Pumpkin-Salami (Your Halloween Horror Story)

Author’s note: This story contains sexual material that some readers may consider offensive.


The pumpkins were particularly large this year. It was going to be a bumper crop. Amanda wished she could lop off her own head and replace it with one of the over-sized pumpkins, She would scare the bitches in her frat-house stupid. Especially that cunt Sally. Suddenly, Amanda had an idea. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? She was going to enjoy the Halloween party.
***
On the other side of town, Amanda’s brother Jim stood naked in front on his open refrigerator, He had a stiffy, and a good one at that. But it wasn’t enough. Jim’s penis wasn’t small, but he wished it were bigger. Staring into the fridge, he envied the salami lying on the bottom shelf; it was fat and long, as he wished his penis were. He wished he could just lop off his cock and replace it with the salami. That would scare the girls in the downstairs apartment shitless, before he drove it into their split-peaches. ha ha ha! Pumping. Thrusting. “Take that bitches” he would yell as he drilled them. He was stroking his swollen joystick but stopped abruptly when a thought struck him. He was going to enjoy the Halloween party.
***
Amanda worked the knife with a passion, but fuck!, hollowing out a pumpkin was hard work, and these were monsters. Still, it would be worth it. Ha ha ha ha. She was carving a jack-o-lantern but the hole was at the base instead of the top.
***
Jim decided to forgo a condom and plunged his cock straight into the recess he had made in one end of the salami. It was cold and gross but his erection grew stronger none-the-less and made the salami hold fast. But he knew he couldn’t keep it up all night, so he fashioned a rude belt from a length of twine that would hold the salami in place during the times his penis was flaccid. Standing in front of a mirror, he felt a surge of power as he admired his handiwork: His huge ‘erection’. Oh yeah baby! Ha ha ha ha.
***
The evening star was already in the sky when Jim arrived at Amanda’s house. He got one hell of a fright when she opened the door. It looked like Amanda’s head was a giant pumpkin. And it was. Sort of. “how do you like the costume” Amanda said from inside the pumpkin mask. “Freaky” replied Jim. “Looks like you could give some mean head with that thing on.”

“Don’t be naughty” Amanda laughed. “Hey, where’s your costume?”  

“you’ll see” replied Jim. “You’ll see. Come on. Hey let’s cut across the pumpkin patch on the edge of town. I haven’t been that way in years”

“Well, bugger me backwards with a black-market vegetable; These pumpkins are fuckin’ monsters'” Exclaimed Jim. “Tell me about it. Where do you think I got this one from?” Amanda answered, sitting herself down on one of the boulder-sized vegetables “So brother. I haven’t seen your costume yet. Any chance it has something to do with the rather obvious bulge in your crotch?”.

“Funny you should ask” said Jim unzipping his pants. “Behold!” he shouted. “These pumpkins aren’t the only monsters in town tonight” His Salami stood up proud in front of him as his pants fell to the ground. He stepped out of them and ripped off his underwear too. Soon he was dancing pantless in the pumpkin patch, his balls and salami bouncing up and down as Amanda laughed so hard it was a struggle not to wet herself. 

“Wow that’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen. What a pity it isn’t real” Amanda said between laughs.

“Ah but does it scare you, my dear?” taunted Jim 

“Surely does. Even with my giant head”

“Speaking of which, I believe my wanger is big enough for your slutty pumpkin mouth” Jim laughed. Without another word he pranced over to where Amanda sat and pushed the end of his salami through the gaping maw of his sister’s pumpkin mask.

“Cmon. Give me pumpkin-head” he laughed.

“Augh, Jim you devil!” She screeched. “That thing is so gross!”

“How about I take it off then” He said quietly “And you can remove your mask. We’ll still have plenty of time to make the party.”

“Fuck off Jim. I’m your sister”

“Yes. And you’ve always wanted to do this”

She looked at Jim silently for a long moment.

“It’s wrong” she whispered. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily. The pumpkins appeared to be glowing gently.

“You want it though”

Amanda could feel herself tremble. An intense primitive urge, the likes oh which she had never known before was burning inside of her. Her chest felt tight and there was a lump in her throat.

“Yes”

“Stop right there!” Crowed a haggard voice from the pumpkin patch. Jim and Amanda suddenly lost all interest in each other and and spun around, to see a woman in a witches costume slowly making her way towards them. It was a well-done costume, with all the witchy-trappings: pointy-hat, magic-broomstick with a live black cat. It was a little unnerving that she appeared to be gliding above the ground. Jim figured she must have a motorised dolly beneath her skirt, though if there were, it was silent. “Well, well, well” the witch said slowly. “if it isn’t the old blow-your-brother-in-the-pumpkin-patch routine. You wouldn’t believe how many times …”

“This is none of your fucking business” Amanda snapped

“No.” Said the witch. “Doesn’t bother me if you fuck your brother. But you are trespassing on a witches pumpkin-patch on Halloween. I do care about that, and it most certainly is my business” 

“Cut the crap bitch” said Jim. “You’re just some stupid slut dressed up in a costume. Fuck off before we stuff one of these pumpkins up your cunt”

The witch sighed. “You know, the costume is ridiculous, but I have to wear it on Halloween, it’s traditional. Here, let me show you another tradition”. The witch pointed her finger at one of the pumpkins. Her finger appeared to glow purple for a moment and then the pumpkin exploded in a ball of smoke, throwing orange chunks of vegetable flesh in all directions. The smoke cleared and then, where the pumpkin had been, sat a rather bewildered looking frog. “Yep the classic turn-em-into-a-toad routine” cackled the witch. “Forgive my self-indulgence but that one never grows old. Now, are you believing yet?” Jim’s jaw and salami both hung loosely while Amanda sat motionless, piss running freely between her legs spoiling her dress and the pumpkin she sat upon. The cat scratched it’s neck with a hind leg. Jim noticed for the first time that they were completely surrounded by pumpkins. Whatever path they had walked here had vanished. The pumpkins nearest them were merely rocks and boulders, but those further away were as big as houses. Beyond that dark shapes the size of mountains were faintly discernible through an orange mist. “No where to run” spoke the witch matter-of-factly. The cat had discovered a mouse and was now carefully dissecting it at Amanda’s feet.

“Time’s a wasting” said the witch. “Let’s get on with a curse, so I can get home in time to watch ‘the-money or the cauldron’. Amanda, that pumpkin head is becoming to you, so now you are becoming the pumpkin”. Amanda gasped as she felt her head and the pumpkin fuse together. The pumpkins eyes were now her eyes and the pumpkin mouth was now her mouth. She screamed. Really loud. “Yeah, it’s a bit weird at first, but you’ll get used to it soon enough” said the witch. “Now Jim, same idea for you. ‘Hocus-pocus, salami-focus.’ Jim’s penis was now the size (and colour) of the salami he had been wearing. His erection swelled again and soon raged like that of a stallion. “Fuckin awesome” He shouted, breaking into a stupid grin. “Right, follow me” said the witch. “I’ve made a place for you two” There was no apparent alternative so they followed the witch into the depths of the patch, treading a path they had never seen before. Small jack-o-patterns on tiny legs scurried along in front and behind lighting the way. One squealed when the cat pounced on it. “Behave yourself” snapped the witch. She flicked her hand as if swatting an insect and a small broom materialised in mid-air swatting the cat off of the poor little lantern. The indignant lantern made a rude gesture at the cat before rejoining the caravan. They soon came to a house made from a gigantic jack-o-lantern. The mouth served as an entryway and the witch motioned that they should enter. “Make yourself comfortable my dears. That cock is the perfect size for that mouth so get sucking. You’ll be doing it every night for all eternity. Have fun”. And with that the witch was gone. There was no furniture, but the pumpkin floor was surprisingly comfortable so they laid down on the floor and hugged each other. Trying to make sense of what had happened. “This is a dream, right?” Said Jim. They knew it wasn’t. Soon it was full dark and they could see a full-moon through one of the lantern’s eye-holes. “It’s blue” whispered Amanda. “How beautiful”. Soon, Jim felt his sister taking his giant penis into her giant pumpkin mouth, for real this time, teasing him with her tongue. They locked eyes for a second and then gave in to their cursed love.

“Fucking perverts” muttered the witch. She covered her crystal-ball with a cloth and went to bed.


© Grumpy Axolotl

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Thigh-High

“Your ass is toast!” She hissed, slamming the charred-remains of the door behind her as she stormed out of the now-roofless shed. I turned back to the pile of rubber still smouldering on the bare-earth floor behind me. What had once been a $300 pair of thigh-high, fuck-me boots was now no more than, well… a thigh-high, utterly-fucked, smouldering pile of rubber. The firedrake in the corner tried to hide its grin. I guess I fucked up. But look … it’s so easy in the books. It’s so easy on tv. It’s so easy in comics and video-games. Just like making apple-pie, eh? Actually, No. It’s all lies. It’s not fucking easy; Casting spells is hard! Take the current mess as an example. It’s a simple as it gets: 

200gm butter
1 cup flour
2 tsp baking-powder
4 grains gun-powder
1 drop essence of mystic mushroom
1 Galaxy-wolf testicle
1/2 cup finely chopped oregano

Mix the dry ingredients in an earthenware bowl whilst sautéing the testicle in a cast-iron skillet over hot-coals. Once the testicle is done, add the drop of mushroom essence. The testicle should appear to melt away and the remaining mixture will be glowing a very faint purple. Pour this mixture all at once into the bowl ft of dry ingredients and stir until it has the consistency of cream. By this stage it should be a neon-pink colour. (If it is too thick, you should be able to thin it with a little cream, but it will lose some power. Never, ever pee in it). Recite the following prayer to your preferred fertility diety:

I offer you this glorious slop.
The face I bear could stop a clock.
I tire of wanking into a sock.
Please send a whore to ride my cock.

Now, pour the whole lot down the barrel of a baritone-saxophone and shake. Aim the horn at the pair of thigh-highs and blow that mother-fucker for all it’s worth. (You can play some blues or Jazz in this step if you wish. Whether this improves the efficacy of the spell is still a matter of considerable debate, though some swear by it.) As you blow you will see a pink mist emanating from the horn. To complete the spell you need an ignition source, but it must be magical, which is why the firedrake was in the shed with me. Igniting the mist transforms it into magical rainbow-smoke that dances and swirls around the room in a dazzling kaleidoscope. (I fail to perceive the necessity of the light-show, but I didn’t invent the spell). When the smoke clears, the thigh-highs will have been replaced by a latex-adorned, elf-like horny virgin nymph.
As you will have surmised by now, that’s not what happened.  

When I blew the horn, the firedrake leapt into the air and coughed a little spark into the mist. Instead of magical smoke, a 3-foot flame shot out of the saxophone. The thigh-highs went up in smoke and what could best be described as a magical-explosion of pink and green flames vapourised the thatch-roof. The thunderous roar of mis-firing magic shook the walls. And the missus came running from the main house wondering what the fuck was happening

“You’ve been playing with magic again, haven’t you?” she snapped. The firedrake and I looked at each other and then looked at our feet.
“How many times have I told you not to fuck with that shit?.” She yelled “You have no training in the arcane. And look what you’ve done to the shed, you half-baked fuck-knuckle”
I thought it best not to answer.
“I don’t think I even want to know what you were trying. I’ll see you inside the house. You’ve got 30 minutes. And leave that infernal firedrake outside.”

“Come on” I said to the firedrake “I need to get this mess cleaned up and you would be best served by not showing at the house for a day or two”
As I pulled the door, it came off the hinges.
“And you can wipe that fucking smirk off your face” I snapped.
We looked at each other and both burst out laughing. 


© Grumpy Axolotl

Frustration

The blank page leapt out from the computer screen and slapped him across the face. Alt least, it felt like it had. He’d been daydreaming again. Doodling. He always had a tendency to draw on himself when he was naked. Being naked was supposed to help with the uh, the thing. Hemmingway used to write naked, or was it Hugo? Someone famous. The top of his right thigh bore the fruits of a brown felt-tip pen. There was a skull and crossbones, a race car, a topless women with impossibly huge knockers. He put the pen down and forced his hands back to the keyboard. He was ready to write now, but the story wasn’t coming. It was supposed to be a horror. But he didn’t understand horror. Oh, he’d read the class-notes, but it just didn’t feel natural. Why couldn’t they have a fantasy assignment, or at least the option. He’d rather write about fire-breathing dragons and little green goblins dancing in their caches of ill-gotten gold. Well maybe he could get away with trolls and dwarves if they got loose with their axes and some heads rolled. And it could be set in a castle. That’s a good start. His fingers wriggled. “The night was Dark and stormy” appeared on the screen. “Oh holy fuck!” He yelled. “Son of a bitch! To hell with this, and to hell with Poe’s Raven in a fucking pear-tree!.”  

Back at the computer with a strong cup of coffee. Extra sugar. Perhaps he should bang out some poetry first. Simple verse. He wasn’t too bad at that, although he had nothing on the young brunette at the night-class. She had a rare talent and made it look so easy. Pity she had a boyfriend, or was it a girlfriend? Her poems were not about sex; they were about the most mundane things – Bricks, teapots, a pack of playing-cards – And yet they could only be about sex; when she spoke of tea-pots, the words seemed to drip off her sweet quivering lips like erotic pearls of moisture; the lyric cadences rising and falling like her breasts. When she spoke of playing-cards, her voice seemed to emanate from some dimension of orgasmic bliss. Building up. Swelling. He was masturbating now. “Damn – this isn’t helping!”

The coffee wasn’t helping. Pacing the room wasn’t helping. Cursing the Norse Gods had little effect. Ditto, the Greek Gods. He didn’t have the nerve to try summoning a demon, although that wasn’t a bad idea: Demons were pretty horrible. I wonder how the brunette is doing. Sitting in front of the computer again. He cleared the screen and the blank page seemed to sneer at him. Typing. “The brunette was dark and sultry” materialised. “Oh for fucks-sake.” He imagined her sitting in front of her own computer. Did she get frustrated? Did she ever find it hard.  Words just seemed to pour out of her effortlessly. Did she get undressed to write? Her skill is so … her skin is so clear and she speaks golden light as the long hair cascades off her shoulders rolling down the slopes of her breasts mmmmmm. His hand had slipped off the keyboard again. Well, Fuck it –  may as well finish one thing tonight.  


© Grumpy Axolotl

One out of Three ain’t False

One of these vignettes is true. The other two were dreams. Can you guess which?

Uno

They came in cars. A Mini and a Morris-minor both painted a shade of teal echoing the plumage of their passengers. There were no less than five inside each vehicle and a few more perched on the roof. Native parrots. Kea, Kākā, kakapo, kākāriki. All as big as the humans the cars were originally built for and by. Each bird had learned one or more phrases of human speech. They would shriek their pet-phrases at random intervals as if afflicted with Tourette’s and the bird-brained cacophony was hilarious. Then another vehicle pulled up. A white van this time. My grandmother hopped out of the van and kicked Liz up the ass. Then she got back in the van and drove away.

Dos

Young kids don’t think that way. That’s what a lot of women say. Bullshit! I was only five years old the first time we visited Toronto. School starts at age 6 in that part of the world. My age was more suited for the equivalent of what we call Kindergarten in New Zealand. Standing-desks were not trendy back then, but very common in school-type environments. So there we were standing by some table busy working away at … Goodness knows what … I can’t really remember, but that was probably when I was playing with the plastic castle that had a trapdoor leading into a secret room that could be accessed by locating the camouflaged sliding door on the side. The girl standing next to me was engrossed with something equally fascinating so I looked around to make sure no-one was watching, then bent down and looked up her skirt.

Tres

The beautiful and mysterious world of calligraphy. I don’t think the teacher was explaining it very well. Not my fault that I couldn’t read the blackboard from where I sat. Fortunately, my pencil-case was loaded for bear. I stopped scribbling with the blue ink and switched to felt-tips in bright colours. Then highlighters. At least two other kids at the same table followed my lead — either from boredom or rebellion — and we were soon making a fine mess on our pages. By the time my masterpiece was ready for grading I had used a decent amount of cellotape to ensure that the remains of my peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwhich would remain fixed to the page. The thesis scrawled in bright red tomato-sauce “Remember: The bigger the spider, the bigger the mess.”


© Grumpy Axolotl

Jessica and The Moon

Tell me the legend of Jessica and the moon again?  
Well, it all happened long, long ago …


Jessica lived with her Momma and Poppa in a little cabin at the edge of the forest.  During the night, the moon kept watch over the earth, providing light for the nocturnal creatures and those walking home late or making trips to the outhouse.  Jessica would lie in bed watching the moon through the window.  “I wish I could go play with the moon” she would whisper longingly. “But the moon is very high” spoke Hooters. “Much too high for a little girl to reach”.  Hooters was a giant, wise old owl. He was also Jessica’s friend and he spent many nights perched on the limb of the old elm that crossed her window. He would tell her tales of the far-away places he had visited and the people and exotic creatures of those lands, until Jessica fell asleep.

One night, Farmer Brown inadvertently left a gate open and Daisy – his Friesian cow – wandered into the field where the happy-grass doth grow, courtesy of some trespassing louts. It tasted mighty fine, she thought, chowing down.  Now, there is a certain inevitability inherent in particular conditions: call it fatalism, or even chaos-theory, if you will.  The bottom-line is, Cow gets stoned – Shit happens! In her delightful delirium Daisy could see the farmer’s cat playing the fiddle right there in the meadow whilst the dog ran around barking and laughing madly at such sport. High as a kite, Daisy took it into her head to attempt a jump clear over the moon.  But she wasn’t high enough … And crashed head-first into the helpless moon.  AUE! Cried the moon in shock, and his light went out, plunging the earth into darkness.

“Jessica- Wake Up!” Screeched Hooters. “Huh, wha.. What’s wrong? Why is it so dark?” Jessica managed, not sure if she was dreaming. “The moon is hurt Jessica, we must tend to it”
“But no-one can reach the moon, it’s too high, you told me that” said Jessica.
“Too high for girls, but not for mad-cows and owls. Jump on my back.”  So Jessica crawled out her window and climbed onto Hooter’s back, and off they went. It was the first time Jessica had flown and it was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. “I can see my house from here.” whooped Jessica as Hooters circled, but it soon vanished in the dim as they flew upwards. Higher and higher they climbed into the darkness, Hooters navigating by the stars in the heavens.

“Moon straight ahead.” Announced Hooters as a round black shape emerged to blot out even the stars.  The moon was almost completely black with his lights out and Jessica could see he was crying.  Her heart was filled with compassion and she knew instinctively what had to be done. “So long Hooters” said Jessica, climbing gently onto the moon. “You can go and tell my folks not to worry. I will stay here and nurse the moon.”.  “Hoot-hoot, good luck” called Hooters and he dropped out of sight into the seemingly-endless dark. “You poor old moon”, Jessica said, kissing the moon on the cheek and massaging the area where Daisy had struck. “You just get some rest and I will do your job tonight.” And as the moon dozed off, Jessica dropped her pyjama-pants, bent over and mooned the earth.

The legend of Jessica lives on to this day. After the moon recovered, he and Jessica were married. Hooters would visit regularly and tell stories of far-away lands, despite Jessica being able to see it all from her vantage-point. Daisy soon got over her bruises and Farmer Brown never forgot to lock the gate again. Some say that on a full-moon if you look carefully, you can still see Jessica’s bottom as she helps the moon light the earth.


(C) Grumpy Axolotl
Featured Image: Pixabay

Pies.

Guest post by Linda G.


Ben was every woman’s dream, with his blue eyes, copper hair, and straight white teeth. Strong but gentle. Confident and in control, whether commanding the boardroom or the bedroom. And he was mine. Mine! … Until my best friend Kelly stole him. For days I cried and cried. I felt angry and betrayed. Kelly and I had been friends since 1st grade. After a couple of months I wondered if I should bury the hatchet, but then I heard that they were getting married and I totally flipped my wig. Now I wanted nothing but revenge. Revenge!

Kelly was hesitant at first, but I assured her that I was over Ben and wanted to maintain our friendship and invited them both over for some of my homemade steak and kidney pies. When she and Ben walked into my house, my heart burned so that I thought my chest would burst, but I kept my cool and choked down the emotions. Ben and Kelly loved the pie and I was seething inside when I saw how much they loved each other. As we wished each other goodnight I promised more pie in the future.

A few days later Kelly rang frantically “Ben’s gone. Missing. Totally disappeared. He hasn’t answered my calls for 2 days.” I hurried over to her house and wrapped my arms around her as she sobbed on her living room floor. “I should call the police.” she said. “No.” I reasoned with her “You know Ben is often called away on important meetings. He’s probably lost his phone. Give it until tomorrow. In the meantime, you can have some of the fresh pork pies I just made.” So that afternoon, I dropped off a box of pies to a tearful Kelly, assuring her I’d check back in the morning. “Enjoy your Big-Ben Pork Pies, you bitch.” I thought to myself as I high-tailed it to the city’s international airport.

The Pipes Produce

This short-story was written for me by blainearcade in return for providing a writing prompt. Please join me in rewarding their effort by heading over to their blog and reading The Pipes Produce.

Excerpt: The mayor, one Herman Lefawn, of Wheatlow, a small town that farmed golden grains for the governing bodies of the Grand Chivalrous Alliance, had endured much in recent weeks. He’d endured his gardeners accidentally opening a hole to a cavern older than sin directly beneath his impressive homestead (all he’d wanted was a simple spot for his chestnut trees), he’d endured the hideous arcane creatures that had slithered out from it, and he was now enduring the worst music he’d ever heard. It will all be over soon, he thought. Better screeching pipes than dragon roars. Smile and nod. Can I even manage both at once through this din? Continue reading →

Ballerina Fireman Astronaut Movie Star

The ballerina was hot for the astronaut. And why not?, after all; The astronaut had a thundering sturdy rocket to boast of. The astronaut went to work in a suit. And it was no ordinary suit; It was a suit that only those such qualified could wear and designed to bear the unique pressure, or lack thereof, of the job. It was an expensive suit. The ballerina wished to shoot for the stars. Maybe the Movie-stars. The ballerina had hot legs and the astronaut was her lift-ticket out of this two-bit opera-house. But when the astronaut fired up his rocket, the stage-curtains caught alight and everything was fucked.

Ballerina Fireman Astronaut Movie Star