Woodland Rites

Clutching our sex spanners close to our palpitating chests, we wormed our way through the entangling undergrowth towards the very edge of the clearing. There we waited, tense and trepidatious, as the scene unfolded before us. Of course, the sheep were there, freshly dipped in exotic unguents and resplendent in their various fetish gear, glinting in the moonlight and casting weird and wonderful patterns in the flickering glow of the bonfires. There were weasels and badgers too, glistening brightly with freshly-applied erotic oils and lubrications. The air was heady with the scents of perversion.

The drums thundered and rumbled, slowly reaching a crescendo of paradiddles when suddenly from the centremost and most elaborate of the tents there emerged the Lower Crotchstaine Master of Perversions. He was tall, muscular, naked – except for a wallaby-grouting apron. He stepped into the fire-bright centre of the clearing and stood arms akimbo, whereupon the naked virgins* of the village immediately began to coat his whole body with freshly-warmed badger-spleen oil. Even at the distance where we lay concealed, it was still a heady scent on the midnight breeze.

Then, as the drums grew even more frantic, from behind his back, the leader produced the biggest pair of sex spatulas I have ever seen in my lifetime. Beside me, I heard Maureen gasp. I put my hand out to steady and reassure her. She was trembling at the sight of those spatulas… and so was I.

‘Steady, girl, steady,’ I whispered, trying to keep the awe and fear from my voice as I felt her trembling with the deep primal urges brought on by the sight of such an immense pair of sex spatulas about to be wielded by an expert.

Moments later, the sacrifice was bought into the centre of the clearing, strapped to the ceremonial shopping trolley. I gasped out loud as I saw that it was the librarian from Lower Crotchstaine. Surely, I thought, no one would be foolish enough to risk applying sex spatulas of such a magnitude to a naked librarian! Such theories have been – tentatively – put forward in some of the more esoteric and arcane Journals of Theoretical Perversions, but no-one has ever dared to suggest even attempting such a dangerous experiment for real. The danger of a fallout of highly sexually-active particles from the bringing together of such elemental sexual forces as a pair of giant sex spatulas and a suitably-restrained naked librarian is just too overwhelmingly arousing to contemplate.

I had no choice.

“Stop!” I said, emerging from my secretion. I fumbled with my clothes and then pulled it out. There were gasps from all the virgins** as they saw what I wielded in my hand.

“Bloody hell, It’s a Fully-Authorised Perversion Inspector!” cried the Master of Perversions as he saw the badge I held up in my hand. Quickly divesting himself of his wallaby-grouting accoutrements, he lobbed the immense sex spatulas at me. “Quick, Leg it!” he cried diving into the thick woodland.

Unfortunately, one of the large sex spatulas caught me with a glancing blow to the inner thigh and everything went black.

In what seemed like only moments later, I began to feel myself again. Soon I was erect once more. But it was only to discover Maureen kneeling in front of me, in a perversion-proof protective suit, slowly easing the enormous sex spatulas into a sexual-deviance proof container. All around her the rest of our Perversion Inspection squad rounded up the last of the ‘virgins’, putting them in the back of the van, alongside the slumped and defeated, and fully-manacled Master of Perversions.

“Wha… what happened?” I said, “I remember… I…?”

“You were hit with a giant sex spatula, remember?” Maureen said with a hint of concern. “So, obviously, you became instantly aroused, which meant that your brain was quite suddenly deprived of blood as it all spread towards your… well,” She stood up, after checking the container was sealed completely, and began to remove the Perversion-Proof protective suit. “You must have fainted from the sudden loss of blood,” she said.

I nodded warily.

“I see the effect hasn’t fully worn off, though,” Maureen said, grinning as she dropped the protective suit on the ground, swiftly followed by the rest of her clothes. “Maybe I could help you with that?”


*Or nearest approximation thereof.

** Yeah, right.



Yours perversely:

Norbert Trouser-Quandary


A tale from the From the LFITW archive

More from Little Frigging in the Wold here


Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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