The Empress's New Lingerie and Other Erotic Fairy Tales by Hillary Rollins Page A

warriors, making them seem clothed and invulnerable and making Woodman’s clean pink and white flesh somehow even more naked by comparison. When the ladies saw the object of their rage standing there so humiliated and exposed, covered with bacon grease and wearing a shocked expression on his usually impassive face, they whooped and hollered and charged into the house to surround their cornered quarry. One after another of these past lovers—formerly nice girls who were now transformed into vengeful savages—threw themselves upon the greased pig and tried to wrestle him to the floor. Time and again he slithered through their grasps and skittered away, only to be pounced on by the next set of flailing arms, suffocating bosoms, vise-like thighs. But even though he feared their wrath, were one of them to finally pin him down, he also couldn’t help becoming pitifully aroused. His long, pointed penis, usually as straight as a spear, began to twist into an engorged corkscrew like a piggy’s tail. He ached to plunge this throbbing helix into each of the sweet troughs that surrounded him, to feel the envelopes of moist flesh close over his cock as it spiraled deep into these wells. He began to enjoy being tackled over and over again, for each time he would writhe and wiggle in just such a way as to surreptitiously slip his well-greased dipstick into the attacker’s slit. The woman would shriek when she felt him thrust, shriek and throw her hands in the air and thus completely lose any advantage she’d gained over the little beast so that he’d ooze right out of her and slither away until the next wrangler leaped upon his haunches.
    Finally one gal was able to keep the squealing swine in her clutches long enough to slip the ropes around his flailing limbs until he was properly subdued. His crazy cock was nearly spinning off its moorings on his hoary belly, so desperate was he to come. But true to her word, Miss Canidae Wolfe would not grant him satisfaction until his captor and her compatriots had received restitution for their past sufferings. Tied up and powerless, he was forced to fully satisfy each of the tribal hunters who had brought him to this ritual slaying of his pork-barrel ego. But he himself was not allowed to climax upon threat of becoming the subject of an actual slaying.
    When all the women had finally had their fill, Candy agreed to relieve the poor man.
    â€œNow I will huff and puff and blow you down,” she sang. And in one gulp, she sucked him into her magical mouth.
    â€œOink, oink…oinkle!” Woodman squealed as he exploded all over her dripping fangs.
    â€œVery good, piggy. You have acquiesced. And if you promise to settle down and remain faithful to whomever you are dating at any particular time, if you promise to be a very good boy who always brings home the bacon and fries it up in the pan, then you shall be allowed to snort for this sort of tasty truffle with your special lady whenever you like.”
    From that day forward, Woodman stopped womanizing and lying and cheating and began treating his girlfriends with the utmost respect. He never saw more than one woman at a time and he only moved on to the next when it was mutually agreed that the relationship had come to an end. And, needless to say, women simply ate him up.

    But Brickman. Ah, Brickman, he was a problem. For no matter how hard she huffed and puffed and blew him down, Miss Canidae Wolfe could not change this uber pig perennial bachelor into a domesticated husband.
    And then one day something happened. Instead of her huffing and puffing and blowing him down, she turned the tables on him and made him blow her down. As his hungry mouth and slippery tongue flicked and flacked and sucked and smacked at her boiling kettle, she reached down and grabbed him by the hairs on his chinny chin chin and screamed, “Oinkle!” until the pigs came home.
    Brickman knew he had finally met his match, and asked