tagErotic PoetryThe Legend of Nellie

The Legend of Nellie



Many are the books,
That tell of legends long ago,
Of Robin Hood or Arthur –
And how they slew their foe,

In days when men wore armour,
And wielded gleaming swords,
And fought with honour, brave and true,
For kings and queens and lords.

But there is a legend that’s not told
In school or scholar’s books,
And the very whisper of a name,
That draws quite fear struck looks.

Among those few who know this tale,
I now relate to you,
They hold fast to their manhood,
As though with superglue.

The legend’s name is Nellie,
A fearsome lusty maid,
Whose ardour in the bedroom,
Left many men afraid.

No fair, soft flaxen beauty, this,
No dainty blue-eyed lass,
But a woman like no other;
A curvaceous fleshy mass.

Breasts as big as boulders,
And thighs like great tree trunks,
Many men who saw her cried,
And left to become monks;

Legions were the men,
Crushed between those mighty thighs,
Or mashed under those breasts
Of unimaginable size.

And kings and lords shook with fear,
As she stalked their lands,
On her quest for the fulfilment
Of her sexual demands.

She mocked the knights and warriors;
They were not men but mice:
To her vast size their manhood
Might have been a grain of rice.


The kings, they met together
In a great and secret hall,
For once there was no bickering
Or squabbling at all.

Differences and grievances
Were all put to one side,
In order that they form a plan
To save man’s battered pride.

King Meatus banged his fist, and shouted;
‘Something must be done!’
King Flaccid yelled, ‘I second that,
She has us on the run!’

King Smegma squawked:
‘Who can save us from this woman’s lust?’
King Clap; ‘No longer must we fear
The shadow of her bust.’

So they debated and they argued
Till they settled on a plan,
The need was for a warrior,
The greatest living man:

A warrior of the bedroom,
Brave and quick and strong,
And preferably with a todger
That was thick and very long.

Thus the word was sent out,
Across both land and sea,
Stating the manly challenge
(And mentioning a fee).

Many warriors arrived,
But didn’t measure up;
They couldn’t fill a teaspoon,
Never mind a cup.

With gnashing of the teeth,
And crying in despair,
And banging fists and stamping feet
And pulling out of hair -

The kings were at their wit’s end:
‘We’ve done all that we can!’
When through those gates of the hall,
In walked a mighty man.


Muscular with chiselled looks,
His hair a golden mane.
‘Who are you?’ asked King Meatus.
‘Tell us, sir, your name.’

King Flaccid spoke; ‘Can you succeed,
Where many men have failed?’
King Smegma leaning forward said;
‘From whence, sir, have you sailed?’

Silence fell, the warrior spake,
With deep and manly voice;
‘From a distant land I hail,
We men there had no choice:

But to diddle women,
Girls and ladies, night and day,
I broke that curse by shafting them
In each and every way.

Of the golden dildo quest,
I’m the man who brought it back.
I’ve slept with whores from Hades;
It’s not courage that I lack.

With Cyclops girls, I screwed for days –
Still I was not sore.’
King Clap cried: ‘Oh excellent!
I pray, sir, tell us more.’

‘From the land of nymphomaniacs,
My men and I escaped.
Men caught in their clutches,
Are battered, broke and raped.

Big breasts to the right of us,
Big breasts to the left,
And death it took the shape
Of a slippery wet cleft.

But here I stand before you,
Proof of all that I have done,
Women do not last long,
When I flood them with my come.

I’ll lay low this fearsome woman,
Or I’ll die and eat the dust,
For my name is Bigowulf,
And I fear no woman’s lust.’


The kings and people all rejoiced,
The hall was filled with cheers,
Food was served and music played,
And all drank many beers;

For Bigowulf would save them,
From Nellie’s wanton need,
And free from fear, once again,
Men could spill their seed.

Next day at dawn they set out;
Bigowulf and all his men,
And many good folk wondered,
If ere they be seen again.

They forded streams, climbed up hills,
And walked long dusty roads.
Then, running out of food,
They caught and ate some toads.

After wandering for three days,
They came upon a sight
So fearful, several warriors,
Wet themselves in fright:

On the road they found,
Discarded where he lay,
A naked man near drained of life;
Nellie’d had her way.

With fading eyes he viewed them,
Guessing their intent;
‘For God’s sake boys, don’t do it,
I tried, and now I’m spent.’

As he breathed his last,
They knew his words were true;
He smelt of woman’s juice,
And was battered black and blue.

Morale was low among the men
As they travelled on,
Seeing more of Nellie’s victims,
Men who’d once been strong.

But Nellie had consumed them,
With her voracious appetite;
Their broken shattered shells,
Were indeed a ghastly sight.

If Bigowulf could cheer them up,
It just might do some good,
He raised his voice addressing them,
As they entering a dark wood;

‘C’mon boys, don’t despair,
Let’s sing a merry song,
Of girls who like to do rude things,
Wearing just a thong.’

So they lifted up their voices,
To drown out all the birds,
Not a little out of tune,
As they sang these cheery words:

‘We are the lads, we are the lads,
We like ‘em old or young,
But most of all we like ‘em,
When they use their tongue.
We are the lads, we are the lads,
We’d walk an endless mile,
To do it with young ladies,
Who like it doggy style.
We are the lads, we are the lads,
When we drink, we binge,
But fear not girls, we’ll get it up,
When we smell your minge.
We are the lads, we are the lads,
Please don’t think we’re crass,
We always ask politely,
Before we take you in the ass . . .’

So by the time the intrepid group,
Left the woods so dark,
They were full of cheer and happiness,
life seemed such a lark,

But Bigowulf raised a hand,
To bid them keep quite still,
For there, before their eyes,
Was a view that bode them ill.


There stood Nellie’s hall,
An imposing double dome;
For a behemoth of a women,
It was a fitting home.

There was a statue of a girl,
Men fawning at her feet;
A matriarchal monument,
Stating men were beat.

The doorway to the hall,
Was in a vulva’s form,
And delicately carved around,
Were scenes of hardcore porn.

The door knocker it was made,
Of heavy ornate brass,
Depicting a man’s head,
Tonguing some girl’s ass.

Bigowulf turned and said;
‘Get ready to attack,
When I knock on this front door,
There is no going back.’

Then a tense, long moment passed –
The Rubicon to cross.
Brave Bigowulf knocked loudly –
He couldn’t give a toss.

The door it slowly opened,
As if all by its own,
With an eerie creaking sound,
A little like a groan.

Bigowulf led the group,
As they entered the domain,
Of a woman who viewed all men,
With contempt and distain.

His men crowded around him,
As he entered a great room,
A step to gaining glory,
Or hastening his doom?

It smelt of sex and sweat and lust,
Was hot with body heat,
And there she was upon her throne,
A man under her feet.


Upon them, Nellie cast her eyes,
A sneer upon her lips,
And ran a teasing finger
Over breasts, stomach and hips;

For Nellie, she was naked,
As she always liked to be,
Her power was her sex;
That was clear for all to see.

‘Welcome boys,’ Nellie said,
Husky, deep and low.
On hearing these soft sultry words,
They felt their manhood grow.

‘Come closer please, you fine young men,
I’ll make you feel at ease.’
And she spoke these very words,
She opened up her knees.

Bigowulf strode forward,
Took a determined manly stance,
And thrust heroic hips forward,
A bulge inside his pants;

‘Nellie, we are here
To put a finish to your ways,
And end the come soaked terror
Of your dark and lust filled days.’

Nellie’s eyes flared at this,
And she stamped her foot in rage,
Crushing the poor wretch beneath;
An extra on this stage;

‘So that’s your game, you foolish man,
You should have saved your breath,
For the man has not been born yet,
Who can diddle me to death.

Let me show you the fate,
Awaiting you and all the rest.’
And in her big hand, she heaved up,
One massive heavy breast.

‘The last man to try and take me,
Was a pathetic hump…’
From under her great mammary,
He fell, a lifeless lump.

His men all gasped in horror –
Bigowulf was not afraid:
For it is from sterner stuff
That great heroes are made.

Said Bigowulf; ‘It is true,
No man has made you come,
But let me tell you, when I’m up,
I’m hotter than the sun.’

Nellie laughed, ‘Such fierce talk,
I’m feeling rather hot,
Now it’s time for all of you
To show me what you’ve got.’

Cried Bigowulf; ‘Let’s show this wench,
Just what good men can do,
Her coffin’s measured up, boys,
She just needs a final screw.’

Bigowulf and his men
Threw their clothes upon the ground.
Now everyone was naked,
It was time for the first round.

Nellie stood, her fleshy mass
Dwarfing all the rest -
Bigowulf and all his men
Rushed up with ardent zest.

She swung her boobs and knocked three men,
Senseless to the floor,
Then sat upon their faces,
Until they moved no more.

She took two others, sucked them off,
Then threw them both aside;
The struggle, it was screw or die,
There was nowhere to hide.

Two men stood there helpless,
As she jerked their manhood well,
Another, half inside her cleft,
In heaven and in hell.

Bigowulf climbed her breasts,
His todger in her face,
To distract her from his men,
In the orgiastic race.

Moaning, Nellie sucked his member,
Trying to make him shoot,
But Bigowulf, thwarting her,
Had string tied around his root.

Whilst down below, two brave men
Tongued in the her bum.
She moaned and groaned and writhed,
But still she did not come.

A heroic chap licked her feet,
And all around her toes,
But Nellie crushed him underfoot,
Lessening her foes.

Then she shook her massive bulk,
And freed herself of men,
And both sides of the struggle,
Could breathe easy once again.

Panting, red, and sweating,
Bigowulf looked around,
Dismayed to see many lads,
Dead upon the ground.

But his brave men still alive,
Looked grim and wanting more;
Their pricks were up, as if they’d met
A gorgeous, randy whore.

Nellie’s face was flushed,
Between her legs, her honey dripped.
‘Well boys, that’s the foreplay done,’
A smiling Nellie quipped.

‘So let’s get down to business,
As you see I’m rather wet,
And it’s rude to let a lady down,
Whom you have just met.’

Then they all rushed at her,
Bigowulf went behind,
Nellie was confused now;
To this tactic she was blind.

They pushed her belly, stepping back,
She tripped, and then she fell -
And crashed to earth, with such a thud,
It could be heard in Hell.

Heroes swarmed around,
One went to every zone;
Bigowulf, to her moist cleft,
To offer her his bone.

Nellie sensed the end was near,
But still she wasn’t done:
Yelled Bigowulf: ‘She’s rolling!’ But . . .
Too late to run.

Nellie’s vast fleshy form,
Crushed them as she went,
Their muffled screams cut short,
As to heaven they were sent.

But Bigowulf, between her legs,
Was spared this cruellest fate;
Though he knew, alone,
He could not fight off her huge weight.

Seventeen great heroes,
(And he heard nor sigh nor groan)
Nellie she had done for them,
They were all as still as stone.

She smiled at Bigowulf,
Down between her thighs,
‘Didn’t I say, foolish one,
Every man here dies?’

And Nellie closed her legs;
‘Goodbye, my bit of rough.’
But Bigowulf was quicker,
And dived into her muff.

He held his breath, for he knew,
That time was running out.
Then he found her clitoris,
And jiggled it about.

There was a mighty rumbling,
The ground began to shake,
For Nellie’s building orgasm,
Was like some big earthquake.

Bigowulf jiggled faster,
He jiggled more and more -
Then suddenly, a sticky gush
Of come began to pour.

Nellie’s tidal wave of come
Washed our hero free,
He slipped upon the gooey mess,
He knew was victory.

Running from her shuddering bulk,
That made the building shake,
Falling masonry crashed around,
His life was still at stake.

He ran as Nellie’s orgasms
Destroyed her lustful hall.
From safe outside, Bigowulf
Watched the building fall.

It crashed in dust and masonry,
A tomb for all within,
And Nellie, she was finished,
Killed by her own quim.


Back at the hall of the four Kings,
It was an anxious wait,
With much hand wringing, nail-biting
And mutterings of fate.

Then a sudden cry went up –
The hero, he was sighted,
An ecstatic roar filled the air,
The kings, they were delighted.

A feast prepared, the hall was filled
With happy joyous folk,
Who all listened in silence,
As Bigowulf then spoke.

He told his tragic tale,
Of heroics, death and doom,
Of how Nellie was now confined,
In her self-made tomb.

King Meatus said; ‘Bigowulf,
You’ve truly saved the day.’
King Flaccid spoke: ‘Thanks to you,
Everything’s okay.’

King Smegma squawked:
‘You’re the greatest, that’s no idle boast.’
King Clap applauded; ‘I quite agree,
I propose a toast.’

And so the kings and all the folk,
Lifted up their beers . . .
Suddenly, they heard a thump
That brought back all their fears.

It came again, louder still –
Each time the building shook.
Closer, louder, purposeful –
Yet no one dared to look.

A spell of fear, no one moved;
Statues one and all.
For it was clear, some great thing,
Was just outside the hall.

A splintering crash, the whole hall’s front,
Was ripped and torn away.
The people screamed, when they saw
What blocked the light of day.

She stood there, a colossus,
Naked, great and vast,
Looked around in silence,
Then she spoke at last.

Her fearful voice like thunder –
There was nowhere to run.
‘I’ve come for my revenge, my sweets,
For I am Nellie’s mum.’

What happened next, dear reader,
Is too frightful to relate.
Let’s just say, her victims met
An awfully sticky fate.

And here I draw a curtain,
On this tragic and sad end,
Of this enlightening and frightening,
Seldom told legend.

I suppose you think this finished,
When this poem’s read?
But, my friend, a warning –
Don’t think you’re safe in bed:

In every girl and woman,
Of large shape and size,
There is within, a Nellie,
Watching you with wanton eyes.

A note to the reader on reference and inspiration:

This was originally going to be written as fiction, but I have several other fiction stories in the works and felt time did not permit. In my original idea the heroes were to fashion a huge Trojan dildo, to make Nellie come, a la Monty Python and the Holy Grail, but it wasn’t to be. In the event, I thought comic verse to be the best medium to tell this story. The inspiration really comes from Tennyson and Coleridge and those epic poems they created, dripping with atmosphere and drama. I’ve always wanted to have a stab a writing an epic type poem. Their best known works; The Charge of the Light Brigade, and The Rime of the Ancient Mariner are briefly referenced within The Legend of Nellie. The story is, of course, a loose parody of Beowulf – as the name Bigowulf implies. There are a few archaic words scattered within the stanzas, namely; spake, ere, and quim (so; no, these aren’t typos).
Within the 117 stanzas there are some kinks in the rhyme and meter, I have not been able to iron out. I hope these did not get too much in the way of the story.

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