent, snot-nosed, sassy little tart-and eating you like an ice cream co-"

Merry burst in, "The point is, I've sinned and you're in our castle! And, even though none of us reads Latin, and we have to sometimes guess at all that Bible stuff, we're pretty sure the whole grail-beacon slash spanking thing is one of the actual Ten Commandments."

"YES!" shouted Elle, "I'm fucking positive it is!" The rest of the girls giggled in embarrassment. But Elle, not even realizing she had spoken the taboo word, continued, "And I've been unbelievably naughty as well. You MUST spank me too."

Elle tore off her bikini bottom, turned and bent over, hands on knees, exposing a stunning, teardrop ass; taunting the knight to commit sin; daring him to break his vow.

The deafening chant quickly evolved into, "Spank me too! Spank me too!"

Bambi, caught up in the moment, cried out, "And then the oral sex!"

Immediately the chant switched again. It started out as a low, yearning incantation, "Blow job. Blow job. Blow job," but rapidly grew in intensity until the entire room heated into an erotic wildfire demanding to be quenched.

"BLOW JOB! BLOW JOB! BLOW JOB!"

As the mantra crescendoed, sexual electricity vibrated throughout Elle's angelic hooters. Her thick, dark nipples swelled and hardened, ejecting the two yellow polka dots across the room and bursting through the gauzy fabric of her bikini top. Elle's aureoles filled with milk, arching her nipples upwards, like beautiful, brown sunflowers turning to bask in the warmth of a midmorning sun. No longer able to contain the pressure within, her nipples dilated and discharged their precious load.

The ruckus quelled instantly. Every eye gazed in awe as golden lactose spilled down Elle's rib cage, across her washboard stomach, and into the tawny patch below, forming pearlescent dewdrops in her pubic hair that glistened bewitchingly as the room's flickering torch-light played on them.

Milk was an exceedingly rare treat in the castle and several pubescent nuns forgot their lady-like behavior. They fought each other for a chance to nurse on Elle's gorgeous, swollen globes. A couple lucky 17 year-olds, toughened by years of field work, quickly emerged victorious, though their clothes had been rent from their bodies during battle.

The two knelt in the nude before Elle and began suckling freely on her breasts while Elle, squatting slightly, rubbed her pussy roughly back and forth across theirs. Her vaginal nectar spread a sweet, sticky glaze across their juvenile chests.

The youngest nuns, spying this hitherto forbidden treat, moved hesitantly closer to see if they would be allowed a taste and found the nursing sisters quite receptive. While the two girls continued to express Elle's overflowing glands, they began twisting their torsos back and forth: first positioning their pouty, underdeveloped tits to press into Elle's tenacious pelvic kneading (Elle alternately grinding her cunt into one girl's chest, then the other's), then twisting outwards, exposing the nectar they'd gathered to the growing line of curious females. As the girls in the queue took turns lying on their sides to lick the dripping residue from each pair of 17 year-old breasts, a gleeful joy spread from face to face upon the discovery that Elle's vaginal juices tasted of honeysuckle buds and ripe blueberries-Elle's favorite douche enhancers.

When the flow of milk finally ceased, the girls fell to the ground beneath the shadow of Elle's magical orbs, speaking in tongues and crying for joy. Suddenly, as if by a secret signal, the spell was broken and all the nuns began screaming and tearing each others clothes off.

Galahad rose out of the bath water, all thoughts of celibacy banished forever. His manliness had become so extraordinarily turgid that, like a vast sausage left too long on the campfire, its sheath of skin had begun to split in several places. A thick network of arteries pulsated up and down the length of his massive shaft. Galahad felt he could explode in an earth shattering orgasm at any second.

Several of the girls climaxed and fainted in anticipation of being impaled on his great cock. The rest shrieked, "ME ME ME ME!"

Then someone shouted, "She's coming through!"

A hush billowed over the carnal mob, and they parted in a Red Sea of disappointment as Mother Cindy strode towards Sir Galahad, exposed breasts swinging freely. She eloquently slipped out of her habit as she walked past all the naked women, hips moving from side to side, never missing a step.

No one had ever seen Cindy completely nude before. Jesus Hooter-Heaven Christ! Even the Archangel Gabriel himself would have spat in the face of God Almighty for that body. Everyone knew that Cindy's seniority entitled her to firsties, but that didn't matter. Her body alone demanded that she be first.

She stood before the mighty warrior, Sir Galahad, without a stitch of clothing, in a room packed with sexual rivals, all seething with jealousy: a scary and vulnerable position for any other woman, but not for Cindy. The very air about her formed a shimmering aura as if it dare not touch this Platonic archetype of undiluted beauty. Cindy smiled devastatingly, kissed him full on the lips and reached down for his cock. Nary a soul in the room took a breath in anticipation.

Then, incredibly, Galahad knocked her hand aside, and, with a falsetto lisp dripping in venomous sarcasm, said, "Gee, I don't know if my poor, little, emathculated limp wrists can handle stho much woman. Probably too much of a prissthy fag for the likes of you."

"But.but, I want you," Cindy croaked in an irresistibly sensual voice, "I want you sooo baa-"

"Priss off!" he shouted, congratulating himself for his little play on words.

Cindy staggered back and stared at him in disbelief.

"Duh. You've got to be a homo," she sulked. "Who needs you anyway, Ass-Munch!"

Cindy stood with her legs apart, snapped her fingers, pointed one hand at someone across the room, and pointed the other at her crotch. Bambi let out a piglet squeal of delight and ran over. She flopped down on her knees between Cindy's legs, but had no idea what to do next and knelt there nervously.

Cindy waited, her frustration growing by the second.

"Well, Sister? Do me!" she commanded, never taking her eyes off Galahad.

"Do wha.wha-"

"Everything, damn you! NOW!"

Bambi was as nervous as a transsexual, child-molesting crack whore, with just 30 seconds to live, waiting in a confessional booth for the return of a elderly priest, who'd said with a wink that he'd be back as soon as he took little Pope Willie the III out to water the rose garden; a priest who had-judging by the way he staggered incoherently between the rails of his rickety walker-obviously consumed more than his fair share of the "Blood of Christ" during Sacrament. Bambi was in a hellacious predicament. This was her first real opportunity to prove herself to the goddess, Cindy Ireland, yet she hadn't a friggin clue as to what her Mother Superior was looking for.

Tick...tick...tick.

Deciding it better to err on the side of excess, she sucked both of her index fingers, and slipped one through the hospitable satin gate of Cindy's labia, while coercing the other past the unsociable guard house of Cindy's sphincter. She then buried her face in Cindy's snatch, prayed for the Virgin Mary's grace, and went to town: hands, arms, tongue and head all frantically moving at once. Not sure if this was enough, she started adding fingers to each orifice, pumping her arms furiously as she went. Then, thinking of yet another possible ingredient, along with everything else, started simultaneously humping up and down on Cindy's leg like a Tasmanian tribble in heat.

"D-d-damn g-girl! Wha' the hell you d-doin' down th-there?!"

To all the world, Bambi resembled a disrobed marionette being shaken in the fangs of a rabid pit bull with a string of firecrackers up its ass and a bear trap munching on its balls. The rest of the nuns snickered, some even laughed out loud, at Bambi's obvious naivete. Not that any of them would have had any better ideas.

"S-so y-you see Sir Gala-h-homo, Knight of the Fa-Fuck-Me-In-The-Ass Table, who the f-f-fuck needs y-ohhh shit! I'm c-coming. Christ A-Almiiighty, B-B-Bambi, I want to h-have your b-baby...iiiEEEEeee!"

Galahad stood with arms akimbo and sneered at this all-too-transparent tactic.

"Sir Galahomo huh?" he spat. "Would a homosexual do this?"

He grabbed a stunning nude out of the crowd; a 19 year-old brunette with bangs named Tyra. She had long, toned legs and conical breasts to slay a thousand heathen Muslim armies for. Tyra shrieked as he rammed his cunt splitting cum monster up her juicy love canal and began spinning her around his dick like a little plastic fuck doll.

Vendela and Niki scrambled between Galahad's legs, each taking one of his balls in their mouth. They began rolling their tongues wildly around his egg-sized rocks, quickly ducking each time Tyra propellered by.

Galahad's eyes rolled up into their sockets and spittle flew from his mouth. His whole body spasmed with exquisite pleasure.

"TAKE.THAT.YOU.BITCH!!!"

The climatic pressure built, and built, AND BUILT, AND-

Just then, a mountain-sized sandaled foot came thrashing through the clouds and, in a thunderclap of immeasurable power, smashed the castle hundreds of feet into the Earth. The foot slowly withdrew. Broken, fissuring molecules of carbon and rock sizzling at the bottom of the deep crater were all that remained of Sir Galahad, the six score Brides of Christ, the renown Castle Anthrax, and, alas, the four remaining ampoules.

A voice to fracture the universe, tore across the valleys and mountains, knocking all the world's trees flat, and scattering every body of water, great and small, to the winds:

"GODDAMN KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE BETTER STOP MESSING WITH MY PUSSY!!!"

The End

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!!! CAVEAT !!!
Kids, please don't try the "vaginal-fisting / broken-bottle-in-the-uterus / Mother-Of-All-Orgasms" technique at home. It's known in the most elite echelons of sexual connoisseurs as the "VFBBITUMOAO Maneuver", and is nearly always fatal unless performed by professional stunt-nuns who've undergone years of exhaustive training at the hands of a gang of drunken lesbian biker sluts.

Also, please note that all of the magical ampoules were destroyed centuries ago by God's really, really big foot. So, even if you somehow survived the VFBBITUMOAO Maneuver, without the ampoules you would probably achieve, at best, the "Crazy-Uncle-Who's-Duct-Taped-To-An-Ironing-Board-In-The-Basement -Of-All-Orgasms".

Of course, having been uterus-less (uterus challenged?) since birth, I can only speak anecdotally.

AFTERWORD

My greatest thanks to the troupe of Monty Python for their tremendous sense of humor and talent. You are my muse. Forgive this blasphemous desecration of your hilarious work, "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" (unless, perchance, you actually like it).

I freely admit to borrowing, at times, pieces of its story-line as well as an occasional paraphrased snatch (there's that word again) of dialog. For without these ties, this story would have weakened considerably. No member of Monty Python has condoned my use of "The Holy Grail" material nor would, I imagine, any confess to it if they had.

Also, Mom and Dad, if you ever read this story (and I pray that day never comes) please remember, I'm still your son, and at least I never got caught getting a blow job in the Oval Office from some fat chick with bad hair and picket-fence teeth.

Finally, to all of you justifiably offended Catholics grinding your teeth out there: please stop seething long enough for me to enjoy my requisite 15 minutes, and console yourselves in the thought that I will almost certainly be roasting on a spit in Satan's monstrous barbecue pit for the next few trillion years, while you gaily flutter about the firmament and occasionally (once an eon or so, when the heavenly winds are just right) catch a whiff of singed hair or, ever so faintly, hear one of my cries of agony:

"Ouch! Damn it, Lucifer, watch the friggin brush! You got Tex-Mex sauce in my eyes again."

-or-

"O.J., would you, for Chrissakes, either get some new material or SHADDUP! I swear, if I hear that ancient joke about your Ex going to the costume ball as a PEZ dispenser, just one more time, I'm gonna-What did you say?-Ooo, hey look guys, Mr. Shish Kebab over here still has his big, scary Swiss Army pocket knife. Golly gee whiz, we'd better watch what we say `cause the dang thing's just bristling with handy, neck slicing utensils. So, what-da-ya think you're gonna do with it, all skewered up the way you are, tough guy? Toss it at me with your `arthritic' arm and hope that the corkscrew jabs me in the eye? Wait, wait, here's an idea. Why don't you try to reach over far enough to focus that miniature magnifying glass on me and cause a painful little blister? Oh, shit, trying to burn me probably ain't gonna work either-since we're in HELL! Hey Juice, don't you be slowly rotating away from me when I'm talking to you!"

Oh, and God, I trust and pray that omni-humor lies amongst Your many unfathomable qualities. Otherwise I really am screwed.

copyright © 1999 Peter Fraley