Gulliver Redux

Of my travels among the giants of Brobdingnag, of my dear nurse Glumdalclitch and subsequent adventures in the courts of the King and Queen of that country, I have already said much.

There was one adventure, however, which has remained locked in my memory these many years, unrevealed for fear of Church and State's -- and consequently their subjects' -- judgments upon an old man. The hypocrisy of these estimable institutions, and that of the majority of my fellow Englishmen, cannot be doubted, nor can their power to turn this sinner's remaining years into an unspeakable misery.

And yet my memories retain their heat and taut flesh, even as my blood cools and my skin sags like that of an emaciated horse on its journey to the knacker's yard.

Exhausted from a day spent entertaining the King and Queen and their retinue of courtiers, advisers, maidservants and manservants, and other sycophants of uncertain function, I fell back on the Brobdingnagian bed made especially for me, and struggled from my shirt and britches, leaving them where they lay in a most untidy manner.

Donning my nightgown and slipping beneath the sheets, I fell instantly asleep only to awaken in perhaps less than two hours. Shouts and yells, coming as if from a distance somewhere below my window, disturbed my slumber. There were two voices: the shouts those of a man, the yells of a woman. The palace lights were dim, and it seemed the household was otherwise abed. In spite of my fatigue, I determined to investigate.

Hoping I would not encounter a cat, rat or other vile creature, I contrived to scale the curtain to the window and, through a hole in one of the leaded panes, lowered myself to the ground by means of a ball of twine I had purposely left there on an earlier occasion. I wore naught but my shoes and nightgown, and as I reached the ground wished I had thought to garb myself in warm clothing, for there was a chill in the air which could surely freeze such a tiny mortal.

The noise of conflict, I realised, emanated from a storage room off the kitchens. The door, with ill-fitting hinges and warped wood, permitted me to slip beneath. When I emerged on the other side my gown was blackened with mud and most unpleasantly wet, for in the darkness I failed to notice the pool of murky water which had gathered there.

My momentary discomfort fled at the extraordinary sight that greeted me there. Next to a man's cordouroy-clad legs, I saw the most delicious limbs of a woman, revealed in their glory, first to mid-thigh, where her gleaming white hose were red-gartered, thence to where her thighs kissed and at last to a firm pair of buttocks which rose in perfection, like the half-moon mirrored in a celestial looking-glass. Those poor buttocks were at this moment being assailed by a long and cruel switch, wielded by this uncouth-looking fellow.

The girl, or woman (which of these I could not say, as the unfortunate was bent over a table, her head on a sack of flour, hidden beneath a cascade of fair hair), the female, I say, screeched in counterpoint to the swish of the torture instrument's descent. Those beautiful cheeks were now blushing hotly, stripes from the switch marring their beauty.

"That'll teach you, my girl." The man, who seemed to enjoy his task even as he snarled at his victim, grinned between strikes. "Steal from the kitchen again and I'll..." (and here he punctuated his words with blows) "...have...you...thrown...out!"

"Oh, Gawd, Sam'll. Not that, please," came the muffled but sweet voice of the girl (for I now knew her to be that, perhaps nineteen or so). "Thrash the life out of me if you like, but don't send me 'ome."

Incandescent with rage at the ruffian's assault upon this defenseless maid, I quickly scanned for a weapon. My eye fell upon some scattered kitchen utensils which must have rocked off the table during the girl's punishment, among them a paring knife. Placing the knife's handle over my shoulder and bracing my hands against the heel of the blade, I launched myself forward and plunged the knife deeply into the brute's ankle. The blade skidded against bone and must have struck well, for the blood spewed like a venting whale. Its redness mingled with the brackish water that soaked my nightwear.

The man bellowed like an enraged bull and gazed in amazement, first at the knife buried in his ankle, then at me, his small assailant. The giant was about to land me a kick which would have surely finished me, when I shouted a warning: "Stop! Would you strike the Queen's favourite? She'll have you beheaded."

"Blimey!" said the girl tearfully as she pulled aloft the bloomers which had tangled around her ankles, and dropped her petticoats and skirt to conceal her sturdy nether limbs. "It's that Gulliver fellow. I seen 'im once."

"I'll kill you, little man," said the torturer, moving menacingly towards me. He lowered his astonishingly ugly countenance so near that his fetid breath alone almost toppled me from my feet.

"Best not, Sam'll... 'e's right. The Queen'll have you topped if you lays a finger on 'im. She loves the little feller."

"Well," he replied, with a befouling exhalation. "Yer blessed majesty 'ad better keep a close eye on you in future." He tugged the knife blade quickly from his leg, "...else Old Towser'll be 'aving a special treat for 'is dinner one night."

It was at this moment I realised that a huge hunting dog, with teeth like skewers, was quietly examining me. The beast was chained to a coat hook, but strained at the length of chain, baring its teeth. Clearly, it had been there during the commotion, and its unearthly silence unnerved me more than growls or barks would have done.

"Towser ain't got no voice box, see. Never 'as 'ad since a pup. An 'e'll rip anyone else's out soon as look at 'em." The oaf grinned at me. "Revenge for not 'aving any of 'is own, see?"

With that, the man grabbed the animal's leash and stormed out, allowing the beast to first push its wet snout within an inch of my no doubt colourless face. I was frozen with terror, and only dared breathe once the door latch fell back and our tormentor went whistling away in the darkness.

"Poor fing," said the girl. "Yer all scared and filfhy. Come now, Belinda'll clean you up nice."

Belinda placed me gingerly into a wicker basket and carried me to her simple quarters. Her room contained but a small bed, a dresser, a chair, a table upon which sat a vase of dried cornflowers. In a small fireplace, coals glowed weakly. She placed me on the table, then went to add coals and wood to the fire. In no time, there was a decent, comforting blaze crackling there.

Belinda, being youthful, had a fine complexion, unmarred by the clogged pores I had seen upon the other giants as if under a magnifying lens. Indeed, I found myself so taken with this girl, that her presence and lavender scent all but made me swoon. From her washbasin she brought me a thimble filled with water which she placed into the basket next to me.

"Better give yourself a wash, good sir," she commanded. "Else you'll catch a chill," and so saying she plucked my night attire away as if unsheathing a birdcage to daylight. I realised in that moment, too, that she had no more regard for me than if I had indeed been a canary and not a full-grown man, albeit one of diminutive dimensions.

Somewhat offended, I threw the cold water upon myself, shivering with its impact, and looked about for something with which to dry myself. Finding nothing, I shouted: "Miss Belinda, would you be so good as to...?"

But the girl anticipated me, and used a corner of her apron to dry me, pressing the garment against me in the manner of your author applying blotting paper to the ink in which his tales are fashioned. Her first press nearly dashed me to the ground, for I was no larger than a candle in relation to her hand. At this the girl pealed with such a delightfully mellifluous laugh that I instantly forgave her the insult upon my modesty.

"Oh, look," says she. "'e's even got a little todger," and commenced to peer at my limp manhood, even as I hastened to conceal it in my cupped palms.

"Ooh, 'e's shy! 'ow sweet!" She smiled beautifully. "I 'ave seen one before you know, Master Gulliver. Though not pr'aps so titchy."

"Madam! I beg you. This is an outrage. I have never been so offended. Give me my clothes at once."

My indignant protest seemed to amuse her the more, yet she was kind enough to explain that my night-gown was a mess and that she would provide a temporary replacement. The replacement, as it turned out, was a small lace handkerchief. In the center of this, she cut a hole large enough for my neck and thereafter draped the whole affair over me.

I resembled a member of some monastic order, with the billowing cape not unlike that of a nun's raiment, and I could barely restrain myself from tearing it off. However, it afforded some warmth and I meekly thanked Belinda while attempting to climb from the basket. My shoes were wet, as they must have filled with water earlier in my adventure. I poured their contents into the basin, and left them on the table to air. Belinda blew into the shoes to hasten their drying, and suddenly I felt another wave of gratitude. She was a kindly girl, and her mockery not malicious, but more of the girlish-delighted sort.

"You best not go back tonight, Master. Sam'll might set Towser on you in the dark and claim the 'orrible mutt got loose on 'im."

I realised, in any case, that I was enormously tired, having wakened so abruptly before and not yet recovered from my day's labour as court jester.

With that, the girl picked me up and laid me on the side of her pillow nearest the wall, drawing up an edge of her blanket to give me some warmth.

"You sleep 'ere with me. I don't never roll over in me sleep, so don't worry none about being mashed."

In due course, Belinda prepared herself for bed. She first drew up her skirts and pushed down the waist of her bloomers to reveal, for the second time this evening, her buttocks.

"Oooh," she groaned, craning to look at her orbs. "Me arse stings somefink shocking."

"Why was the villain thrashing you, Belinda?"

"Stole an apple, I did. Only got what I deserved."

"An apple! My God, woman, that fiend thrashed you for the sake of an apple?"

"'Ere, don't you talk about my bruvver like that! 'Sides, I nicked stuff before and 'e let me off, but 'e's worried about 'is job, because 'e can't find the person what's knicking the silver."

This revelation appalled me the more, yet I felt it wiser to say nothing, for I recognised the folly of interfering between family members.

I felt obliged to turn away as my companion unlaced her bustier. Eyes tightly closed, my imagination grew heated with the sounds of skirts and petticoats being dropped to the ground, the whisper of hose pulled from those delicious limbs, and the splash of water against my saviour's precious flesh.

However, being a man and consequently of weak nature, I could not resist a peek as she climbed into bed, her night-gown unlaced at the neck so that I was afforded the vision of her firmly cushioned breasts, pressed together in echo of her nether cheeks, and surmounted by the most prepossessing pair of dark-hued nipples. These latter, were cork-like firm, perhaps inspired to pertness by the cold water being applied to them and the latter rubbing of them with a towel.

"You little devil!" she whispered to me, startling my eyes fully open. "I saw that. You was looking at me, wasn't you?"

Aghast, and feeling guilty, I tried at first to worm out of it, by claiming that I had been dozing and merely awakened by the turbulence as she slipped beneath the coverlet. In my face, however, she saw the lie, as women will always see the lie in men's faces.

"'S all right, petal," she spoke, with a kind smile. "You prob'ly ain't 'ad a woman in a while. None 'ere yer size, like."

This fact could not be denied. Nor could my present condition, which had heated my blood and produced in my manhood a tumescence of the like I had not experienced since adolescence.

"Well, I'll let you into a secret," and she lowered her head near to me, pushing aside a tumbling lock of hair lest it should brush against me. "I ain't never 'ad a man. I'm a virgin, see."

"But, you said you had seen...."

"Oh, I've seen me dad's, and me four bruvvers' ones, but I ain't never 'ad one up me."

This latter coarse turn of phrase, rather than cooling my ardour (for I had hitherto not heard such things from a woman, and the sophisticated women of my acquaintance would never utter such things, though I suspected they might think them), rather, I say, than cooling my ardour, it all but made me spend there and then. Indeed, I felt my prick twitch and my stones tingle at the words.

"Oops," she added, "...I see I've got me answer."

I realised with horror that my member had created a pronounced tent in the cotton sheet which covered me.

With that, she pulled back the sheet and lifted my makeshift nightgown, to study unashamedly my twitching organ.

"Can I kiss it, Master Gulliver? It's so sweet."

My resistance completely smashed by now, I simply nodded. She lowered her cushion-sized lips and planted a warm, wet kiss upon my cock. She then moved the tip of her left forefinger between my legs, first inserting the fingernail between my buttocks, then running it across my ball sacks and up the underside of my rod to its tip, giving it a most delicious little flick at the end of its journey.

"'ard little 'fing, innit?" Then she gave me a sly, wicked smile. "Now, do you want to kiss old Belinda, Master Gulliver?"

"Oh -- oh, yes, indeed, my dear. You are so lovely that I..."

"Shhh...no need to talk so much. You maybe need to sweet-talk yer fancy ladies, but underneath all they're after's a good seeing to, just like me."

I could not argue with this. For I had in my life seen and heard of countless examples of such hypocrisy which, as you know, is an aspect of humanity which incenses me, albeit I am myself frequently guilty of it.

"But, my dear Belinda," I mumbled, squeezing myself into the valley of her bosom and vigorously licking her left nipple, over which I could barely fit my mouth, "...I can be of no service to you in that manner. My size, I mean..."

"You men -- always bothered by size!" and we both giggled at her joke, her breast-valley opening and closing on me as her chest heaved with laughter, the bulging paps stroking me most sensuously in the meanwhile.

I spent some considerable time fondling these dear, magnificent tits, first giving my attention to one nipple and its areola, then the other. I observed with gratitude a roseate flush across her upper chest and neck, which rose to her face. Her bee-stung lips parted, and small whimpers and sighs emerged; every so often, her breath caught and held for an instant of deeper pleasure.

Her body was in motion, and I realised that her right forearm in particular was shuddering. Looking downwards, I saw that the bed covering, at the juncture of her thighs, was like the surface of pond beneath which a sea creature was arching its back languidly. It was her hand, of course, working at her womanhood, teasing the pleasure nub.

"L--let me do that, Belinda, please."

"Thought you'd never ask." And with that she threw back the sheets to give me the most delicious sight. A girlish, plump belly, round and taut, and long shapely limbs bent at the knee and parted widely so that the soles of her feet touched. Her long-fingered hand dipped and trailed amid the humid underbrush, or jungle that covered her pubic mound. I walked across her belly and lay down so I could bury my face in the coarse hairs, almost overcome with her musky, womanly scent. I observed, too, large droplets of dew sparkling on her bush, her feminine moistness which filled my nostrils with delight.

I turned for her approval, and she nodded, even as she drew her hands away and proceeded to stroke her own breasts, rubbing her palms in circular motions around her nipples, oftimes tweaking the nipples most assertively as a mother would pinch an errant child's ear. Laid flat upon her heaving belly and reaching forward, I plunged my trembling hands into the dark fronds protecting her womanhood.

With some experimentation, and some directional nudging from Belinda, I found the love-nub and its encasing hood. A hand on either side, I slid the hood back and forth slowly and rhythmically. Belinda's sighs alternated with a held breath or a gentle whimper, to my great satisfaction.

Had my position been otherwise than arse upward, I would have wished to see her face in its ecstatic throes, but I could risk only a brief glance across my shoulder, a glance rewarded with the vision of her parted lips and squeezed-shut eyes. My own preoccupation with this exercise was such that I failed to notice immediately that my own member was being similarly massaged, but since my girl's hands were otherwise occupied it was a puzzle until I realised that I was involuntarily pushing my rod in and out of her belly-button.

It seemed that this thrusting went unnoticed by my giant hostess but, letting the insult pass I continued working at my kneading, preparing her dough to rise. Her thighs closed and parted, the soles of her feet now pressing into the mattress. I redoubled my efforts, massaging as fast as I was able, an exercise akin to swimming the stormy seas which had wrecked my ship.

I perspired profusely, but continued to thrust my prick into her belly, which was now tightening and relaxing alternately, and suffusing with heat. Presently, Belinda began to pant quickly, like a dog cooling off in the summer heat, thence to moan. A moan which rose to a wail, those of a sinner, suffering the torments of Hell. The massive thighs closed shut and her body rose at the hips, pushing my poor frame high above the surface of the bed. Her piercing scream seemed endless and infernally loud to my small ears. The aftershocks as she sank back pushed the folds of her belly button up and down my cock, sending thrills of sensation up my spine.

As Belinda's movements stilled and her breathing slowed, I continued to thrust myself into this orifice, the scent from her moist crack transporting me to vigorous action. My time without a woman had left, it seemed, a large reservoir of seed, which now spilled out of me it seemed in a flood, my ball sacks taut with the muscular contraction. The wetness spat from me, into this delicious creature's umbilical.

Having spent, I rolled back, to see Belinda looking down upon me in amazement, a broad smile upon her face. Glancing from me to her belly button, and seeing there a pearlescent droplet, from her perspective no larger than a drop of dew, she let out a shriek of laughter, followed by gales and hurricanes of hysteria. This amusement violently tossed me from my fleshy pillow into the mattress.

When the laughter presently settled, Belinda picked me up with a smile and laid me between her breasts, kissing me on top of my head. "What an ocean, yer lordship!" she giggled. "I don't fink a girl could take all of that without drowning!" And then she commenced to laugh again, this time almost choking with merriment. I, by now burning with insult, stamped my foot on her collar-bone, which silenced her but did not cause injury.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dearie," she crooned. "That was lovely...really! And you seemed to enjoy it, too."

"Madame," I began sternly, then, relenting, said: "I did. Most thoroughly."

"Well, now," she said, "What else shall we do?"

The womanly twinkle in her girlish eye all but persuaded me that I would be next thrust, headfirst into her cunt, and worked in and out like a nun's candle, doubtless suffocating me in the process.

But this was not to be, I am pleased to report. Nevertheless we spent the rest of the night in the pursuit of great delights, requiring boundless imagination -- and unflagging energy on my part.