tagSci-Fi & FantasyJuniper Berry’s War and Gathering Rain

Juniper Berry’s War and Gathering Rain

byweftandwarp©

(For us the oval is the sporting centre of a community. We play cricket in summer and football in winter on the oval. The tennis/ netball courts are usually nearby.

It is maths, not math. We can count more than to one which entitles us to the "s".)

*

The Mayor of Juniper Berry shook as he unwound the scroll. He read it aloud to the chancellors and councillors. They were shocked. There were titters of rage as they listened. That Sleepy Hollow could make such a demand was more than they would tolerate. Mrs. Magoostie could keep her little dog. Everyone loves little Fifi. How could they tell Mrs. Magoostie Sleepy Hollow wanted her little dog. Just because Mrs. Magoostie had trained little Fifi to roll onto her back and have her tummy tickled. It was, indeed, an outrage.

The Mayor was quivering as he concluded reading the scroll.

"When I came to this exalted office there was no expectation of war. My job was to promote prosperity. This is not prosperity. This will be war, for which I'm ill equipped. I therefore am compelled to resign. While waiting for my successor I shall do my best to delay and divert the war while preparing for it. Sleepy Hollow has always been jealous of Juniper Berry because they aren't prepared to work. We in Juniper Berry have always shared our success, we have been generous. Now they want little Fifi and it's simply too much. They're not having her. What would Mrs. Magoostie do without her?"

"Hear! Hear!" everyone shouted around him. The Speaker said nothing.

That day they went to the garden with the special, restricted seeds and prevailed on the gardeners to prepare the plot well because they needed a very big ship ready for war very quickly. Some stayed behind to help as they sweetened the soil with matured elephant manure and lay down form work to guide the growth of the pumpkins. They wanted a longship rather than a coracle. Ten pumpkin seeds were planted. They only needed one ship. A large windguard was erected, manures and growth agents were incorporated into the soil and more brought to be used when the initial nutrition ran out. They installed a stationary bicycle that would be pedalled to provide bright light and maximum growth at night.

A search was begun for a new Mayor. It was going to be tough.

Four days elapsed. Everyone was on tenterhooks with worry. Five of Juniper Berry's most beautiful damsels, the only damsels, came to the garden and with their breath promoted the pumpkin's growth. Everyone knew the pumpkins loved humidity. Everyone knew pumpkins like carbon dioxide. No one had seen a pumpkin grow so quickly.

It wasn't enough.

On the fifth day everyone waited. It was unpleasant. The declaration of Sleepy Hollow had promised war if they weren't in receipt of little Fifi by noon.

At five minutes past noon the invasion was underway. They arrived in a pumpkin longboat and each wore a mask. They all had slingshots and a full pouch of ball bearings. They could do a lot of damage. The residents of Juniper Berry were unimpressed. Someone could be hurt by one of them!

Indeed, one lady was. Mrs. Anestecinter was on the toilet, the fear and excitement having been too much, and one of the troopers from Sleepy Hollow shot a ball bearing at the outhouse. It was a surprise when the ball bearing went clean through the iron and struck Mrs. Anestecinter a nasty blow to her bottom. She flew out of the outhouse wailing, her panties around her ankles and her body bent like a gymnast's trying to see what damage had been done.

From a scroll their leader drew himself to be as tall as could be and read that they were there to collect little Fifi. He instructed the residents to gather at the coffee house while other troops went to the garden to destroy the pumpkin patch. Then they went to the council chambers and took all the special, restricted pumpkin seed. Without that there would be no recovery for Juniper Berry. It was a very serious matter. Most diabolical of all was that after they had grabbed little Fifi the leader opened a tin and from it emerged many spiders.

"Ha ha," he shouted, "these will keep you busy."

"Just you wait for the men to get home," one of the women shouted.

"Your men? At a beer drinking contest? Ha ha ha. Guess who is running it? We are. We made the prize money so generous even nondrinkers would want to compete. Guess where it's being held. In Thirsty Dale. They have a problem with inflation. Guess what one thousand of their dollars is worth. Two of your cents. Ha ha ha. They also have a problem with their beer, it's like making love in a canoe- fucking close to water! Ha ha ha!" He held his corpulent stomach as he laughed. The ladies tittered with sanctimonious outrage. Such vile language.

"Right, men. The tanks." More than twenty men turned, drew back their slingshots and shot the town's rain water tanks.

"Another!" The leader shouted. Eighteen ball bearings left holes in the tank. "Another! And aim lower this time." Sixteen new holes were left in the tank. "Another for luck," shouted the leader. Another set of holes opened up. The detail of men returned from the pumpkin patch to report they had destroyed all the pumpkins. They were beaming with their success. Little Fifi struggled to get away. One of them pulled his belt off and put it around little Fifi's neck. Mrs. Magoostie cried.

"Into formation," the leader shouted. They were quickly into a semblance of order. "Quick march," he shouted and together, in higgledy piggledy formation, they marched down the road to the jetty where they boarded their pumpkin longboat and set sail with little Fifi.

The mood of the town was miserable. Not only was the battle lost but the damsels left for boarding school. Never had Juniper Berry been afflicted with such depression. There was no way to contact the men to give the news. It was two days before the men arrived home. Ladies stood for all that time around the tank with their fingers and toes blocking the leaks. It was a long time to wait. One of the men got a hammer and with wedges he made from Mrs. Abrothand's cakes he was able to stop the escape of water from the tank. Everyone cheered Mrs. Abrothand, it was the only time she ever got applause for her cooking. It was a very welcome change for her not having someone on the floor looking for a tooth.

When the tank was repaired there was a meeting. Everyone wanted to launch a military campaign immediately. Only one dissented. He stood to say his piece.

"We need to be thorough with our preparations. We need a plan of attack. We need a ship. We need weapons. We don't need another loss." People poo pooed him. "We can't go now. We could lose." The mood of the meeting was ugly indeed. Everyone wanted to get at them now. "Which is what they expect," said the young man as he tried to explain. "Just wait a few weeks and they'll think we're never coming. A lot of them will lose their slingshots and we'll find it much easier. We also need a ship and we have to start building one."

"We have no pumpkins," came a voice.

"We don't need pumpkins came the lone voice. All we need is paper and glue. A papier mache ship will work fine. When it's done we'll paint it many times to ensure it's watertight and we'll have additives for the glue." There was a hubbub of discussion about Mr. Brightboy's proposal. Mrs. Zinaxtre volunteered to make the glue. There was agreement it could be tried. A mountain of old newspapers was waiting to be used, all because no one abided waste.

"We'll need sails," the young man shouted. "Who will build the sails?"

"I will," came a woman's voice. Then the Mayor spoke.

"All men of fighting age not involved with ship building are to report to the oval in the morning at eleven o'clock blunt. We will sharpen you up. Meeting adjourned."

So many women tried to join the army but the bobble of breasts as they marched betrayed them. They were pleased to be rejected but protested the unfairness of it, knowing their protests would be ignored.

The ship building started slowly. Mr. Brightboy wanted to get it right. So many women were there applying their dexterity, complaining of the heat. The shape of the ship evolved and then they raced to see who could apply the most newspaper as Mrs. Zinaxtre supplied the glue. The hull was simple. Mr. Brightboy insisted on quality workwomanship. After six days the hull was twelve inches thick, enough for icebreaking in Mr. Brightboy's considered opinion. They waited for two days for it to dry in the baking sun before strengthening it with stathes.

When dry the ship was solid. They baked wax into the papier mache and painted it, with deep penetrating paint, seven times to ensure it wouldn't get soggy at sea. Mr. Brightboy knew his papier mache and the geometry and maths necessary in creating ships. He was enthusiastically meticulous. They turned it over so it would rest on its keel. It was a big job requiring many hands. Then they strengthened it and added places to put the masts. A poop deck and forecastle was added. It was very big. Places for oars to fit were a necessity, in case the wind changed. No one wanted to be marooned in an enemy's water. Mr. Brightboy excelled with ship building geometry.

Everyone began to notice many small spiders in town. They were busy with spinning webs and it was noticed how strong the webs were. Small birds were caught in them and Mrs. Kifterwock was determined no bird would die as she carried a step ladder around town releasing them.

The training on the oval was continuing. The men marched with energy, as though it was a dance. They learned how to shoot ball bearings from their slingshots. Accuracy was improving quickly. At the end of every day they picked up all the ball bearings using a magnetic sweeper so they had sufficient for the next day- they couldn't abide waste.

There was one problem. Everyone had donated their spare clothes. It wasn't enough for the sails. People were then asked for more. Still, it wasn't enough. It was a mighty ship and its need of clothing was huge. The shirts the men were wearing were next. Every man was bare chested. Then every woman, which caused a lot of sanctimonious disapproval and consternation. Bra straps were particularly useful. It took a while for everyone to settle and the moment they seemed to have the call went out for pants, skirts and underpants. There were complaints and refusals. When reminded of little Fifi the sanctimony stopped and naked, the people went about their business.

Mr. Brightboy was anxious because he hadn't thought about ropes. Attaching the sails would be difficult without them. Mooring the ship would be even worse. They had to look for fibre to make the ropes. He felt a little guilty when he found only one answer. All hair was required for the ship, the longer the better. Everyone lined up for a haircut. They left the barber with bald heads- and bald everywhere else too.

Instead of being miserable they gathered that night for a party. Clothing wasn't available to be worn and the dress code was "naked". The band played, everyone danced to exhaustion. At first they held their partners away from them but as the evening progressed they danced closer together, all self conscious about what they were pressing into their partners. With the excitement and movement there were many ejaculations and the dance floor was very slippery.

Mr. Brightboy stood before them to tell of the progress of the ship. He went into every little detail and though no one else fully understood they knew he was very good. They wondered how it was he was flaccid and unshaved. Every other penis was denuded, drooling and erect. One of the women asked. He seemed a little embarrassed so another woman asked. She told him every woman there was wet and every man was erect, except him.

"Why?"

Another shouted,

"Erect? My partner has cum four times and is likely to again. Soon."

"Mr. Brightboy. I think you owe us.

Mrs. Thicklewickledoo quietly left to go home.

"Yes Mr Brightboy. Lets see your stuff." The women cheered. The men wondered what would happen next.

"Mr. Brightboy. Masturbate," a woman called and a chant began.

"Masturbate. Masturbate." Mr. Brightboy was embarrassed. Was that sunburn or was he blushing? He stood, unable to run and be noncompliant. The chant continued.

"Masturbate. Masturbate." There was some laughter, no one could believe with so many women naked he could still be flaccid. There was anger that he could be so disrespectful. Every woman was beautiful, especially when naked. He should be erect. They continued to taunt him.

"Masturbate. Masturbate." He was very embarrassed and tried to say he'd been so busy he'd forgotten.

Mrs.Thicklewickledoo returned brandishing a razor. The ladies moved forward and grabbed him. He was quickly on the floor on his back. Mrs. Thicklewickledoo applied the razor and he was quickly bald. The ladies cheered. Mrs. Prickseville took over, pumped him to fullness and continued until he ejaculated and sprayed his essence copiously. The ladies cheered again and left him to his own devices. Slowly he stood, brushed the head of his penis dry with his hand and grinned. It hadn't been so bad. Mrs. Thicklewickledoo carefully took the treasured hair to add to the community repository. They were all determined Sleepy Hollow wouldn't be keeping little Fifi.

Mr. Brightboy realised the spiderwebs around town could be to added to the hair to make very strong ropes.They were made and the ship was pulled into the water where it was fitted out with seats and the other necessities of war. Two masts were erected, the balance of the ship corrected, a store made for ball bearings and other necessities.

Everyone discovered it was good to be bald. No more pollution with shampoos and conditioners. They loved showing their pussies and penises. Greetings were done with a touch. Fond greetings resulted in orgasms. There were no complaints with fond greetings. Everyone was so much friendlier.

They waited for the favourable wind and calm seas. Mr. Brightboy kept fiddling with his ship, perfecting it in every way. There were drills for the sailors to practice raising and lowering the sails. Weighing the anchor was an experience. Setting the sails was difficult. Using the oars was a lot of work. Slowly the little navy was prepared.

Confidence in Juniper Berry was gathering. The market place was bustling. They bought perfumes, colognes and other beautiful things. The food stalls were busy as were those where waxing was done. Waning were the clothing stalls, no one needed them. The ladies loved to lay back in the chairs around the coffee house with their legs apart, pussies spread, to tease and attract the men.

The day arrived, the wind was right, the seas were good, Mr Brightboy and General Letemhavit concurred, word was spread. Everyone in Juniper Berry came to watch as the troopers were piped onto the ship by the sailors with their pan flutes. On board their bodies were stained red with pomegranate juice to make them look ferocious in their nakedness. Each had a slingshot but no where to put it. There was plenty of room on the ship. The ladies doing the staining refused to leave. General Letemhavit addressed them.

"This is war, ladies. War is the business of the disposable gender and that isn't you. Kindly, leave the ship." There was one word in response.

"No."

"Ladies," he exclaimed, "You can't go to war. You're not disposable. You're indispensable."

"No."

"Ladies. This isn't proper."

"We aren't getting off. We want to watch."

"Very well. I must resign my commission." With that he stalked off, never to be seen again.

There was consternation. A new general was required. They were difficult to find. With an army fully trained and waiting it seemed so silly not to have a leader. The liberation of little Fifi seemed a very long way away.

The ladies were concerned. What was it they did that made them indispensable? Apart from having children there was nothing. Then the children went to boarding school never to be seen again. Something was wrong in Juniper Berry. There were so many women and so few men. What were they fighting for? Someone could die. Beyond the return of little Fifi there was nothing.

Without the discipline of General Letemhavit the army became a rabble. The troopers absconded from the oval to go to the marketplace, gorged themselves with cheese cakes and their slingshots fell into disrepair. The troopers sat around the coffee house, their penises erect, trying to attract the women. It came to pass that the women would choose and caused many an ejaculation in the choosing.

The Mayor was beside himself, just over there. No one wanted to be mayor either. He was stuck with it.

A search was made all over Juniper Berry to find a new general. Two weeks it took and finally they found one at the rubbish dump. General Waste had very few credentials. The only one he seemed to have was that he was breathing. His favoured weapon was a cudgel which he used in his unceasing campaign against rats. He taught the troops how to be on their knees and use a cudgel.

The Mayor soon realised General Waste wasn't needed. As General Waste was worried about his rubbish dump and the status of his continuing war against rats he was pleased when he received an honorable discharge from military duties. Mr. Brightboy was, in spite of his lack of experience, prevailed upon to lead the army. He was given the rank of private and instantly promoted to Field Marshall. It was humbling.

The army was quickly back to training. No drills, no marching but the learning and practice of skills. The slingshots were equipped with stronger rubber bands. The pan flutes were given longer barrels. The pomegranate stain was enriched to make the troopers look extra ferocious. More ball bearings were obtained. The troopers also made pith helmets and shields from papier mache. With the innovations, all of which came from Mr. Brightboy, there was renewed confidence and enthusiasm.

Mr. Brightboy had a problem. He went to the Mayor and confessed that his interest was in detail. He had no idea about tactics and giving commands in time of war. It would be much better if he was relieved of these responsibilities and someone else did them. The Mayor knew it was the truth. Mr. Brightboy was a geek. They needed someone to help.

On the way home, the Mayor passed the Glassjaw household and heard Mrs Glassjaw screaming at her husband. Every day she screamed at him and he was a nervous wreck. This time he'd forgotten to enter the house left foot first. The Mayor stood and listened. If her husband had been screaming he'd be locked up for a long time. Being a woman she'd been able to hone her skills exquisitely. He knocked on the door and stood well back. Mrs. Glassjaw answered the door.

"Ah! Mr. Mayor, what can I do for you?" she asked, as sweet as pie.

The Mayor found it difficult to talk to women. With so much makeup applied he never quite knew what they were thinking. They always tried to show off their tits but the moment one looked they were upset. Very difficult.

"I'm here to appoint you as leader of the army and you will receive instruction from Mr. Brightboy. Report for duty at the Oval tomorrow, nine o'clock sharp." He turned and walked away, leaving Mrs Glassjaw open mouthed and for the rest of his walk home he congratulated himself on his perceptiveness. It was lucky he made her second to Mr. Brightboy. She wouldn't be reporting to him. Even luckier was that she didn't scream at him.

Next morning at nine, all dressed up with a slurry of makeup, she was on the oval. At last a woman had broken the glass ceiling. She was so pleased with herself. The men of the army looked worried. She had them gather and started. Her voice could be heard all over Juniper Berry. She had them marching in the closest formation. They did exercises in record time. Practice with slingshots was gruelling. At all times penises had to be erect. It was very difficult, each man looked between her legs and saw, without realising, the extension of makeup. The bright red labia looked very aggressive and intimidating. She wanted them attended to by the army after the war with so much activity they would be bright red without the use of lipstick. She knew which penises she would command.

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