writing chapter 2.4

Fairy ducked into the ladies’ room and gasped as she saw the line for the stalls. She looked at her phone; she was running late. Walking down to the end, she joined several others doing the same thing, and stripped down to her underwear and Docs for a quick costume change. She donned medieval-type battle dress, then put her flouncy red hair into a tight bun at the back of her head. She slipped on a brow ridge headpiece, then adjusted a close-cropped black wig on top of it. She added bronzing liquid at the long mirror, and scanned herself for errors. She was now a Klingon female. Growling at the other girls jostling for mirror space, she stalked out of the bathroom and headed straight for the men’s. The floor shook underneath her. bISovbejbe’DI’ tImer.

A guy bumped into her as she rounded the corner. “My kid’s taking too long,” she snapped, walking past the line of men who were waiting to pee. She clumped down to the handicapped stall and knocked gently. “Jimmy?” she said sweetly, bending down to child level to speak thru the door. It opened tentatively, and she slipped inside and latched it shut.

Inside was a Klingon male, standing stiffly at attention. Fairy looked him up and down and sniffed loudly. He looked straight ahead for a few moments while she inspected him more closely; then she backed off and turned away, clearing her throat. Embarrassed at his thoughtlessness and fervent with a sudden rush of desire, the Klingon crumpled a teller machine envelope out of his battle dress and cupped his hands to deliver it to her, seething with emotion. Fairy checked the contents, then twitched her skirts and slipped the envelope into a spiked garter. Fishing a length of elastic band out of her bag, she secured his wrists and ankles to the commode. He sat there, twitching, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He began reciting Klingon love poetry in a low voice. With a shriek, she tore off his codpiece and stomped it into the floor.

Two Stormtroopers were standing at the urinals not watching each other pee. They stopped talking to listen to the sound. “I think I’ll go watch the robot battles for this next session,” one said after a moment.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” the other replied. “I’m going to check out costuming. There’s a foam sculpting demo, and I want to make my own helmet.”

They heard a sound like someone being punched in the gut, and a resounding thump from somewhere down the row of stalls. Both of them choked off the stream and craned their necks to see. There was nothing. A deep voice intoned: “PIj QIch je ghoS ngeH bong ngeHmey Qoy yaghmey.”

“Did you see that picture, where the roof door was left open at the Marquis?” the first one asked, straining to finish.

The other one shook off and fastened his cup. “Maybe we should go check it out.” They clomped out of the bathroom just as a hurled toilet paper dispenser exploded against the far wall behind them. Vicious shrieks followed them out into the hall. People began to gather.

The sounds of the Klingon mating ritual start out loud, and quickly become piercing, as the female rages and the male ducks. You couldn’t help but notice. Howls, bangs, the sound of fingernails on the blackboard, and ripping flesh. The poetry continued, tho in a somewhat strangled tone, rising sharply in pitch at one point, but mainly droning on in a deep bass. There was a pause, an extended period of scrabbling noises and low grunts, some obvious cursing in gutter Klingon, and then a complex set of cries in two voices, of victory and of passion, which was joined involuntarily by the Klingon voyeurs gathered outside the stall door.

Silence. The Klingons looked at each other, concerned. One raised his hand to knock on the door, “Are you okay in there?”

Suddenly the door burst open, smashing into the closest spectators.

Fairy marched out of the stall, growling. “Nech nom, ghuy’cha’! QI’yaH!,” she snapped, making her way to the sink to wash her hands. She smiled apologetically at the Starship Trooper using the next basin. “The girls’ room is so crowded,” she explained, scrubbing carefully.

The door to the handicapped stall had swung shut behind her. There were no noises coming from behind the door. Cautiously, a brave and unscathed Klingon peeled the door open and looked inside.

A battered Klingon warrior sat tied to the toilet, spreadeagled on the seat. His costume was ripped to shreds, there were thick red welts on his chest, and his cock and balls stretched down low over the water, wrung completely out. He had a silly grin on his face, however, and stuck into the peak of his brow plate was a card:

Bad Fairy Services – Roleplay for Adults.

Fairy crossed the hall toward the elevators. She liked the air of power the Klingon costume gave her, and thought of staying in character. But her next panel was the Apocalypse Now simulation, and she thought her regular clothes would be more appropriate. Also, she was sweating under the brow ridges and wanted the wig off really badly. She went up to her room for a quick shower, feeling good about herself. Giving people what they wanted was her favorite thing to do. In this case, catering to a special sci/fi flavor of kink, but Hoch ghot pIm ghob.

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About jeanne

artist, grandma, alien

Posted on August 11, 2012, in Dailies, fiction and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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