tagHumor & SatireThe Bride Goes Trolling

The Bride Goes Trolling


“This is the last straw. I’ve known you for 300 years and all I know about you is that you think ‘friend good’ and ‘fire bad’. There has to be more to life than this. You don’t communicate.”

Frankenstein, as usual, was at a loss as to what to do when his lovely bride was in such a mood. He simply didn’t have the words to explain. And besides, she knew all the arguments. Her soliloquy was a purely rhetorical expression of her unhappiness and frustration. He sheepishly pawed the floor with his massive boot, unable to meet her angry gaze. Despite her comparatively diminutive size, she was actually quite intimidating when she was angry. Her hiss could make him cringe. He nodded and groaned at the appropriate time, but said nothing.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if there were other people around. If we had some friends, or we could go out once in a while. But for god’s sake, we only get to go out of this house one night a year!”

“Oh, sure, your friend Larry Talbot comes by once in a full moon. But my god, for all the man’s manners and good grooming he still manages to crap in the house when he’s here. And that Dracula, always complaining we don’t have anything to drink. Honestly! And couldn’t he drop by at a decent hour once in a while? And your friend Imhotep…I’m always sweeping out the sand for the next two weeks after he visits. Where does it all come from? And why is he always mumbling? Couldn’t he speak up once in a while?”

She turned and with a whisk of her flowing white gown strode out to patio. She began to brood on the boredom and tediousness that was her life. Her husband was, as one might guess, a less than sparkling conversationalist. And though she had tried for hours on end, she couldn’t teach him even the simplest of parlor games to pass the time. Their one attempt at Scrabble had been so exasperating that she had nearly gone to the village looking for a torch-bearing mob to throw herself at. She heard him clanking around in the living room and went inside.

“You know, when we were first married, I thought you were my soulmate” she said to her cowering husband. “I thought we were made for each other. Now I’m not so sure.” She turned and walked into the bedroom, slamming the door as loud as she could behind her to further express her displeasure. She walked over to the antique mirror in the corner.

She let her gown fall to the floor and gazed at herself in the greasy mirror. She was still a fine figure of a woman, she knew. Her pale green skin was practically luminescent even in the dim light of the candles. Her stitches stood out in stark relief as they criss-crossed her body like fine jewelry. Her full black lips were a gothic wet dream. Her breasts were still stitched as high and firm as when she was a teenager. And look at that behind. The Doctor had certainly picked out a fine one there. ‘I’m the whole package’, she thought to herself. ‘What man, alive or undead, could possibly resist me?’ She planned to put that theory to the test soon enough. Thank goodness Halloween was just around the corner.

Halloween at the Frankenstein household was always the most festive time of the year. It was a week-long holiday for the happy couple and their guests, culminating in their one grand night a year on the town. The Frankensteins were undefeated for 7 years running at area costume parties.

Hosting all of their friends had buoyed her spirits to the point that she could almost say she was happy. She flitted about the kitchen, keeping an eye on the cookies in the oven and mixing more punch. She carefully measured the alcohol as she poured it in. She wanted enough for everyone to have a good time, but nothing was harder on the furniture and knickknacks than her husband when he was tipsy.

All of the usual suspects were in attendance. Dracula had flown in on the red-eye. Larry Talbot was looking as dapper as ever in his spats and ascot with his wolf’s head cane. The Mummy Imhotep was on loan from the local museum where he had been packing in the tourists. He was sitting happily in their overstuffed recliner sipping at a large glass of punch. She thought he looked pleased, but who could really tell? She noticed the sand already accumulating on the rug at his feet, but refused to let it spoil the mood.

She sat patiently, waiting for her chance to put her plan to work. She knew that the punch would go right through the Count; he had the bladder of a little girl. She insisted he drink two glasses. He soon announced that he had to go “drain the main vein” and snickered to himself as he went down the hall to the bathroom. She excused herself to check on the cookies. She took them out of the oven, then walked quietly through the kitchen and down the hallway to the bathroom.

Standing in the hallway in front of the bathroom door, she craned her neck to make sure no one was watching from the living room. She dropped her gown at her feet and tossed it into the bedroom. She walked in and closed the door behind her. The Count turned to see her standing at the door like a green, stitched Mrs. Robinson. He was quite literally sweating blood.

“Well, hello there my dear,” the Count said, hurriedly trying to stuff himself back into his trousers.

She put her finger to her lips to shush him as she came closer. She pulled him close and planted a full wet kiss on his blood-red lips. His arms went around her waist, and his lips migrated down to her neck.

“Oh, Count,” she cooed as he nuzzled her. Her head dropped back in total surrender to his ministrations. Then she felt him poking her. “None of that, now” she said, pushing him away as he tried to puncture her leather-tough skin. “There’s something else I want from you.”

“Sorry, my dear. Force of habit.”

She reached deftly into his trousers to grab his throbbing virile manhood. Much to her dismay it was anything but virile or throbbing. It was as limp as a Transylvanian noodle. She unbuckled his pants and let them drop to the floor, then began massaging his organ in earnest.

“I’m sorry my dear, but I have very poor circulation. There’s no blood available to flow to the extremities.”

“You mean…nothing?”


“But women fall at your feet…”

“I’m a really good kisser. But that’s usually as far as it goes. To be honest, nothing much has been happening down there for the last few hundred years.”

“Well, when was the last time you made love to a woman?”

“It has been…a while. In order to get things going I need the blood a young male virgin. But they put up such a fight. I rarely find it worth the trouble.”

“Well, that’s very disappointing…”

“I might be able to help you my dear. Do you have a young male virgin handy?”

“Count, if I had a young male virgin, why would I need you?”

“I see your point. You know, I could give you a very good hickey if you’re interested.”

“No, I don’t want any marks on my neck. I am a married woman, you know.”

“Ah, yes, of course…I don’t think either of us wants your husband to know about this…”

Frustrated in her attempt, she spun and walked out without another word, leaving the Count with his perfectly creased pants in a pile at his feet.

She had expected her encounter with the Count to fulfill her needs. She did, however, have a contingency plan. Knowing that Larry Talbot was too much of a gentleman to even spit or cuss, much less carry on an elicit affair, she turned her attentions to the Mummy. If the National Geographic channel was to be believed, he had been quite handsome and virile before meeting his rather tragic and untimely end. When at last he shuffled towards the bathroom, she followed soon behind.

“Hello there, your highness. Can I help you with anything?”


“I’ve always wondered how you…you know…can I watch?”


Not knowing if he meant yes or no, she moved quickly over to him. She slid her hand down his stomach and over his crotch. She thought she felt something there but wasn’t sure. Finding a loose bandage, she began unwrapping what she hoped to be his package. Several minutes later there was a pile of bandages around his ankles, but she didn’t seem any closer to the prize.

“Is there any of you left in there?” she asked, exasperated. “I only need a little bit. Where is it?”


“Does that mean keep going, or stop? I mean, can you, or can’t you?”


“Oh, for the love of Dr. Frankenstein. Do you understand what I’m asking you?” The Mummy nodded. “Well, can you or can’t you?”

He asked for a piece of paper and a pencil. He drew a cat, a fish, the sun, what might have been a river, and a man with the head of a bird and no discernible genitalia. She didn’t like where this was going. She looked at him and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say ‘what are you gonna do?’ She grabbed angrily at his loose wrapping and gave it a hard tug. The Mummy spun around, losing his balance and falling down awkwardly on the toilet seat. She stormed out, mumbling under her breath and questioning his family lineage. The Mummy emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, fully wrapped and inscrutable as usual.

Now more frustrated than ever, she was down to her final fallback position. She’d just have to risk making the Wolfman howl. She looked out the window to see where the moon was in the sky.

Larry Talbot, being the consummate gentleman, always politely excused himself and left the room when the transformation was upon him. If you didn’t know better you would think he was going outside for a cigarette or a breath of fresh air, rather than to change into a merciless, malodorous animal with a taste for carnage. She watched as he went into the guest bedroom and closed the door. She gave him time to neatly hang up his clothes and make the change, and then she followed

She walked in and quietly closed the door behind her. She was greeted by the sight of his muscular legs and taught buttocks as he prepared to leap through the window and out into the night. ‘Marvelous’, she thought to herself. ‘A bit hairy, yes, but look at that ass’. She cleared her throat to get his attention. The Wolfman’s head snapped quickly around and he eyed her up and down.

“Hello there, Larry. Why don’t you prowl over this direction?”

He looked upon her with animal hunger. He lay his head back and let out a mighty howl, then vaulted down from the window and moved towards her. As he drew closer she was delighted to see his erect cock emerge from its sheath. And what a cock it was, long and thick. ‘Finally’, she thought to herself, ‘Satisfaction is at hand’. He was on her before she could even pucker for a kiss, pinning her to the door with his weight. His cock poked and prodded at her thighs, and she struggled to lift her gown to give him access. Before she could accomplish it, however, the Wolfman had shredded the dress to tatters, and was beginning to dig into her skin. She desperately pushed him away and dashed out of the room, locking the door behind her.

She went to her bedroom mirror to look at herself. She had escaped just in time to avoid any lasting damage. Her stitches were intact, and the marks from his nails were barely distinguishable. Certainly her husband, who had been taking her for granted for the last 200 years, wouldn’t even notice. The main casualty of the incident was her beautiful long flowing white dress that now hung by mere threads to her body. She would have to change before they went out. And she was still in need of a lover.

“Well, it looks like I’m going to have to find someone at the party” she said to her reflection. She turned to her closet to find a new outfit.

The Frankensteins made the rounds at the various parties in the village, posing for pictures and accepting congratulations all around on the reality of their costumes. Mrs. Frankenstein was stunning in her basic black and pearls, her hair teased to its full three feet in height. She had done an excellent job highlighting the shock of white. She was stunning and she knew it.

She would have preferred to have her white dress (she was, after all, a bride) but the black gown did show off her cleavage to marvelous effect. She had already spied several unsuspecting fish staring at the bait.

They ended up at the mansion of one of the richest men in the area. Each year, he threw the grandest party in the village at his mansion. Everyone who was anyone would be there. When the footman asked for their invitation, her husband picked him up, looked him in the eye, and growled. That was apparently all the invitation they needed. They were quickly ushered in.

Once again this year, there was no serious competition for the costume contest. One other couple was dressed as they were, but the lout trying to pass for the Mr. was a full head shorter than her husband. In fact, the poor little shrimp had nearly run out of the room screaming when her husband had fixed his gaze on him and smiled that delightfully malevolent smile of his. She had no doubt they would be walking away with the big screen TV that was first prize. Which meant that her husband would be paying even less attention to her.

She brought her attention back to the task at hand. She had to decide which of the randy little buggers who had been staring at her breasts was going to have the surprise of his life: a night of totally anonymous passion with the girl of his dreams.

She saw a dashing swashbuckler making the rounds that she hadn’t seen before. He had a nice body, but his costume was just a bit too frilly and colorful. She wasn’t willing to risk trying to seduce him only to find out he preferred her husband. There was a stunningly handsome man in a vampire outfit who had been eyeing her earlier, but her rejection at the hands of the Count was too fresh in her mind and she couldn’t approach him. Finally, she settled on a handsome, muscular Julius Caesar who was hanging out at the fringes of the crowd. She wanted to find out what he was hiding underneath that toga.

She worked her way around the crowd, moving towards him slowly. When he went for a drink, she accidentally bumped into him at the bar.

“Oh, excuse me,” he said, turning to her.

“Hail, Caesar,” she said, smiling up at him coyly.

“Well, hello there…that’s an amazing costume!”

“This old thing?” she said. “I just threw it on at the last minute.”

“Well, you look great.”

“Why, thank you, my emperor,” she said, extending her hand. He took it and kissed it.

“And where is the Mr.?” he asked, his eyes wandering down to her cleavage. Good, she thought to herself, he has no qualms about fooling around with a married woman.

“Oh, he’s drinking with his friends and ignoring me, as usual. But let’s not talk about him. Let’s talk about us.” She looked up at him and batted her eyelids. A wicked grin formed on her lips. He smiled back, and she knew things would work out just fine. “In fact, why don’t we take a walk?”

“Sounds like a great idea.” They filled their drinks and walked out into the garden. She made a point of skirting widely around the large swimming pool. She hated water nearly as much as fire. She sank like a stone, and it took weeks for her to dry out after a good soaking.

They walked around the grounds for a few minutes making small talk. Her arm locked in his, she was guiding him slowly but steadily towards the guest house. He was either unaware of what she had in mind or agreeable to it. She didn’t care which. They came to the patio doors and she peeked in to see if the place was occupied. She was glad to see that it wasn’t.

“Let’s go in and look around,” she said. She opened the door and walked in without waiting for an answer. He followed closely behind. The room was lit only by the glow from the main house, but she could make out the two large couches situated in front of the large fireplace. She sat down on one, pretending to test its comfort.

“Make love to me right here, right now, mighty Caesar,” she said. She lay back on the couch with her arms over her head and looked up at him. She pulled her dress up to her waist, lewdly displaying the fact that she was wearing nothing underneath.

“Wow, you went all out on the costume, didn’t you? It goes all the way up.”

“Yes, it does. Now come here.”

He lay on top of her, and she immediately noticed that he was like a feather compared to the weight of her husband. When he leaned down to kiss her, she was momentarily repulsed as his soft, pliant lips gently pressed against hers. It was like kissing another woman, and she definitely didn’t swing that way. She liked dick, not Jane.

She began stroking his body. She realized that his pale white skin, completely devoid of scars or stitches, had no character whatsoever. And it was hot, feverish, exuding a constant heat that made her skin prickle and brought back bad memories of villagers and torches. She thought that he must be sick. And there was a cloying, rancid odor emanating from somewhere that was making her eyes sting. It was all she could do to repress her gag reflex.

“What is that smell?”

“It’s my cologne. Calvin Klein.”

“You mean you smell that way on purpose?”

“Of course. $60 a bottle. Don’t you like it?”

“Actually, I prefer the smell of freshly turned earth. I find it very feral and sensual.”

“Yes, actually I was about to mention that perfume you’re wearing. It’s quite…pungent.”

“I’m not wearing perfume.”


“Let’s stop talking. Come on, mighty Caesar…take off that toga and make love to me.” He got off her and pulled the toga over his head. He kicked off his sandals, and stood before her in only the tight-fitting white shorts he had been wearing under his garb. He looked her in the eye and slowly slid the shorts down his thighs and let them drop to the floor. He stood there smiling down at her.

She gazed in disbelief at his tiny penis, a pale white worm that seemed hardly worth the trouble of getting it erect. It couldn't have been more than 8 or 9 inches long. Worst of all, he actually seemed proud of the minuscule thing as it pushed its way timidly upward. She couldn’t help but think that if she yelled ‘boo’ it would shrink in terror and not be coaxed out again with any amount of manipulation. But it was too late to back out now. She only hoped he knew how to use the little thing.

He lay down on top of her and began again with his little girl kisses. She endured it as long as she could and then reached down to guide his tiny cock into her. He moaned as he slowly thrust into her. She turned her head away from him and wrapped her legs around his waist. She began thrusting against him, trying anything to get some stimulation. Nothing was working.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, his breath raspy.

“Are you kidding?” she asked. He seemed not to notice. After a few more moments he moaned, then collapsed on top of her.

“Oh, baby, that was wonderful,” he whispered in her ear. Much to her chagrin his tiny thing was getting even smaller now. She knew there was no hope of being satisfied. He propped himself up on one arm and looked down at her. “Was it good for you?” She could barely stop from laughing out loud at the foolish question.

“You didn’t cum, did you?” She shook her head, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Well, don’t worry…I have other talents too.” He slid down her body and buried his face between her legs. He began slowly nibbling and licking at her nether region. It quickly became apparent to her that his tongue wasn’t much better than his cock.

As he lay between her legs lapping away, she thought how easy it would be to squeeze her thighs together and crush his tiny head like a ripe melon. She tried to take pleasure from him, grinding against his face. She reached down to grab him by the neck bolts to guide him to that special place and grasped only air. Finally, she’d had enough. She pushed him away roughly with her hand, and he landed awkwardly on the floor.

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