The Adventures of Lord Fuckswell

Disclaimer : This is intended for entertainment purposes. It is my sole intellectual property and may not be reproduced without my permission.


It was warm in his fortress of blankets. A light layer covered him, despite the turtleneck he wore pulled over his head. How, one might wonder, did someone sleep with a turtleneck pulled over their head? Easily. He’d been doing it since day one; snuggled up with his identical twin brothers since the moment they were all born.

Peter stretched, poking out from the cowl of his turtleneck. The twins shifted as he stretched and flexed. Each reshaping tugged the turtleneck lower until Peter reached full height and his crown popped free. The Lord had arrived. The peasants could now bow at his princely feet.

The terrain beneath him vibrated, a common enough occurrence in these parts, and Peter held still. A large appendage gripped him, jostling both him and the twins around until it was satisfied with whatever it had achieved.

Letting out a mental sigh of relief when the hand disappeared and things finally stopped moving, Peter resumed his morning stretch. He made a note to check on the twins later. They were already a little crazy as it was, and the turbulence was not helpful to them.
I love those two, he thought. A little nutty, but what could he do? They were, after all, stuck with each other.

The air shifted around him as the weight of the blankets lifted. Peter tilted his head to the cooler air, flexing and searching for the source of the disturbance. He could neither see nor smell, and his mouth was utterly useless for anything other than spitting on anything, or anyone. Life could be worse though. He could be one of the twins.

Peter waited in the chilling air for whatever came next. He shivered and bucked, trying to stand tall against the cool temperature. Had the giant rolled over and lost the blanket? Or was something else about to happen?

The gentle tickle of smaller fingers brushed along his belly and Peter thrilled at the touch. This was a hand he knew well; it belonged to the smaller giant. The appearance of this hand promised warmer places to come… and to potentially cum in.

Down below, Peter felt the twins begin to stir. Humper and Dink always got excited. So much so that it made Peter lose his head and throw up all over the place. Rude, but he couldn’t quite seem to help himself, and always felt euphoric afterward. It was a strange and confusing series of events.

The hand squeezed gently and warm breath gusted over him. “Hello, Lord Fuckswell. I’ve missed you.”

Peter flexed, the only method available for him to acknowledge the peasant’s greeting. Please, he thought. Please, let it be the warm and wet this morning.

The firm but gentle slide and tug began. Up, and the turtleneck slid over his crown. Down, and he was free again. Over and over. It was a dance he knew very, very well. He liked to call it the Rub and Tug; and while it wasn’t his favourite, it was preferable to having his head smashed in the giant’s version of headbanging.

Suddenly, the hand disappeared and Peter was left bobbing against the giant beast’s belly. He strained, anxious and on edge. What was going on? Was this a trick? Where had the peasant disappeared to?

The giant shifted and Peter teetered, tilting forward and bobbing in the air. Another series of movements and Peter began putting things together. This was it! They were going into the wet!

A firm hand wrapped around his neck and Peter exclaimed with silent glee as he felt himself guided forward. He bumped into something, and silently cursed his lack of sight. He desperately wanted to see “the wet”, even if it was just the once.

Muscles flexed in the belly of the beast and Peter felt himself thrust forward. He met with resistance, his head mashing against something warm and somewhat unyielding. Wetness dripped onto his head and realization hit… It wasn’t the wet he was headed into. Oh no… It was “the warm”.

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