Peeper

Johnny_Gruelle_illustration_-_Rapunzel_-_Project_Gutenberg_etext_11027 (1914)

“Rapunzel” by Johnny Gruelle (1914)

Entering the realm of bizarre fiction once again (as per usual), here is a short tale about a pervert getting caught out when spying on a princess.  Written on the 1st September 2016.


Peeper

Valus’ telescopic neck unfurled and allowed his malformed bean to peer into the princess’s bedroom. “Damn it,” he mumbled to himself, finding the curtains to be drawn. Valus was a simpleton, what to him was a mere mutter was to everyone else within earshot a foghorn blast. The princess quickly came to the window and threw back the curtains.

“Oh my!” she screamed before turning and running away. At this point, Valus really should have run away too, especially considering he’d been caught and warned about this sort of thing before. Instead, he took the opportunity to pleasure himself.

There are certain disadvantages to having a telescopic neck. People may trip over it, yourself included. Neighbourhood kids might try and use it as a skipping rope without your permission. But the one that tended to get Valus into a lot of trouble was that whenever he masturbated in front of young girls’ windows in the middle of the night, his head was usually several storeys above the rest of him, and so he never noticed when the guards would come.

“What’s going on here?!” demanded a gruff voice from somewhere below. Valus put his genitalia away and gulped hard. “I said, what’s going on here?!”

“N-nothing, sir,” snivelled Valus, as he slowly retracted his neck to rejoin the rest of his body. There were two guards standing beside him. They looked pretty angry.

“Dirty Valus, eh?” said one of the men. “Up to your old tricks again, are we?”

Valus opened his mouth to answer, but instead of words, his tongue fell out and flopped onto the ground at his feet, uncurled itself and landed with a squelchy splat upon the larger guard’s boots.

“Right, you rotten old pervert. You’re coming with us!” announced the guard, rightfully irate. And before Valus had a chance to protest or gather up his distended tongue, he was punched in the forehead and knocked clean out.

Awakening a few hours later, Valus found himself to be gagged and bound with his own elongated tongue and lying in a heap of straw in a cold, dark dungeon. He struggled to his feet and shuffled to the iron railings blocking his escape. “Hello?!” he shouted as best he could into the gloomy corridor outwith. “Isssh there anybody ssshere?”

A moment later, a piercing clanging replied from the far recesses of the hall, followed by the heavy footfalls of guards. The same two men who had arrested him earlier came into view and grabbed Valus by the rags he was wearing and slammed him into the bars, pinning him there.

The prisoner was about to protest, but before he could, there came the pitter-patter of tiny feet from the end of the corridor. The three men waited until a small figure came into view. It was the princess.

“My lady!” exclaimed Valus.

“Shut your filthy hole!” admonished one of the guards, punching him square on the nose, showering all four of them in blood.

“Thank you, men. That shall be enough. Please leave us now,” spoke the young girl softly as she took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from her eyes.

Valus was unsure what was going to happen next. He didn’t have to wait long to find out though. The princess opened her mouth and addressed the peeping tom. “Sir, this is the seventh time you have been caught stroking it outside my boudoir window. You were told in no uncertain terms what would happen if you did it again. You did not listen. Therefore, I must do what needs to be done. Right now”.

The prisoner was taken aback. The princess’s words sounded ominous. His head began to spin, literally. It spun so much that his telescopic neck came undone and his head fell onto the floor and started flipping out like a fish out of water and his unravelling neck filled the cell with its seemingly endless loops of spasming vertebra, thrashing everywhere. The chaos in the room caused clouds of straw to be whipped up into the air, chunks of masonry were knocked out of the walls and the obnoxious noise of Valus’ head clanging off the iron bars was driving the young royal mad. The princess had had enough. Valus had been warned many times. He was a disgusting man with a vast array of disturbing physical ailments and he needed to be dealt with in a more permanent manner. Another six month sentence in the gelatine quarry wouldn’t cut it this time.

The young girl reached under her night gown and pulled out a quadruple barrelled thermite launcher with equipped razor blade-encrusted cannonball projectiles. The unusual weapon was infused with royal smite magic, and as such is glowed all the colours of the rainbow and even hummed out the tune of eight different pop songs all at once in a really quite well done mash-up remix. The princess glared at the spasming, wriggling mass in the cell and shook her head in disdain. Then she pulled the trigger.

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