tagHumor & SatireThe Emperor's New Clothes

The Emperor's New Clothes

bygauchecritic©

Long, long ago, in a land far, far away, there lived a plain young (ish) girl who worked in her father's Inn at the sign of the "Emperor's Arse".

Sign writing in those days, in that town, was carried out by a fellow whose name was Vincent Von Go, who, in his youth, had fallen in love with a pair of twins, both of whom broke his heart. In a futile but historically precedent setting attempt to woo them back, Vincent cut off both his ears and sent them to each twin (fed-ex) to show how earnest he was in his ardour. The emotional torment (and not inconsiderable physical pain) he suffered from this act of selfless (and earless) love was believed by the "Great Critics" (non of them gauche) to be the bedrock of his artistic depth, recognised only some 150 years after his passing and some 150 millions of Ducats* exchanging hands.

*Ducats being the local monetary unit of the time, which is itself an interesting story concerning the barter of poultry and the necessity of keeping a flock of such birds outweighing the cost of trade thereof making an economy whose gross annual inflation depended entirely on the appetite of any given wealthy personage.

And so it was in those far off days that Vincent Van Go eventually painted every sign for every Inn, hotel, public house and hostelry for miles around and which led inevitably to beautifully painted (but mis-heard) signs of "The Dog and Fuck", "The Coach and Whores", "The Pricklayer's Inn", "The Pig and Nipple" and of course "The Emperor's Arse".

The plain, young (ish) girl, who worked in her father's Inn, went by the name of Hermione. Whilst at school, try as they might, Hermione's classmates were hard put to think up a suitable nickname for her and so she spent the 'best years of her life' nickless. Whilst her school chums went by such grandiose titles as Shorty, Freckles, Ginger, Fingers, Thumbs and Nails (they were only kids, what do you expect?) Hermione suffered the ignominy of always being known as Hermione, and so it was now.

When the local men visited her father's Inn they spent an undue amount of time discussing the merits, or otherwise of local women and distinguishing them by puerile, sexist nick names such as Tits Malloy, Legs Lugano, Tracy Tits, Hairy Millie, Lucy legs, Nautical Nancy Nipples, Leggy Linda or Titania Tromanov That Foreigner With The Really Big Hooters.

Alas, Hermione remained Hermione. With her shoulder length brown hair (forever in a pony tail or under a lace-fringed, mob-cap), her less-than-village-average 38DD's (it was a buxom village) her freckled-never-tanned-never-just-interestingly-pale skin, her slightly off-putting height of five feet eleven (most of the boys were inches shorter), her too giggly laugh and her 8inch cock, partnering her clean shaven pussy (she was certain that the other girls must have much bigger cocks)

Hermione despaired of ever finding a man that would show any interest at all.

Late at night Hermione often entertained quite disgusting thoughts of becoming a lesbian so she could at least have some kind of sex. Fortunately (or otherwise) she was a girl and had never actually been the recipient of the oft quoted Shakespearean line* "Go fuck yourself." Thus maintaining her virginal status and lack of any sexual preference before she reached the 'standard Lit. age' of consent or for that matter, for many years afterwards.

*Unless you have access to certain original folios of quill written Shakespearean works, no where in all the plays and sonnets will you find the line quoted above. As is well known all Shakespeare's works are abridged and abraded and this particular line translated into such pallid words as: "Get thee to a nunnery", "An it please you nuncle" or "Go boil your head in a bucket."

Be that as it may, at the tender age of just 22 years, Hermione was still virginal and still worked in her father's Inn, when two very well dressed and quaintly coiffured 'gentlemen' arrived, seeking rooms and information. The rooms would surely be hard-come-by and the information definitely expensive. Hermione directed their enquiries to her father who immediately offered them the single room available (at extra cost due to the coming festivities) and also the required information (at extra, extra cost due to the recent rise in sales tax).

The room that her father generously offered was, of course, Hermione's room, which her father went to great lengths to explain and for reasons of his own included the words: sharing, virginal daughter, monkey business (none of) and woe betide, accompanied by grins, winks and back slapping.

The gentlemen, with glances askance, were forced to take up the offer, as there were no rooms in any hostelry in the town. They had been offered many barn accommodations but had refused, being very conscious of the fact that they were in a fair to middling story without even a hint of greatness or singularity. (Plus neither of them were great with child, donkey drawn or carpenters by trade.)

What the gentlemen actually were, Hermione could only guess, as she showed them to her room with its single pallet and the en-suite being a bucket in the corner under a continuous leak from the ceiling.

"What do you do?" asked Hermione unable to contain her indifference.

"Tailoring." Said one.

"Weavers." Claimed the other.

"Interior décor and design" In unison.

"Which is?" Hermione urged distractedly

"We make clothes and decorate."

"Right." Indicating with open hands and odd gestures Hermione continued "This is where I sleep" with the emphasis on the pronoun, "This is the night-time necessity" motioning towards the corner of the room, "With exits, here, here and here, in the event of an emergency, run like bloody hell." With that, Hermione left them to their own devices and obvious amusement.

At the end of the day, which was in fact very early the next morning, Hermione creaked her way up the little wooden hill to Bedfordshire, remembering, with a wan smile, her long gone mother's aphorism and looking gratefully forward to a few hours sleep on her straw bed.

As she opened the door to her room Hermione realised through weary sight that she had mistaken her way and opened the wrong door. Backing out quietly, so as not to disturb the occupants, Hermione became aware of a body, two bodies, directly behind her in the passageway. She turned at the sound of muffled giggles and tittering to see the two gentlemen trying to hide enormous grins behind soft, manicured hands, adorned with simple, understated yet ever-so elegant rings.

"What now?" Pleaded Hermione.

"Nothing now." Said one.

"That's your room." Said the other.

Hermione turned slowly and stepped hesitantly through the door to her room, where she stood aghast, dumbfounded, bewitched bothered and bewildered by the array of wonderment, which was now her room. And promptly fainted.

* * *

Act II. Scene IV. The blasted heath. Enter 3 hags.

First witch: When shall we three meet again?

Second witch: Hags?

Third witch: Where?

First witch: What are you talking about?

Second witch: There, just above your first line. The stage direction; Act eye eye, scene eye vee: The blasted heath. Enter 3 hags.

First witch: And?

Second witch: We're not hags, we're witches.

Third witch: I'm not a hag, I'm only in my early thirties. (The other two look at her sharply) Middle thirties... all right I'm 39, that doesn't make me a hag.

First witch: Hag is another word for witch.

Second witch: So why don't they just say witch?

Third witch: Yeah or crone.

First and second witch: Crone?

Third witch: Yeah, crone. Crone's got a certain majesty to it, mystic, marvellous, magical. Where a hag is just an old woman with a bent back a hook nose and a raggy dress.

First and second witch stare pointedly at the third witch's nose, and clothing.

Third witch: (standing tall) Fuck off.

From stage left enter a tumble of taffeta inside a storm of silks, atwirl amongst a cascade of crinoline.

Glinda the good: (cackling) Hahahahahhaahaaaaaa. No one expects the... no, erm Now is the winter... no, no erm... Alas poor Yorr... Nononono... erm, wait, erm... Never, in the field of human conf- no, not that... erm, hang on, erm... Four score years and- Ono. Erm... I know it, hold on... erm. Right, got it. Right. When shall we three- (looks around and sees no one) Shite.

* * *

The next morning Hermione's eyelids were forced wide open by the cockcrow. Stifling a yawn she stretched languorously, across the soft, horsehair mattress, savouring the caress of satin sheets across her entire naked body. Two things struck her simultaneously as the gentlemen on either side rolled sleepily towards her warmth. Then two thoughts vied for precedence in her befuddled mind. "Where am I?" and "Am I still a virgin?"

"You're in your own room." Said one gentleman

"We wouldn't dream of it." Said the other.

"I didn't say that aloud." Thought Hermione

"You didn't need to love. It's written on your face." Said one, as the other held a hand mirror for her to see. And yes, backwards through the mirror, there was indeed, written in eyebrow pencil, across her broad forehead, those exact two questions.

"We knew that's what you'd think when you woke up" Said the other.

"They always do." Said one.

"But this isn't my bed." Wailed Hermione.

"It is now."

"We're very persuasive."

"And the tapestries and wall hangings? And oh I love what you've done with the en-suite, is that a bidet? Oh look, wooden floors, and I really like the cherub motif and the pastel shades you used on the walls"

"So you like it then?" Enquired one.

"We passed muster?" Asked the other.

"So who undressed me and put me into bed?"

"Don't you worry about that chicken."

"We won't tell anyone."

"Actually I'm gay" Said one.

"And I'm a little bit country." Said the other.

Shame, not at being seen, but certainty about her inadequate dick size flushed Hermione's face as she stammered. "I, it, it's small isn't it? You two know, you've seen lots of girls, no one has a cock as small as mine. Oh this is so embarrassing." She cried.

"There, there." Said one, stroking her face and smudging away the tears.

"Don't you believe it honey, there isn't a girl in the whole village who has what you have." Soothed the other.

"You're just being nice, and kind, I'll bet all the other girl's cocks are better and bigger than mine." Wailed Hermione.

"Hermione. Look at me Hermione." Commanded one. "Look into my eyes Hermione, and listen."

Hermione's sobbing slowed as she looked into the gentleman's kind grey eyes.

"Listen to him." Said the other.

"Hermione, when you're alone in your bed at night, do you sometimes play with it? Hm? It's ok, everyone with a cock likes to play with it sometimes, do you play with yours?"

"Sometimes." Admitted Hermione "Sometimes in the morning when I wake up, it's hard and so I play with it before I get dressed."

"That's good." Said the other. "Everyone plays with their cock in the mornings when they wake up and find it hard."

"Do they?"

"Yes they do." Stated one "And if they say they don't then they're fibbing. And do you like to play with your puss too?" He asked

"Oh yes." She enthused. "When I'm behind the bar and the men being bawdy and loud and talking about all the other girls with the big knockers" she paused and glanced down at her own inadequate jugs, then continued "Well that's when I like to take one of the long neck bottles and-"

"HERMIONE. Please," Said the other. "I think we get the picture. And you don't want to go down stairs covered in sticky. Do you?"

"Sticky?" queried Hermione. "Oh right. Sticky. When it shoots out of your cock and hits you on the chin and the wall. Just here." She said, pointing above her head.

The two gentlemen's eyebrows raced towards their respective hairlines in amazement.

"Well... Yes." Admitted one.

"The point is..." said the other "The point is... That the other girls don't have a cock at all dear. They only have pusses to play with. Tell me Hermione. Have you never seen anyone naked before? At all? Anyone?"

"No." She squeaked.

So the two gentlemen spent the rest of the morning explaining in great detail about "The birds and the bees." Fortunately, after some persuasion and a small amount of money being forced upon her father, Hermione had the day off and at almost dinner time exclaimed "Well thank you very much for the biology lesson but what about human procreation?" and so the two gentlemen explained that too during the next half hour. And at the end of it all Hermione was certain that she wanted to be a lesbian, just like her mother.

"Your mother?" Asked one.

"Yes." Affirmed Hermione. "Nearly all the men in the bar said that she must be whenever she slapped their chops for making suggestive remarks or groping her tits."

"Aah." Breathed the other in understanding.

During dinner, served in the bedroom by the buxom stand in waitress, who, after only some slight persuasion by one gentleman, agreed to prove to Hermione that the other girls did indeed only have a puss to play with (which after more gentle persuasion she agreed to demonstrate with some vigour and abandon using fingers, cutlery, the salt cellar and eventually the ornate post carved into the foot of the bed) the two gentlemen fell to discussing their 'project'.

Being very persuasive gentlemen was a large part of their plan, which hinged on their skills as weavers (the lure), as tailors ( the hook), and fantasy, gullibility and persuasion in equal parts (the sting)

The two gentlemen had timed their infiltration into the village with care, 5 days before the Festival of Festivals which the Emperor held every two years, or as the mood struck, during which a grand procession would take place through a village picked at random (Hermione's village this year) in order that the Emperor may impress and retain the faith of the people as evidenced by his display of 'Droit de seignior', 'Noblesse oblige', 'Coeur de Lion', 'Joi d'vive' and, as every schoolboy knows 'Ouest la plume de ma t'aunt.

"Ok" Said one "I need to get into the game with Emperor Lonegan"

"What's that you're drinking?" asked Hermione.

"Gin. Cut with 7/8ths water, you can act drunk, they can't tell you aren't so they think you're an easy mark."

"So how is that going to help?"

"I'm going to make him cheat, and let him know that I know he's cheating, by cheating him, that way he can't call me on it because then his friends would know he was a cheat. He'll cut the deck with three's and aces." Explained the other.

"What are you talking about?" Pleaded Hermione.

"We'll take him for everything, but he must never know he's been taken."

"?" said Hermione.

One said "We'll set up a dummy tailoring business in a disused cellar and convince him we have an inside track on the weaving of the sheerest material known to man."

"Which can only be seen by the wise and the just." Said the other.

"We'll bait the hook with pure gobbledegook to draw him in."

"But what about the fat cop who tries to shake you down?" cautioned Hermione

"We'll set up another operation with men who wear straw boaters and string ties."

"String ties?" Hermione knew she was losing the plot.

"String ties." Said one.

The other continued "Like they wear in the deep south and then we'll haul in Clay Shaw, who is actually Clay Bertrand the wealthy magnate and question him on Easter Sunday."

"And what will that achieve?" Said Hermione who was beginning to lose interest.

"Why then we'll definitely know that it was a communist conspiracy until Donald Sutherland turns up to tell us what really happened."

"Then, during the grand procession, I will walk past and exclaim 'Nice game pretty boy' and that's when all hell will break loose and I can make my getaway."

"But there will be guards." Warned Hermione. "In front and to the right."

"Then my escape route is obviously back and to the left." Said one

"Back and to the left." Echoed the other.

And so it came to pass, that the two gentlemen managed to persuade the Emperor (because they were very persuasive and the Emperor was very gullible) that they could make cloth so fine and so sheer that only the just and the wise would be able to see it. Whereupon Emperor Lonegan ordered a suit made from this marvellous material to be ready in time for the Grand Processional. Which also came to pass, right in front of the Inn.

"Oh look. Look." Cried one, who was hanging from Hermione's (penthouse) window. "He's coming."

"Well I'm on the vinegar stroke too." Panted Hermione, with her cock firmly embedded in his rear entrance and pumping for all she was worth. "Oh my god he's buck naked" she cried. And then "Oh yes, oh god. Fuck, this is good."

"We just knew you'd enjoy it." Said the other as he penetrated Hermione's pussy with hard urgent strokes in countermeasure to her own thrusts.

And they all came happily ever after.*

* Obviously the Emperor became a laughing stock appearing naked in the streets, but he came happily ever after too when the girls of the village witnessed the 10 inch length of his
nobility and gasped at the 8" circumference.

Report Story

bygauchecritic© 9 comments/ 49646 views/ 2 favorites

Share the love

Tags For This Story

Report a Bug

1 Pages:1

Please Rate This Submission:

Please Rate This Submission:

  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
Please wait
Recent
Comments
by Anonymous

If the above comment contains any ads, links, or breaks Literotica rules, please report it.

There are no recent comments (9 older comments) - Click here to add a comment to this story or Show more comments or Read All User Comments (9)

Add a
Comment

Post a public comment on this submission (click here to send private anonymous feedback to the author instead).

Post comment as (click to select):

Refresh ImageYou may also listen to a recording of the characters.

Preview comment

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar:

   Cancel