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Authors: Jennifer Tate
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knees."
He positioned her above the revolting
mixture. Her miniskirt was hiked up her legs to reveal her garter
belt and panties.
It's now that a knight in shining armor comes
riding to my rescue, she thought. It was a nice thought, but it
didn't happen. Richard held her hands behind her back and shoved
her face into the slop.
"Swallow," he said.
She swallowed, and gagged. "Please, Richard,
I'm going to be sick."
"Maybe you'll remember this the next time you
think you can better a guy at anything." He picked up a broom and
whacked her exposed bottom—then, he grabbed her under her breasts,
swung her around, and sat her in the dog-food-filled Frisbee.
"That's enough!" Ms Beasly, the Phys Ed
teacher, said.
"For now," Richard replied. Then he turned to
Betty-Jo. "Report here after school. Your penance has just begun.
And clean yourself up. You look and smell like you've pooped your
pants."
Gotta be tough, she thought, as she fought
back tears.
That afternoon she tried, without success, to
concentrate on her classes. Much too soon, it was time to report
back to Richard.
"We're off to my place for a private show and
tell," he said. "You'll show and I'll tell you what we're going to
do with what you're showing. Think of this as your lucky day,
'cause soon I'll be noshing on your pink. And Stud
Plaything..."
"...Yes?"
"I've always wondered what's on the other
side of a black hole. This afternoon—thanks to you—I'm going to
find out."
He's going to do me, wherever he wants,
Betty-Jo thought, and there's nothing I can do about it. But she
was wrong, because a knight had arrived, and he was moving his hand
over her bottom.
"Go t' the prom with me, an ah'll save yo'
pretty behind," Jim Bob O'Hara whispered.
"Save me, and I'm yours," Betty-Jo said.
Anything has to be better than being had by that despicable
Beetle.
"Time's up, Richard," Jim Bob said.
"What are you talking about. I won the Stud
Plaything for the day."
"Raght. For the school day."
Why didn't I think of that? Betty-Jo was
furious with herself. I'm out of Dungie's barbecue, but I'm onto
the Wart Hog's grill. I've been saved by a knight in tarnished
armor.
* * *
Poor unsuspecting Betty-Jo. The arm wrestle
had been anything but fair, because Venus had rigged it. Hercules
was on earth the day of the arm wrestle, sent by Zeus to save Los
Angeles from the big one. Venus had drawn Hercules into the fray on
the side of the Dung Beetle by promising him a night of depravity
that he would never forget. She knew, only too well, about Herc's
love of depravity, so the last thing she wanted was Herc up her
skirt. But the opportunity to humiliate Princess Betty-Jo had been
too tempting to ignore.
* * *
Hercules knew he should stonewall Venus, but
there was something unbelievably arousing about the gorgeous bitch.
He got off on the fate of the mortal who made the mistake of
calling her 'a notorious strumpet, as common as a barber's chair.'
That remark had given Zeus, and the other gods, a good laugh, but
Venus had failed to appreciate the humor. She'd set the young fool
up with a syphilitic wench, and watched gleefully as the
corkscrew-shaped, syphilis-causing bacterium went to work on him.
First came chancres, fever and headaches. Before long he was blind,
deaf, and paralyzed. Eventually he died—totally insane.
Hercules also loved Venus' perversions; he
loved to watch her play with herself without regard for who was
with her in the great hall. She was incredibly erotic, weird, and
decadent. It would have taken no less to make him cross Zeus—he
knew his father's fury only too well.
* * *
Venus lounged on her throne, ecstatic about
her victory over Betty-Jo. "I knew the Dung Beetle would some day
be good for something," she said.
While the other gods had parted with their
thrones centuries earlier, the goddess of love had made hers even
more grandiose. Her throne was laden with sapphires, rubies, and
diamonds, and it was draped in silk, the effort of
He positioned her above the revolting
mixture. Her miniskirt was hiked up her legs to reveal her garter
belt and panties.
It's now that a knight in shining armor comes
riding to my rescue, she thought. It was a nice thought, but it
didn't happen. Richard held her hands behind her back and shoved
her face into the slop.
"Swallow," he said.
She swallowed, and gagged. "Please, Richard,
I'm going to be sick."
"Maybe you'll remember this the next time you
think you can better a guy at anything." He picked up a broom and
whacked her exposed bottom—then, he grabbed her under her breasts,
swung her around, and sat her in the dog-food-filled Frisbee.
"That's enough!" Ms Beasly, the Phys Ed
teacher, said.
"For now," Richard replied. Then he turned to
Betty-Jo. "Report here after school. Your penance has just begun.
And clean yourself up. You look and smell like you've pooped your
pants."
Gotta be tough, she thought, as she fought
back tears.
That afternoon she tried, without success, to
concentrate on her classes. Much too soon, it was time to report
back to Richard.
"We're off to my place for a private show and
tell," he said. "You'll show and I'll tell you what we're going to
do with what you're showing. Think of this as your lucky day,
'cause soon I'll be noshing on your pink. And Stud
Plaything..."
"...Yes?"
"I've always wondered what's on the other
side of a black hole. This afternoon—thanks to you—I'm going to
find out."
He's going to do me, wherever he wants,
Betty-Jo thought, and there's nothing I can do about it. But she
was wrong, because a knight had arrived, and he was moving his hand
over her bottom.
"Go t' the prom with me, an ah'll save yo'
pretty behind," Jim Bob O'Hara whispered.
"Save me, and I'm yours," Betty-Jo said.
Anything has to be better than being had by that despicable
Beetle.
"Time's up, Richard," Jim Bob said.
"What are you talking about. I won the Stud
Plaything for the day."
"Raght. For the school day."
Why didn't I think of that? Betty-Jo was
furious with herself. I'm out of Dungie's barbecue, but I'm onto
the Wart Hog's grill. I've been saved by a knight in tarnished
armor.
* * *
Poor unsuspecting Betty-Jo. The arm wrestle
had been anything but fair, because Venus had rigged it. Hercules
was on earth the day of the arm wrestle, sent by Zeus to save Los
Angeles from the big one. Venus had drawn Hercules into the fray on
the side of the Dung Beetle by promising him a night of depravity
that he would never forget. She knew, only too well, about Herc's
love of depravity, so the last thing she wanted was Herc up her
skirt. But the opportunity to humiliate Princess Betty-Jo had been
too tempting to ignore.
* * *
Hercules knew he should stonewall Venus, but
there was something unbelievably arousing about the gorgeous bitch.
He got off on the fate of the mortal who made the mistake of
calling her 'a notorious strumpet, as common as a barber's chair.'
That remark had given Zeus, and the other gods, a good laugh, but
Venus had failed to appreciate the humor. She'd set the young fool
up with a syphilitic wench, and watched gleefully as the
corkscrew-shaped, syphilis-causing bacterium went to work on him.
First came chancres, fever and headaches. Before long he was blind,
deaf, and paralyzed. Eventually he died—totally insane.
Hercules also loved Venus' perversions; he
loved to watch her play with herself without regard for who was
with her in the great hall. She was incredibly erotic, weird, and
decadent. It would have taken no less to make him cross Zeus—he
knew his father's fury only too well.
* * *
Venus lounged on her throne, ecstatic about
her victory over Betty-Jo. "I knew the Dung Beetle would some day
be good for something," she said.
While the other gods had parted with their
thrones centuries earlier, the goddess of love had made hers even
more grandiose. Her throne was laden with sapphires, rubies, and
diamonds, and it was draped in silk, the effort of
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