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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: 3 Bikini Brigade part 3 of 22 (NND) dec13
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
BIKINI BRIGADE
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Three
The first thing you noticed about the throne room in the
Citadel was that someone wasn’t keeping up with the laundry. Dirty
socks lay on the floor. A wet t-shirt lay crumpled at the foot of the
throne. And, hanging off the top of the throne was a dirty pair of
boy’s underpants.
Sitting in the throne, wearing a giant candied turban on his
head, was Licorice Lad. He watched as, in a cluster of angry cries, his
bats flew into the throne room and settled around his feet. They
brought him presents. But he was not pleased.
“Do you think I wanted their sand toys?!” Licorice Lad cried at
the bats. “I wanted *them*!” He gazed in contempt at the prizes the
bats had brought him. A Virginia Slims cigarette. An unopened box of
Lunchables. A half-eaten bag of gummi bears. He kicked at a starfish
mold lying near his feet.
“Humans are large, compared to a bat,” one of the larger bats
said to Licorice Lad. The bat did not speak out loud, but rather
through a kind of telepathy, that only Licorice Lad could perceive. It
was not communicated directly, but rather in a halting, animal manner,
accompanied with telepathic scrawls and screeches.
“So, work together!” Licorice Lad replied. “All of you
together could pick them up and bring them to me!”
“We did not see them,” the bat replied. “All we found were
these. Their artifacts. They were no longer there. And it is not in
the nature of bats to work together, in any event,” the bat replied.
“We swarm, yes, but we do not work together.”
“If you insist on hanging apart you may find yourselves hanging
together, one day,” Licorice Lad replied. He sprang up from the
throne. In doing so, he stepped on the starfish mold. It cracked under
the weight of his foot. He paid it no attention.
The bat looked bemused.
“We always hang together,” it answered.
“Begone!” Licorice Lad shouted. He lifted both his arms,
waving them in contempt at the creatures. “Fly! Fly! It is night now,
is it not? No more excuses! Find the girls and bring them to me.” The
bats sprang up, as a group, as a frightened school of fish, appearing as
if they were acting in unison, but each looking independently to its own
safety. They whirled about in the throne room and then departed down
the long hall beyond. They rose pell mell from the Citadel’s windows
and fluttered high into a moonless night.
Licorice Lad stomped from the throne room. He was slender of
build. He was just beginning to grow hair on his face and it made him
look as if he had chosen to sport a goatee. He had long black hair that
might have looked cool if it was combed, but it wasn’t. He wore a
king’s robes. But the attire had been cut for a man of a much larger
width. It draped off Licorice Lad’s shoulders very baggily, and trailed
behind him on the floor.
The boy descended a flight of stone stairs. They led down to a
dungeon under the castle. There, in the dim light of guttering lamps,
lay the Sultan of Sweets. He had been fatter, but he was losing weight
now. He lay chained to a wall. A glass of water and some crumbs of
bread sat on the floor near him. As Licorice Lad entered the dungeon,
there was a scampering sound, as of rats fleeing.
“Give me the Existential Power,” Licorice Lad said to the
Sultan.
“You again,” the Sultan said. He opened his eyes. He stared
at the boy.
“Why do you withhold it?” Licorice Lad asked.
“Why is the Pope Catholic?” the Sultan answered.
“Do not give me smart-ass, irrelevant answers that pertain to
another world!” Licorice Lad shouted. “I rule here now. Your day is
done. Get used to your chains. And the fine loaf of bread I gave you
for supper--”
“Breakfast, you mean. I got no lunch or supper,” the Sultan
replied.
“Lunch, supper, dinner, those crumbs will be the last meal you
ever get from me, if you don’t give me the Existential Power!” Licorice
Lad cried.
“Candyland would cease to function,” the Sultan said. “Even
your Licorice Loch would turn to sticky goo. Can you imagine children,
with wet feet, walking across your licorice sand beach? Why, they’d get
all sticky. No, son. I must keep the Existential Power. You could not
control it. All of Candyland would quickly be reduced to sticky goo.”
“That is my risk, not yours,” Licorice Lad replied. “I am
Sultan now.”
“You are an interloper,” the Sultan said. He wheezed as he
spoke to the boy, as if the few words he’d already been forced to speak
had exhausted his ability to talk. “You have no power to build. Only
to destroy. And to maintain... to maintain...” the Sultan wheezed
again. “That is utterly beyond your power. To keep the black sand in
Licorice Loch from sticking to one’s feet. Could you do that? Could
you really? And the gentle cleansing breezes, that tidy up Candyland on
a daily basis. Would you have the patience to guide them throughout the
kingdom every morning? Would you?” The Sultan gave the boy a look of
scorn. “You don’t even wake up in the morning, I hear. You sleep until
noon!”
“I am the Sultan!” Licorice Lad shouted. He shouted it at the
dungeon’s rafters, as the Sultan himself was not disposed to agree. The
gigantic candied turban Licorice Lad wore on his head started to slip.
He grabbed at it, to keep it from falling to the floor. His shout
echoed and re-echoed in the dungeon and faded away. “The Sultan,”
Licorice Lad said. His voice was hoarse from his shout.
“Then kill me,” the Sultan told Licorice Lad.
Licorice Lad scowled at the Sultan.
There was a tromping in the distance, heavy-footed. The sound
of gingermen on duty.
“You cannot, can you?” the Sultan said. He sighed. “No, you
cannot. For you know that if you killed me, which it is now in your
power to do, since I am dethroned... If you killed me, there would be
no gentle, cleansing breezes wafting through the kingdom, keeping it
tidy. Candyland would run and ooze and melt into goo. And the goo
would disapper into the real world beyond, the land where the children
come from, and it would be no more.”
Licorice Lad balled his fists. He turned on his heel.
Gingermen came stomping into the dungeon.
“Master, your gingermen stand waiting,” the lead gingerman, a
giant cookie-like figure, announced. His sugar coating gleamed in the
light of the dungeon’s lamps.
“Another loaf of bread for the Sultan,” Licorice Lad said.
“The ex-Sultan, I mean. And more water.”
“By your command, master,” the gingerman answered.
“And then I want you back out there!” Licorice Lad shouted.
“Yes! No sleep until you find those girls!”
The gingerman blanched.
“But master, at night the bats--”
“Fuck the bats!” Licorice Lad shouted. “They are too small to
bring in the girls. You must fetch them. They merely fly around. They
bring me toys! Toys!! I want the girls themselves. Can I sire
offspring with toys?!”
“No, master,” the gingerman answered.
“Search through the night. Through the day, the night. No
sleep until you find them!” Licorice Lad shouted.
“Yes, master,” the gingerman answered. He saluted. The other
gingermen copied him. Then they turned their heavy gingerbread bodies
around and went marching back up the steps that led down to the dungeon.
“Oh, boy...” the Sultan said, quietly.
Licorice Lad whirled about.
“Don’t call me--” Licorice Lad began.
“Do not think I can subsist forever on bread and water,” the
Sultan said. “Or that I can cleanse Candyland each morning forever, or
keep your Loch from becoming a sticky mess. Someday I will die, with
your assistance or without it. Another will have to rule in my stead.”
“I already rule in your stead!” Licorice Lad said. “You must
learn to respect that, old man.”
“I only respect your power to attack,” the Sultan said. “It is
my eldest daughter, Lolita, who must succeed me. She is learning how to
use the Existential Power. She has the patience, the caution, the
finesse. Things you utterly lack.”
“Fie! Your daughter?!” Licorice Lad cried. “Am I to be ruled
by a girl? NEVER! A curse on her damned lollipops. It is licorice
that all the humans should eat! Licorice! Nothing but licorice! What
candy is better than dark, brooding licorice?”
“All candy has its place,” the Sultan said.
“That’s why you eat bread and drink water, and I wear this!”
Licorice Lad said, pointing to the turban on his head. He steadied it
with his hand. “Enjoy your feast, fat one. You should thank me for
giving you the opportunity to diet.”
I awoke. It was morning. We lay on sweet-smelling grass in a
shady glen. Above us hung candy apples. The trees glinted with gold as
the rays of the rising sun lit up the landscape. A small scented pool
bubbled at our feet.
Katie woke up and rubbed her eyes.
“I’m hungry,” she said.
“We’re still in Candyland,” I told her.
“Yum,” Katie said.
“I’m going to wash my bikini and take a bath in the pool,” I
told her. “It smells so sweet. Look. If I pick berries, I think they
can serve as a kind of soap, even though they’re delicious to eat as
well.”
“Yes!” Katie said. “Let’s have a warm bath and eat the soap,”
she giggled. We untied our bikinis. Nude, carrying them, we stepped
into the gurgling pond. It was warm. We settled into its soothing
waters and gazed at each other.
“This place is pretty fun,” I said to her.
“It’s paradise!” Katie said.
“Except for the bats,” I told her. Her face fell.
“I wish they hadn’t stolen my sand toys,” she said.
“That darned Licorice Lad. He’s ruined our stay in Candyland,”
I told her.
“Oh, well. We’re safe here,” Katie said. She offered no
reason, though. But we were still on the edge of Boswell’s forest.
Perhaps that would be enough. Then I thought I heard the fluttering of
a bat.
“Get down!” I told Katie. She looked at me.
“Why?” she asked.
“I think I hear those bats,” I whispered.
“YEEEEEK!” Katie screamed.
“Katie!” I scolded her. “This isn’t the community pool. It’s
not a game. Candyland is a real place, and those bats are real. They
stole your sand toys, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” Katie admitted.
“So don’t scream like a little girl,” I told her. “Did I say,
‘I think I hear the boogeyman?’ Did I say that? Hmmm?”
“No,” Katie admitted.
Then I heard the sound again. My eyes widened with fear and I
ducked under the water. Katie, fortunately, copied me. Our eyes bulged
at each other under the water’s surface.
When I could hold my breath no longer, I poked my head above
the water. And there it was! Right above me! A big, golden
butterscotch bat, fluttering round my head.
It was my turn to scream, seeing it. I screamed louder than
Katie had. I plunged under the water again.
Katie, unable to hold her breath any more, surfaced, and
immediately screamed. She submerged. We clutched at each other.
At last we could hold our breaths no more. Gaspingly we broke
through the surface of the pool. The bat was gone. I breathed a sigh
of relief.
“Maybe it was a good bat,” Katie offered, when she’d caught her
breath.
“Let’s hope so,” I answered.
Getting out of the pool, my first instinct was to gather up our
things. Then I realized that we had no things. All we possessed were
our newly washed bikinis. We tied ourselves back into them.
Thankfully, the temperature in Candyland seemed to be constant. It was
always pleasantly warm. I did not know why. We’d come from a land, the
land that held our real lives, where there were seasons. But here, so
far, the pleasant warm weather had held. If a cold front moved in, we’d
be in trouble, clad in only our tight-fitting swimsuits. I adjusted
mine. It wedged in my ass crack the minute I took a step. My bottom
had a propensity for hanging out the back of it; both below it, the
undersides of my cheeks making a white-skinned display, and above it,
the upper part of my ass crack showing. I was glad no boys were around.
“Well, let’s go,” I said to Katie.
“We’re off to see the wizard,” she said to me, wide-eyed. She
seemed to be searching for confirmation.
“The Sultan,” I corrected.
“Ooops,” Katie said, in a small voice. “The guy in charge,”
she said.
“The guy in charge is, unfortunately, Licorice Lad,” I told
her.
“How do we get him not to be in charge anymore, so we can go
home?” Katie asked me.
“I have no idea,” I confessed. “No idea at all.”
The large butterscotch bat spiraled down out of the clouds.
The morning sun glistened on its wings. Below, marching in a column on
the road, was a file of gingerbread men. The bat fluttered down to the
road and landed in the pop rocks. The lead gingerman nearly stepped on
it. The bat jumped back. The gingerman saw it and stopped marching.
The file stopped behind him.
“I have found the girls,” the bat said in its telepathic
screech. The gingerman did not hear. It could not communicate
telepathically. It stared at the bat, then waved its arm.
“Get out of the way!” the gingerman commanded. “We are on
orders from the Sultan. We are not on ordinary patrol.”
“I have found the girls,” the bat screeched again.
“Move! Or I shall stomp you, butterscotch bird! Do not
inhibit the Sultan’s business.”
The bat leapt up. It fluttered around the gingerman’s head.
The gingerman tried to swat it with its big, heavy arms.
A coach came rolling up the road. It was pulled by a team of
Clydesdale horses. The coach moved fast, spewing out purple pop rock
dust behind it. The file of gingermen were forced to move off the road,
out of its way. They moved into the meadow bordering the road. There
were no ditches lining the road here.
The carriage stopped beside the lead gingerman. The bat
fluttered up and settled on the carriage’s roof. A man stepped down
from the carriage. He was dressed like an artist. He wore a Parisian
beret. The glasses he wore were in the shape of big, pink hearts. He
sported a goatee. He was tall, and wore an immaculate vest, with long,
parachute pant trousers. There was a chef’s smock covering his front,
down to his knees. It was neatly tied behind his neck and his back.
The gingerman saluted him.
“Yes, yes,” the man replied. He gave a half-hearted salute.
“Fruitcake Freddie, you come in the Sultan’s carriage,” the
lead gingerman said. “If you are not on business of the Sultan we must
confiscate that carriage. It is illegal for one--”
“I am on business of the Sultan,” Freddie answered.
“Shakespeare did not call his policeman ‘Dull’ for nothing, I see. It
is an apt description, even for a policeman made of gingerbread.”
The gingerman said nothing. The other gingermen, shunted aside
by the carriage, moved back into the road. They made a perfect file of
their bodies once more.
“What?” Freddie asked. He spoke to the bat on the carriage’s
roof. “Speak up, bat. I do not know telepathy. Not yet, anyway. But
I can get the sense of it, just a bit. What? Do not screech so much.
You bats spend too much time hanging upside down, do you know that?
Hanging upside down in a cave made of cocoa, of all things! You should
prefer fruitcake. I could bore a lovely hole for you in the walls of my
fruitcake fort.”
The bat spoke, telepathically. Freddie stroked his mustache.
He appeared to listen. Finally, he nodded. He turned to the lead
gingerman.
“You will follow me,” Freddie said. “I know where the girls
are.”
We passed through the bushes. We picked berries as we walked.
We popped them in our mouth. Some were tangy, others sweet. All were
“berry wonderful,” as Katie said, her mouth quickly filling with them,
faster than she could chew and swallow them. It was sunny and warm. I
started, hearing a bird. Then I realized it was just that, a bird. Not
a bat. We passed under candy-appled trees, listening to the birds’
sweet singing. I learned to rely on their song as an indication that no
bats were present. All was normal, pleasant, another happy day in a
candy apple forest in Candyland.
Beyond the forest lay a meadow. And beyond that, the cliffs.
We stood once more above the black sand beach. We gazed down at the
licorice sand, but we didn’t descend the path to go swimming. We knew
better now. I gazed uneasily at the sky. I didn’t see any bats. But
the anvil of the thundercloud was still on the horizon. In fact, it had
moved closer.
We travelled along the cliffs. I kept a constant watch on the
sky. The meadow was not so wide that we couldn’t run back to the
forest, if we needed to. I felt compelled to hold Katie’s hand. She
did not complain that I did.
A small stream appeared. We approached. It trickled out from
the forest, a small, unpretentious stream, running through the meadow to
the edge of the cliff. It dropped off. We stood at the edge of the
cliff for a time and watched where it made a spectacular waterfall, a
thin straight line down to the rocks below. It ran down a white sand
beach to the sea.
“We’ve been walking for quite some time,” I commented.
“Licorice Loch is no longer below us. That’s a normal beach.”
“Yes,” Katie said. She was down on all fours, and cupped her
hand. She drank from the stream.
“How does it taste?” I asked her.
“Mmmm! It’s made of fruit punch!” Katie declared.
I dropped to my knees in the soft grass. I cupped my hands. I
drank from the stream. It was cool and soothing.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Fruit punch. Imagine that!”
“Let’s go swimming!” Katie said. She got up and peered over
the edge of the cliff.
“Don’t fall,” I cautioned.
“Don’t worry,” Katie said.
“We must find a path,” I told her.
“Let’s go along the top of the cliff some more,” she
suggested. “I’ll bet we’ll find one, if we look. It’s such a pretty
beach!”
Walking along, holding hands again, we suddenly saw creatures
in the distance. They seemed to be feeding in the grass of the meadow.
“Look!” Katie cried. She tightened her grip on my hand. She
pointed. I looked with wondering eyes upon the creatures. They seemed
to be living eclairs.
“Dohnuts... long dohnuts,” Katie whispered. “But in the shape
of dildoes.”
“They are eclair... erections,” I replied. We drew closer to
the creatures. We padded softly in the grass, hoping not to frighten
them away. They reminded me very much of wild horses. Finally one
raised its head and sniffed the wind with the pee hole it appeared to
use for both a mouth and a nose.
“Hi, horsey,” Katie said. The other eclairs drew back, but the
one sniffing the wind, which appeared to be the largest, held its
ground. Slowly we walked up to it.
Katie raised a hand and patted the big beast on its flank.
“Hi, horsey,” Katie said again.
“I’m not a horse. I’m an eclair,” the creature answered. It
spoke in a neighing type of voice through its pee hole.
“I like your chocolaty top,” Katie said.
“I have cream inside,” the eclair answered.
“You’re very pretty, and very strong looking too,” Katie
complimented it. I gripped her free hand, letting her pet it, but
worried, lest it be found to be in the employ of Licorice Lad, like the
bats.
The eclair emitted a whinny. It bent down its head and, with
its pee hole, it began to feed in the grass again. The other eclairs
relaxed. They began eating as well.
“Why do you eat grass?” Katie asked the eclair.
“To build up my cream,” the eclair replied.
“Yum,” Katie said. Then, wiggling her toes in the grass and
unable to think of anything else to say, she added, “We’re going
swimming.”
“It is a nice beach here, down under the cliffs,” the eclair
agreed.
“Come on,” I said. I tugged at Katie’s hand. I scanned the
sky. I didn’t see any bats but, if they did come, they might enlist the
eclairs to help them. We could easily be surrounded and captured by
such large beasts.
“Bye, bye, Mr. eclair,” Katie waved to the large cock. It
neighed in reply.
Following the edge of the cliff, we soon found a path down. We
took it. At the bottom, we discovered that the white sand under our
feet was powdered sugar.
“Yummiest sand I’ve tasted all day!” Katie told me, stuffing a
handful of it into her mouth.
“Well, we’re here at last,” I said. “Let’s swim!”
“Okay!” Katie said.
Feeling bolder than she had the day before, Katie offered to
race me down to the water. We ran. Our hair flew behind us, catching
the noonday sun. Mine gold, hers brunette. We splashed into the water.
“I won!” I cried.
“I won!” Katie yelled at the same time. Then she broke out
laughing. My breasts had bounced right out of my top! I adjusted my
bra as she kept giggling.
“Your swimsuit is too small for me,” I told her.
“I can see that,” Katie answered.
We couldn’t decide who had actually won our race. We both
dashed further out. My breasts broke free of my top again and I
decided, for the moment, to ignore them. I let them bounce nakedly in
the sun. I enjoyed the feeling of being free of any restraints. Only
my panties, wedged in my asscrack, kept me from being entirely
immodest. Together Katie and I dove into the waves. The water felt
pleasantly cool.
Later, our hair wet, paddling aimlessly about in the sea like
dogs, Katie yelled to me.
“Look up!” Katie cried. When I did, my stomach tightening with
fear, I saw an amazing sight.
“The cocks!” Katie cried. We gazed in wonder as the whole
group of eclairs rose into the sun. “They can fly!” Katie shouted to
me.
“Yes!” I breathed. We watched as they rose with a kind of
galloping gait. They seemed proud, and they flexed themselves as they
rose, spurting cream out their pee holes. We opened our mouths and some
of the cream spattered down around us.
“Mmmmm! It’s good!” Katie told me, catching some on her
tongue.
“It’s how they fly, by spurting out cream,” I said.
“What’s that?” Katie asked me, suddenly.
“I don’t know,” I said. I found myself gazing at the beach.
Along it, from the south west, a direction we had yet to travel in,
following the edge of the sea, was a large carriage. It moved fast.
Behind it the beach rose in sugary puffs, the sugar cast up by its
rapidly moving wheels. A beautiful team of Clydesdale horses was
pulling it.
I glanced in the sky for bats. I saw none. I tried to decide
whether to duck down in the ocean or wave to the carriage. It looked
beautiful. It was decorated with all types of candy, especially sugar
plums. I found myself adjusting my bra. The carriage stopped. Katie
huddled next to me.
“It’s a yummy carriage,” Katie confided to me.
We watched as a man stepped down from the carriage to the
beach. He wore an artists’ smock, a Parisian cap. He had a goatee. He
waved to us.
“Hello, girls! Come ashore!” he cried. “Good news! The
Sultan is once more in charge of our blessed kingdom!”
“Yippee!” Katie cried. She jumped up beside me, splashing me.
“Come on, Bambi! The Sultan is free!” she told me. She tugged eagerly
at my hand.
We waded ashore. The tall man with the goatee took off his
cap. He bowed to us.
“Good day, fair maidens,” he said. “I am so pleased to make
your acquaintance. Allow me to give you a royal welcome to our fair
kingdom. The Sultan has sent for you in his special carriage, so that
you might be transported hither, to his castle, for a banquet of nothing
but sweets!”
“Yahoo!” Katie cried. She jumped up and down in the sand. I
adjusted my bra. It was still ill-fitting, letting the undersides of my
boobs show, while at the same time failing to contain the rounded upper
halves of my breasts.
The tall, slender man walked to the door on the side of the
carriage.
“Come,” he said, with a flourish, waving his cap. “Mount up.
I shall personally escort you to our royal highness.”
“Okay!” Katie said. She skipped over to the opened door. I
followed. I blushed as I approached the man. He was so perfect in his
demeanor, as if we weren’t girls in wet swimsuits, but elegantly dressed
young women. Katie scrambled up the carriage’s steps.
A scream shattered the air. It was Katie, I realized, as rough
hands grabbed me from behind. I was lifted. I struggled. My legs
kicked.
“Yes, honey, you are mine now,” the man, so gentle in his
demeanor moments before, hissed in my ear. He shoved me into the
carriage, even as Katie herself was trying to scramble back out of it.
Inside the carriage I found four large gingerbread men. They
looked at us blankly, but their grip, when they took hold of us, was as
strong as steel. The door of the carriage closed. The man with the
goatee sat down with us, in a place reserved for himself between two of
the gingerbread men. Katie and I were placed on a bench opposite him.
“Yes, my pretties. Now you will see the Sultan, don’t worry,”
the man with the goatee said to us. He laughed. “You will even see his
cock.”
Katie screamed again, and one of the gingermen had to clap a
hand over her mouth to stop her screaming. He held her jaw tightly so
that she couldn’t bite him.
30
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