A Yiffness Carol
A stingy old soul
Inflexible to grief
Cold is his heart
Chilled to the heat
A miserly old fool
Who cannot contest
Why such a season
Gives him ill-rest
And when he hears
The peal of the bells
He will recant...
Or be off to hell
A strange chilly calm came over him that day, but not in the way of stern Inuits or proud Russians. No, this was a coldness from within him during this overcast December day, with amber light shining dimly through the chimney smog above, as a raking cough could be heard randomly about, and confound it if any cub on this street begged of him for a six-pence piece; bah! He would not hear of any of that.
Stoops by the street glistened with thawing ice, an apple pie sat on a second-story sill to foil any passerby who might sneak such a treat off.
Oh, how he knew this place, these corners aglow with fiery rambunctious youths caroling for fun and shillings, predawn sunrise peeking over the steeple of the enormous text-tile factory in the distance, the orange glow bright on the flanks of a fine pair of chestnut carriage horses harnessed nearby to a quite gaudy flim-flam iridescent wagon of some sort of sharper;
'Magnificent Marty's wonder potion.'
It decried, bespeaking some type of aphrodisiac. Something so perfect for the holiday which was Yiffness day.
"Curse this day! Bah! Humfuck!" He snarled.
The gnarled Yew cane gripped in his hand felt hollow somehow, and it breathed with numb life under his palm.
An errant tug upon his short-coat from behind made him twist with an angry scowl and then a smarting howl from the pain of his right arthritic knee. He had known this misery of old age for so long. It made him think twice about celebrating any portion of such a time--even if he weren't already so stingily set against it.
He regained his composure, looking into the tiny-faced complexion of a grubby little tiger cub with a bandaged tail bent most brokenly in the middle. Yet the cub smiled. Damn how he smiled through the pain of his tail.
"Please Sir, may I have a shilling? I'd love to eat something." The cub replied with a rusty cough, wiping mucous off his nose with a sleeve which had a gruel stain dried into it.
"Would you, boy? The poorhouse will feed you."
"Nay Sir. Such places are always full this time of year."
A painful twinge snapped through his spine, drowning him in the pain of his decrepit state. No doctor diagnosed such a condition correctly, but it was said among practitioner's that a bug had crawled up his tailhole and died.
"Leave me be, urchin. I've my work to visit upon."
"Then, Merry Yiffness!"
Such a salutation gave him a twinge of a cringe, shaking up his very hat; the Victorian stove-top. The bronze pocket watch hummed and it warmed and it screamed violence upon his skin, separated by a thin swatch of fabric of the pocket.
Here it was, he knew, time indeed to go to his place of transaction.
His firm was a hospice of ice and loneliness, he shared the burden of ownership with no one since his partner died almost a decade ago.
There were the two names above;
'Hardly & Screwed Financial Welfare.', although the 'and' portion was fading off a little, so at night, one could see the irony of the statement.
'Hardly Screwed.'
Ezekiel Screwed had been a lonely badger since his partner died, and he had been too shrewd to care for anyone else. His nephew had even offered to have him over for Yiffness feast many times, but Screwed would hear none of that, locked in the confines of his own abode, having porridge by the fire. Nothing special.
Nothing.
Compassion fresh out
In a heart so drear
But soon awakened
With the power of fear
He hires a lackey
A quite busy clerk
Who puts up with crap
As he goes off to work
For once a year
He goes oft a day
But he got Screwed
When the badger said 'nay'
The nephew arrives
A crafty young fellow
Gaily more gay
Than rainbow Jell-O
A charming vulpine
With a love built for two
See it in his eyes
Or the size of his shoes!
But all is not well
In the heart of the miser
He should have listened
He's none the wiser
He brushes them off
He ignores the good cheer
So oft to his home
With a vicious sneer
"Crotch-it! I demand to know the reason why you were an hour late!" Yelled Screwed, his muzzle worked up in a scowl, his monocle hanging limply off his collar.
Fearsome! Even plagued with arthritis he could make that mousy clerk squirm.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Screwed." Retorts the mouse shyly.
Crotch-it wore a dull green fading coat with many colors of patches, a copper framed pair of spectacles balanced over his narrow muzzle (which could have doubled for a pick-axe) and hooped about his great brimmed ears. His eyes were light brown, and the typical rodent overbite showed itself true, and Screwed even noticed with amusement that Crotch-it had his tail bundled up in some cheap wool linen.
"Sorry won't replace the wasted time. I want you here tomorrow an hour earlier, Mr. Crotch-it."
Screwed scratched his eyebrow disinterestedly, daring the little clerk to defy him for the bloody hell of it, even as Crotch-it shivered against the cold of the barely warmed room. A room with no windows and one door which was the entrance and on the opposite side were the door for Screwed's own office, which was oft the draftier.
"But Sir! Tomorrow is Yiffness day! I thought you would give me the day off!"
"For fifteen shillings a week, I'll be damned if I let you off for such a derogatory occasion as a holiday veiled to be nothing more than a graphic display of hedonistic merry-making and overall lusty entreaty. No, man, I'll not warrant you to be a part of that!" Screamed the badger, a rap upon the wood floor with his thick cane. A loud pound of finality like the bang of a Judge's gavel.
"But Mr. Screwed! It's only once a year!" Crotch-it pleads.
"No! I'll see you tomorrow, and that'll be it unless you want to find a new job."
The clerk paled at the mere mention of such a horrible notion as finding another job during the season.
"N-n-no, Sir. I'll be here." Declared the clerk with a hung countenance borne upon his stature, his teeth clattering from his stutter and the winter cold.
"Good. Let us put this Merry Yiffness foolishness behind us. Speaking of...where is my damned nephew? Oft he is want to take in the successes of my business before inviting me over for Yiffness dinner with him and his wife and all his cousins--Grrr! I like it in my spacious private abode more like. Mayhaps this bothersome relative has given it up?"
The clerk shrugs.
"Doubt it, of course I do. Oft he asks, he is persistent. He must think you are lonely."
"Lonely, Mr. Crotch-it? For what? Hollow sympathies to indulge upon? Partaking of HIS festivities?! I prefer to be alone to celebrate Yiffness however I wish! Bah! Damn it!"
"But you don't celebrate at all, Dear uncle!" Announces a sudden voice as a young fox bundled up in multiple homespun shirts and a coat and a wool scarf grinned toward him."
Lovely gaily blue eyes peered seductively out, flustering Screwed.
"Nephew! Holy Christ, but oh how you startled me!" Declares Screwed in a humble wheeze of a voice.
"And you work this poor fellow to the bone! Why is one single day not in order?" Replied his nephew, motioning towards the clerk with a nod of his muzzle and a wave of a mittened paw.
"What will he be doing that day? What will YOU be doing that day?! Curse it! Whoever thought of a holiday for fucking must have been out of his fucking mind!" Snarls the badger with a stamp of his feet, as a coachman proceeded to yell for passengers right outside before his nephew closed the entrance door, thus muting the noise.
"Have a heart, Dear uncle." Pleads the fox.
Enough of this. All of it disgusted him.
"Good day to you, Sir." Implored Screwed harshly towards the fox, grabbing toward his fine silk coat and untarnished hat.
"But-"
"Good day, Sir." Declared Screwed, facing his nephew with very red angry badger eyes.
Never badger a badger.
His relative, who had too much yiffy cheer, left then, clearly disappointed, the noise pervading from outside were the hooves of the horses, the yelling of busy folks, and between it all, the song of the caroling youths on the corners and the streets.
"Bah!"
So on his door
The old badger did see
The face of a partner
Which he knew previously
And on this face
A remark ever grim
Hard chiseled lines
With eyes most dim
Thus Screwed had known him
A friend named and dead
Though on the door
Here sat his head
And so the face glowed
A premonition of doom
But also some hope
Of the trial that loomed
Ezekiel Screwed was merry only to see the door of his house, and anything else did not matter beyond dinner and bed.
Another lonely Yiffness, no difference than the years before--but there WAS a difference, and he felt it, as he slid the key into the lock, and stood stunned, staring at the door knocker. A lovely plain thing, but now because of darkness or fog or whatever else, the normal shape of the ornament took upon a most ghastly look.
Jason Hardly's weasel face with the cold fixed blue eyes stared at him.
Screwed paused, unsure of what he had witnessed.
A blink did it; Hardly's face was a mere hallucination.
Nothing.
"Bah! Humfuck!" Sneered Screwed, as despite the stiffness in his shoulder, he proceeded to swat the frosty air once with his cane most smartly before proceeding into the house.
Listless he t'were
With cold dragging feet
Onwards to bed
And towards murky sheet
An echo pervades
The candlelit din
Recounting every
Obscure refused sin
And on this night
Such a clamour arose
Like never before
In dreamy repose
The voice calls
It chills to the bone
None like it heard
In this dreary place...which Screwed called his home
Screwed had a bowl of porridge in front of a crackling fireplace toward the foot of his curtained bed. It provided the only light, as orange embers popped like corn kernels, sending tiny wafts of soot about like drifting bug-sized phantasms.
"Bah. Humfuck. If that nephew of mine arises at my premises again, I will have him banned by the damned constable!" Sneered the badger, hearing the loud erotic moans of partners in the throes of Yiffness eve trysts right outside the security of his own windows.
"Fools. All fools. Who the bloody hell needed a holiday for sex?! It's confounding." Declared Screwed, taking a long bite as a mouse scurried about in the dark corner of his bedchamber.
He kicked out his stiff paws, back slack upon the worn cushions of his armchair, as the light created little flecks of moving things within the semi-darkness of his solitary quarters.
Then suddenly--!
Uprose a gory ghastly moan unlike that of yiffing, followed by the hollow dull echoing clamour of metal chains and clanking hollow metal objects. The noise began in the wine cellar, and the moan sounded familiar, but not a voice he remembered recently in his daily business.
"Cursed hallucination! Daft a fellow I must be, Oh!, but I do hear it and ponder the state of thine mind!"
From the deepness of the dark halls of his house returned a calm eerie voice.
"Fear not the state of thy health. The health is far less damning than the disease of one's soul. I come before you, Ezekiel..."
Just as the voice paused, a glowing wretch of a creature passed through the locked door of his bedchamber, and sat by Screwed in the matching armchair just as his partner was apt to do.
Hardly was a pitiful wreck of a weasel, his eyes dull with defeat and self-loathing, the chains intense with light and weights.
"...to see that you do not meet the same hell for which has damned ME these past eight years. Yonder in death, you will have these chains of loneliness and apathy and hatred and loathing. And each pound of these transgressions to your heart will be as a pound affixed to your frayed soul!"
"Specter Hardly, be it so? Oh, a pox mark on my very being!" Exclaimed Screwed with such a fright, dropping the wood bowl of porridge with a thud upon the floor, splattering the contents haphazard about.
He had never known the like of spirits nor consorted with demons, though he took it with excellent humour to his credit as though he were destined to be visited tonight.
Indeed, though he knew it not, it was fate that his deceased partner had intervened to the benefit of his only friend in life.
"Visiting tonight, I am lax in my duties, but ever since my death I have been ever restless, Mr. Screwed." Gasped the spirit, staring blankly at the fire but unable to feel its warmth.
Then Hardly's face spins to face him in a blink as though it had faced Screwed the entire time!
"Do not chance the misery of THIS hell, old friend. It is strenuous without break and it comes without glory. Each night are I and the other spirits trapped as myself ever teased by the things we cannot partake and effect. We are witnesses powerless to help those we watch, and when Yiffness day comes about...it drives us mad with woes that we are unable to join in the fun of the activities!...you were premature in your wishes of abstinence, for there is a wide world of yiff you have denied yourself."
Screwed was about to swat the air in disinterest, when those eyes made him think twice.
"Bah, Humfuck ye'd say? This very night an hour after my absence, at the strike of twelve, you will be visited by three spirits more powerful than I. Each will impart upon you a lesson, and you'd do well to respect them and pay attention, else you will die and your chains will be hundreds of leagues long!"
Hardly stood as a foggy wisp, now before the great panorama window. The black curtains pulled themselves back as if by magic, as Screwed stared out it in wide-eyed belief.
"Good god."
Hundreds of thousands of spirits of all species imaginable in many styles of clothing. Each bore chains and the different types of wealth he had ever seen. Some lugged great gems or tusks of ivory, or in the case of one unfortunate boar whom made little progress, a two-ton safe.
Hardly outstretched his arms with a gasp. The window opened, smacking Screwed with a hail-laden breeze to make him shiver as Hardly slowly rose in the air and glided out his window not more than an inch a second, lengths of chain jangling and held aloft in mid-air.
"Remember,' calls the weasel, 'Watch yourself at twelve."
So said the weasel
His heartfelt goodbyes
Before the nights' end
More than spirits will rise!
Screwed saw her then
At the strike of the clock
Her form left him begging
With a throb of his cock
And though she whispered,
Ghostly call of his name
Screwed stared on
At this foxy dame
And when all was sorted
Screwed seemed to think
'To hell with my pride!'
When she cast him a wink
But all wasn't well
Like a kick in the knee
She came to share...
'Well, we'll soon see!'
Screwed drew back the shutters with an audible hiss of rope, and proceeded to stoke the fire some, leaving the mess of his meal on the floor not bothering to care. All was silent outside save the activities of the night; sex, crime, unloading ships, sex, frequenting pubs, sex, prostitution, sex, sex, sex.
The moon cast parting slivers through his dorm like knives of thin light, some glinting off the gold rings fastening the shroud encasing of his bed to a set of three beams upon the frame.
It was cold, and rightly so, for he had begun to run out of wood for his fire, and coal would do him no good until he could get a sweep to clean up the soot in his partially blocked chimney.
"Cold of air cannot compare to the cold of the frosty miser." Sung a passing voice, accompanied by the beginning peals of the midnight bells.
The apparition floated peaceably right onto his bed, laying on her naked belly, her legs curved at the knee into the air, her hair floating like it t'were underwater. Her face jovially pointed toward him with a pointed snout set in a most amused grin. And did she take the look of an angel!
And the more he stared at her, the more he was tempted to forget all about the affair of Yiffness day being unnatural and that suppressing his own needs had been unhealthy these past years.
Her upturned ass and tail curled to the back of her head gave him a perfect view of her rear features, her breasts clearly mushroomed out against his bed like pillows to cushion her upper body.
"Screwed." She doth whisper, though the badger listened not.
He couldn't help but gaze at her, and whimpered in shock as his penis grew three sizes and burst from the dusty unused space that was his sheathe. He had never thought about fucking a fox. Certain true were they a delicious teasing sort to partake, but never have they given Screwed reason for his lust.
"Some magic in this air." Replied the badger, "Else I would resist this tempting sight."
And though he told himself she was dead, nothing convinced his yiff stick otherwise than the idea of planting her firmly upon himself with satiated splendor.
"The magic is beauty. You never bothered to see a female naked for a long time. The lust will catch up with you, and even as that happens, it is my duty to take you away on a journey."
Screwed, listening in, proceeded to bite the nails of his left paw nervously, as she stood up and came to him, jets of wispy fog followed with every haunted footstep.
"Be it so spirit? Where we be oft?"
"Where dreams meet yonder, so sayeth I, the ghost of Yiffness past."
And no sooner did she grasp him in her icy claws, were they in a place where Screwed looked on in tremendous wonder with his eyes bulging out.
"Why, yes spirit! Do I remember this place!"
So does he come
To days long past
Ever most present
Ever more fast
By magic alone
Does he now find
How fun yiff was
Before changing his mind
And old Forniwink
That charming bear
Sits well alive again
With a head of fake hair
How Screwed forgot
such an earlier year
Apprenticing with Dick
For his later career
Old Forniwink
Eyes shrewd like a monk
Knows later on when,
Screwed's sharing his bunk
For quite smitten
A badger is he
For a pussy cat
Named Rhonda Marie
And after the party
After the dance
Screams out Marie,
'Off with your pants!'
And gladly with lust
Does young Screwed do so
As Rhonda tears off her dress
And bites off that bow
But at the bunk
One article left worn
Rhonda puss in his boots
Like a pin-up of porn!
Through the outside window did the two view the past events going on within the broker hall, as numerous desks were being shoved out of the way by young Screwed and his fellow apprentice Dick, the raccoon.
Dick was a vibrant young gent with a curt professionalism which lent towards his sincere jubilant nature. Despite many hours put into being a clerk for Forniwinks' old Brokerage business, he was not drained in the least, and was in fact more than eager to participate in the coming dance. He had on his plaid wool vest, his newsie cap, and his boots were trim and smart with shine, just like the affectionate sparkle of his green eyes, or his full happy content lips; always parted with laughter or a light jibe of ridicule not meant to offend.
Laid out upon two scuffed tables pushed together was a collection of many beverages and foods. Roast pheasant with a hint of cinnamon glaze. Red mashed potatoes with salt pepper and a dash of paprika. Various wines at least two decades aged. Heaping plates of shiny and juicy fruits. Yet, the list went on and begged some observance.
The great old bear himself, Forniwink with his outdated white powdered wig, his wide-lensed copper framed spectacles, hanging barely off the end of his animated ursine nose, olive green breeches and a matching grasshopper-tail coat.
God, how Screwed missed the kindness of that face!
Young Screwed was oblivious of the apathies of his later self. How Screwed envied the boy before he would become a stingy-hearted old bastard. How young Screwed danced and cantered and delighted with the excitement for the coming festivities.
A Yiffness eve party and all that it entailed t'were the delicious appropriations of the body's needs. Old Screwed had forgotten these feelings which excited him so. Animated, and the most devout towards such events like a hedonistic demi-god.
Young Screwed wore a gray newsie cap, with navy blue breeches, a comely eggshell dun waistcoat, and the most lighted impassioned brown eyes. And the boy badger twirled. Boy, how he twirled! With grace and fondness and energy.
It had been too long ago, since his old heart had softened to such commotion!
"Spirit...these hallowed halls art the place of my first loves. Dear Dick, Wonderful Forniwink, Delightful Jenna, Splendid Anna, Jubilant Moreu, and Per-r-r-fectly ponderous Rhonda, the beauteous backside of thine first mate!" Declared Screwed with such excitement! These are friends the like of which he had not seen for years; decades and fortnights, to be sure.
Now arrived Jenna, his most compassionate half-sister and mother to his foxy nephew. A lovely fox in her own right to contest the beauty of this spirit at his side. God, how he loved her! How he enjoyed her laugh and her smile and her odd remarks and her friendly presence.
It seemed so appropriate, then, to hug and share in the bounty of Yiffness glories. Naturally disposed to his hearts' word and demeanor and lithe upon the very notion of his coy desire.
Then came upon the party many friends of the old bear, few of which Screwed then or now knew of. But one young lady, a daughter to a count from Yorkwick mansion immediately made such an impression on him that he fancied he had fallen asleep and dreamed her up.
A stunning thing was the young Rhonda, a black cat with fine curves barely covered by the shapely form of her large dress. The whiskers looked rather smart and crisp, her eyes shined like pearls with a soft hint of blue. But the thing which had made the greatest impression upon him was not these things, but her laugh. Her laugh had a life and essence aloof of any others' he had known. The sound of it sparkled within his very being.
"Mind her, spirit. I fancied myself to be her mate." Old Screwed announced, his breath hot against the frosty outer window of the broker place.
"Oh, aye. And she was taken to you as well. It is difficult to believe that this joy loving boy will grow up to be something as snide and egotistical as yourself." Said the fox ghost, planting her palm firmly to the window and proceeding to use her magic to make the party awash in a light golden glow unbeknownst to them, but Screwed knew why she had done it; he could now relax with the sight of them in this comforting aura, viewing each detail of them like it were noon during the day.
Inside, nervous young Screwed approached the cat and offered his black paw for a dance. When she shyly accepted--Screwed the lad suddenly thought he was still in the dream--until he felt her warm hand and her soft fragrant breath.
A chilly reverence swept over old Screwed, as he watched the phantoms of his past dance a rather clumsy waltz, although young Screwed did not seem to care how awkward he looked, as his mind was full of fantasies, that his feet barely touched the ground, as he was light from the fluttering nervousness of his heart.
What imaginings these were! So remote from his current standing, yet the serenade brought him forth into this strange enchantment of virile desire and confounded misunderstandings. A strange existence persisted in the reverence of a warm laugh in the cold surroundings of Winter. Perhaps this was what made Christmas so idly surreal when all aspects were considered.
"Do you still feel connected to these phantasms?" The ghost inquired, a blank expression on her face as they watched the glow of the frosted window and all the revel within.
Indeed, he was haunted by them as much by the ghost. Reliving these events made him soften like frozen clothes before a fireplace. They lingered in his thoughts in that strange displacement of disparity. It was an odd inkling of suggestion as thought Screwed was presented with some dilemma of dimension.
Before him, the charmed soul he once was now had entreated his intentions and affections upon the feline creature like a heap of roses in honor of her precocious gentle nature. She took his comments as truths, even though they were little more than exaggerated claims and trials of praise from his youthful maw.
While granted the young fellow had a great deal to learn in the area of wooing, his shabby attempts to amuse her bore sordid fruit, indeed! Rhonda felt for his flattery and quickly acquiesced to his intents. Within this celebratory escape of the night, he had her heart. Owning her very being, he found the cat too precious to injure with perjures words and actions.
Now, old Screwed and the vulpine creature floated up the the second story of clerestory rows of windows, selecting the most certain of the lot to have their peek upon the eaves. The young badger fellow made good upon his friendly countenance as he wagged the stunning beauty into the narrow space he shared with Dick.
He had not found the proper means to placate his lusts nor love, so here was an opportunity for which he dreamed, and before Yiffness no doubt! As he smiled at Rhonda and bowed before her, removing his cap, she again had that implacable laugh which could charm the dead from their rest.
Their eyes seemed alive like candles as they gave one another's appearance a looking over and clearly enjoying the features presented there. Being male and female of appropriate age and handsome tenacity, it shouldn't have been such a shock when they quickly felt eased and relaxed enough to remove their articles to the scuffed floor with exposed fur glimmering by the two lowly candles upon wrought iron stands.
For two young males who always found hard work to do around the firm, there was a surprising absence of sweat or any stench of filth. Were one not aware that two boys slept in these bunked beds, there would be an assumption that this room had been unused for decades if it weren't for the lack of dust.
Old Screwed watched with widening eyes as his young shadow and that old love felt each other's fur and quickly got under the cover's of Ezekial's bed before the clear noises drifted through the air and made well, the intentions of fecundant youth.
Nothing left to see, the old codger lent his eyes to the ghost of yiffness past, who's very form belied a heterosexual lust which had not stirred in him for years, perhaps decades. Without impetus for control, he wrested her into the snow and had her disrobed before either could blink. Normally this was an action which elicited charges of rape, but clearly, as she was the spiritual embodiment of sex, this behavior was warranted.
His shaking old paw felt along one lump of those breasts, licking his lips as a bawdy perfume hung in the still air. Oddly, the snow supporting their bodies crunched and crinkled but did not impart the least amount of chill into their naked flesh. Even with Ezekiel poking out of his nightly gown, he felt not the least brevity in the manner of cold.
A careless old gent instilled with lust, his movements were clumsy and awkward as though he 'twere a newly birthed giraffe. Half the time, his legs got in the way, but he finally managed the purpose of his hunt and staking into her with his wooden peg.
The fox gasped as he hammered his unimpressive badger length into her cinnamon-spiced lower visage with not the same generosity as his first time. An old creature, now, his joints were too decrepit to offer him much speed, but stamina, there was much. Used to moving muscles through eight or so decades, they continued to respond for a good while, even if they lacked propensity for speed.
But even if he could last for a great deal of time, time itself was a burden he could not escape. For as he found himself half-way to his climax, the surroundings vanished and he seemed to have awakened in the deep of night humping his pillow by firelight. In the distance, he heard bells striking midnight. Was it not midnight when Hardly made a visitation upon him? These strange times were hollow indeed!
Frustrated, he threw it into the fireplace with a scowl at being deceived by dreams and fancy. He looked as the cushion took on fire in the corners and turned away to watch no more as it was consumed like a roasted marshmallow.
By the striking of time
And denials of sex
He was put off quick
with all hands on deck
But his anger smouldered
Dissipated quickly by mirth
The strangest sound alive
Had come on this Earth
A creature did laugh
In a gala of bright song
Proudly alight in the shadows
As though hitting a bong
He heard this deep chuckle
So full of vibrant pride
Astonishment abound
When Screwed walked inside
A new room he noticed
In his house with odd toys
Strange contraptions for lust
And the making of noise
He looked around in awe
Not to be believed
That all this was here
Screwed must be deceived
Then his eyes sought a form
Who sat like a king
Huge male creature
On a pile of things
His laugh was quite grand
And his eyes glowed with cheer
Merry in his stance
Screwed shrank in fear
Who was this creature?
Haughty horse in his house
Who looked out of place
Like a zebra in Laos
The Ghost of Christmas Present
Came to haunt him that night
And aside from his size
His cock itself was a fright!
Plagued by these thoughts, the badger struggled to make sense of them for fear of the obvious answer that he'd been struck by lunacy as his mother before. "You who behest me, I beseech thee to stop!"
Truly, only a fool asked a waiver of the unliving. For kindness they had much in abundance, yet mercy they had none to give. "Take your leave and haunt me no more."
Joy he knew not well, so the laughter which followed his pleas was most unorthodox. He craned his head to follow it and noticed a golden glow coming from an unknown doorway covered by a red velvet curtain.
Each loud peal of laughter made it blow like a breath. Confounded but over his shock, Screwed approached the new entrance skeptically, noticing a faint odor of leather and new rubber.
Immediately after drawing back the curtain, he had to blink to clear his eyes of the excessive blast of firelight; glow originating in a quite portly torch and upheld by a quite festive equine who threw back his head in such a merry powerful bout of entreating laughter.
Yet, despite his apparent friendliness, the chestnut-furred horse was hardly any companion of Screwed's. The room revealed itself to be full of unnamable amounts of mature toys and gear for the willingly helpless as the horse chuckled, oblivious of his small form.
The ghost took another long drink of fire from his torch as though it were wine, swinging the gold vessel with cheer, before noticing the badger. "Ah! Come! Come!"
Screwed looked with skepticism before he stared at the monolithic stallion wearing nothing but a red silk robe. As he looked away, he was rebuked.
"Look upon me, and know me well, for I am the ghost of Yiffmas present!" By the power in that voice, he was taken aback. "You've never seen the like of I, nor of my brothers!"
"I don't believe so. Have you many, Sir?" Screwed returned, his mouth agape with such dimension and power. For while horses were robust of shape, this spirit seemed to reside over all as king.
"More than eighteen hundred!" The ghost remarked, his great piled throne of debauchery dissolving into a cloud of bright dust. "Now take ahold upon me, and know me better!"
The badger stood motionless as the horse disrobed himself and offered a limp cock which drooped on the floor and was as big around as a lamppost.
When the host of this room found Screwed wanting for another method, he soundly chuckled while taking a long gulp, shimmers of fragrant fire dripping down his chin. "Touch it man! It shan't bite!"
Despite such hearty reassurance, Screwed shied away nervously. He looked away and reached behind, taking a half-hearted grab of that portly equine salami. It proved quite hot on his skin and he was ever threatened to let go if able, but he was transported in a blink to a new place.
It was a curiously small dining room which had been set up for quite a number of persons. A roasted goose was layed on the table while there seemed an anxious wait, It was only a moment before Screwed could take notice of his employee's home.
Bob Crotch-it strolled merrily in the door with a rather timid mousy creature upon his shoulders. The mouse let down his small son, whom limped about under the guidance of a crude crutch. "Behaved himself well in church, he did, though I found myself stumbling a bit on the way home. No matter, such a wonderful child is a lightening burden on any man's shoulders who uplifts the heart."
"And who have we to thank for his condition? Works you to the bone, your employer does, and no extra farthing to show for it!" His wife declared with a whip of her fleece-covered tail.
Screwed could not help but feel pity over this whole scene; particularly the impressionable crippled child. "Spirit, what will become of that mouseling?" The badger entreats, looking on with sympathy.
The horse drank more of his fire ambrosia, looking yonder to the plagued littlefur. "If these shadows of the present remain unaltered, I see a family broken; an ownerless crutch."
"No!" Screwed howled, unable to bear such a wicked truth. "I give no forbearance on such wicked neglect. Curse my stinginess if this is the course of events! Spirit -- show me joy connected to my life."
The ghost slashed his goblet through the air in an arc like a sword, and they were again transported. "Your nephew's gala. Is this the joy you seek?" The fox and his guests were nude by the light of a fireplace as they played charades, though there was not a female in sight -- all of this proved to be some elaborate gay stag party!
"My nephew is..." He couldn't finish that sentence as it was an awkward statement to make.
"More gay and jolly than I! He keeps Yiffness well and has been a generous host to those seeking entertainment."
Screwed looked on, watching that some sat and gyrated on other's laps for very good reason. "Modern times -- this is how you keep Yiffness?" For Victorian England, this felt quite odd.
"Who better to know pleasure and fun than another man?" The spirit returned, before they turn to listen to the game playing out.
"Is it an animal?" A cheetah spoke up. "Yes! was the foxes reply. "In London?" Asked a black wolf. "Yes."
"A fierce animal?" A scrawny bunny squeaked out, gushing a tiger's seed from his well-fucked hole. "Yes."
"A predator?" a deer mused, waves of his head ringing a bell on his collar. "No."
"A Dodo!" A scrawny unicorn with a wreath of holly about his neck like a necklace declared. "Yes and no."
"I know -- I know! It's you're uncle Screwed!" A skunk yelled out. Then they had a merry laugh which made the badger scowl. Even his nephew mocked him behind his back!
"Now, now. I believe a toast is in order for my uncle. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't derive such fun at his expense." They agreed and raised their goblets in salute, making Screwed regret his damnable thoughts.
"I have shown you what I must. Now I demand my payment." The horse declared, removing his robe to reveal that same staggeringly large cock.
"Good god, you're a big fellow! But I don't do that thing. Call me old-fashioned, but I only want women." Screwed grumbled, denying the horse's advances.
"Little choice have you, Screwed. If you are to know Yiffness, you shall know it in all aspects of its glory!" The ghost grinned, then, his intentions starkly clear.
The badger's protests were unheeded as the stallion took his conquest and made ready for his bold claim. "Goodness! You'll break me!"
The spirit chuckled even as he shrunk in size equal to Screwed. "Nay! I am the ghost of Yiffness present! My present shall be accommodating to all those who cannot handle its full splendor." And with that, the horse had decreased his cock until it was of a length and girth which ceased to throw the badger into fits.
"I suppose I'll allow this, then. I've little choice, but at least you provide tender mercies on one such as I." Without any more evasion, Screwed bent himself over, though he was still apprehensive. "Why do you visit the poor most often with this flavor?"
The stallion laughed boisterously in merry good cheer, placing hands on the badger's bony mid hips. "They are in the most need. Perhaps you've now had my visitation because you only require the comfort of your money?"
"Money is interesting. It grants wishes previously unobtainable. Moreover, it is an object of providence." The badger looked cautiously back, awaiting the first thrust.
"Providence -- future? None to be had for the man who retains all possession for pointless endeavor." That was as good a prompt as any for the horse to have at him.
Screwed scowled as some warm hard thing was fed up his backside, while hardly painful, it was still a jarring experience for one who had never known anal sex. His ass was unable to resist, so it went in rather fast.
Screwed gasped as the spirit slid all the way in, his enamored pair of nuts slapping the badger in his ass like a fuzzy warm pendulum of equine virility. "A curse then! Surely, as you would not want one so gamy and full of creaks and pox of year."
"A true cock of Yiffness makes no such accommodations of choice; it merely finds that entrance which is willing." Rebuked the fucking beast, pounding harder then ever.
If it weren't for the hands steadying him, the badger could well fall on his face. He seemed to soundly grunt as that musical horsepecker teased the first traces of pre and erectness from that unused wallet he called a sheathe.
Truly amazed at how such a violation managed to awaken him in such a way, he granted the horse greater privilege with his body. Even if he were flooded by cum, his yield to the potent male would be all the sweeter.
"Yonder on the eve of this wonderful holiday, you called Yiffness a humfuck. I've a certain splendid ditty on my mind I'd gladly hum as I hide my yule log in your gingerbread house." The lord who reigns nobly over all horses did just that, a melodious tone cumming from his lips in the tune of 'Jingle Bells'. At the moment, it was appropriate as he felt he rode one horse on an open sleigh, though it wouldn't be him at the reins.
Indeed he blushed, for he spoke such a sentiment but not meaning for his words to be twisted about!
Bells and clocks harkened a final hour, making the horse become spirit once more as he made a retreat of Screwed's company --
And the badger woke, the thin end of his walking cane implanted far up his presented ass. Screwed growled in impatience and tossed it away from himself; hoping not to see it again.
Assuming it had all been a fantasy, he heeded the crux of Hardly's warning not, settling his body once more for sleep and was soundly oblivious. Perhaps no bit of warning can prepare someone for a visitation by a ghost, but he would fare better if he had heeded the message.
In vaguest shadows of the mist
Dwelt a foul creature who oft hissed
By twilight pale of the moon
And grant the badger vile boon
In formless approach it came
Beckoned not by name
A wraith in ebony cloak
No word of tongue bespoke
Told him of future duty;
In unknown powers of ghastly ways
Whispers of cloth in the wind
All the ways he had sinned
Troubled by restless sight
Nothing left to put right
Grasping for figments
Demons of cursed pigments
All regrets flashed in his face
At a dizzying inhuman pace
Worries haunting in phantom shades
Betraying memories of sepia fades
Grave Misery to know the truth
Unfortunate death of a misfortuned youth
Regrets to summon like a flood
As if he killed that child himself in cold-blood
In his absence of the world
Cloaked figure now goes unfurled
Red eyes glow like a sunset
Reminds him of his own debt.
Then Punishment arrives with haste
To fill him with a hellish taste
Yiffness in the future changed
Sexual deviates further deranged!
In this dire final hour, he knew it not, but gears of fate spun in a clockwork rattle for the eventual arrival of this final beast of lust.
Without premeditation, it was upon him! Screwed's own bed curtains rushed over his surprised body as a cloak of night and made him oblivious to all light but two glowing orbs of topaz staring lifelessy through him like dancing torches.
He shrank back in utter horror from those eyes. Where either spirits exuded friendship like warm breath, this foul thing festered in eternity with a pitch mark of cold. Something so displeasing could not possibly exist, yet the badger gave himself to it hoping to awaken as before.
"Spirit of Yiffness yet to come? You dampen my comfort but I know you come here for my benefit so I may change the future for the better." The ghost gave no voice in return; no whisper or exclamation of merriment as the others. This being was no more than a statue lingering on life like a golem.
"Spirit?" Screwed persisted. A sudden bellow of its cape followed, giving the emptiness light and images of things the man knew well. Before him was spread Crotch-its homey dining area, but it was a lonely place that contained only a trace of its former joy.
As had been promised by the Spirit of the Present, a derelict crutch lay propped in a corner gathering whiskery silver cobwebs as though a tattered shroud on a body entombed.
It was Screwed's doing, as he had been wringing his clerk dry for every copper penny he could get away with. Tiny Tim needed an operation too expensive for a man who made fifteen shillings a week.
The badger groaned and fell to his knees in such pained misery, feeling for this fine lad who had fallen to the ages of dust. He could have been a second son, for all his endearing sweetness. "Please Spirit -- Tell me if this is what will be?
They continued to watch the scene play out, Crotch-it coming into the door with his shoulders slumped and all contentment ripped right from his countenance. "Or can these shades be altered in some way?"
Again, no answer as the ghost flapped ebony cloak and they were in his own bedroom, a limp body drooped with a thin linen sheet. He could only assume that it was him; finally death had caught up with him.
It was inevitable and hardy a shock, but the shock came much later to his dread. Times in England must have changed indeed! Or perhaps no one bothered themselves over what wretched things may befall a corpse, but his bedroom was invaded by the undertaker and his apprenticing son.
Both were brown horses who smiled as they approached the bed, and while Screwed might expect some post-mortem pilfering, what they did instead was the most horrible act that one could imagine.
Screwed could not bear to watch; begging the spirit to be off as the undertakers performed things that he would not repeat in the presence of a lady! "Away spirit! Away! I can no longer bring myself to witness!"
True to his wishes, they were in a new room; one that he had never seen before and had left him wondering with its ageless visage of appearance. It was at this time that the creature revealed itself.
Screwed's jaws hung open as the ghosts' cape and cowl became formless and reemerged as leathery black bat wings on a smooth scaled body of curves so feminine and dark.
An elongated snout grinned with want and a clawed finger beckoned with desire, but his eyes were filled with the impossibility of the dragon's body.
How could anyone possess equipment and attributes for more than one gender? How would they classify the sex, or more that point, perform it. He looked on and those eyes seemed to assure him the dragon did coitus quite well despite the confusing encumbrance of a vulva hidden under two coconut testicles and a cock drooping as a soggy roll of wrapping paper.
He, she, her, it, them, whatever this creature wanted to call itself, the whole idea of mingling sexes confounded the badger to the point of scorn and derision. "Whatever you shall do to me, have your will be done and leave my company." Screwed growled, trying to focus his eyes on its womanly face and enormous black breasts instead of other features. "I imagine there'll be a taint on me for this idolatry, but I enjoy the top of your body." He pronounced in awe, staring up at her; seven feet high with a tail as long as the dragon itself.
The creature licked a forked snake tongue on its lips before pointing that horrid cock at him and scalding him with a stream as scalding as Lava. "No -- no -- it burns!"
Then he was awake on the morrow, the sleeve of his pajamas caught afire as he pats and blows it out. As his eyes glance around the room, new gratitude floods him for the blessing of life.
In a fit of madness, he throws open his window and calls down to an urchin child pulling along his beaten old sled. "You lad!"
The young husky must have found it quite odd that an old man was calling to him and certainly seemed daft, but to good humour he made reply. "Me?"
"Yes you, child! What day is it?" From careless pounding on his windowsill in his excitement, several spears of icicles came loose and fell into the snow.
"Yiffness day." Was the irritated but good-natured reply.
"Then I haven't missed it." Screwed said to himself as the pup passed him by.
First thing tomorrow, Screwed was resolved to help Crotch-its family and provide for their ailing child, but immediately, he knew he had a party to attend.
Once dressed in his best attire, Screwed went to his nephew's dwelling. He had once replaced sex and romance for another idol but could now cease to do so. He knew there was quite a banquet going on, but if only one were into sweet meats or an all-liquid diet.
To be in that fox's presence once more was a shaming thing as Screwed had changed so much in the course of one night that he couldn't even recognize himself. When a feminized male llama in a pink maid outfit came to answer the door, a hush came over the room and interrupted their games.
"Nephew...I'm here...if you'll have me." Since these were creatures of such wonton vitality and habit, what right did they have to refuse such an unusual request?
"Of -- course, uncle." They were all nude as he'd been shown before, but they were stilled like stone carvings until someone could make sense of the old badger's fancy.
To dispel this hanging awkwardness, the badger freed himself of his clothes. While not being as youthful or pretty as other males in attendance of the sexy party. Considering that sex came in many forms and shapes, he hardly thought anyone would be particularly picky to refuse him. "It's been a long time since I've pursued a jolly gay time in a menagerie like this. Feels like centuries since I had my fill." To be frank, he was using the context of the fact that the ghost of Yiffness future had technically taken him several years into the future.
The fox smiled wanly at the badger; his cock and knot fully out. "I'll have you." And while Screwed would have found incest detestable in another life, here it felt more than appropriate. "Yes, I imagine you will." The badger returned with a shy grin.
True to his word before the many ghosts, he changed his nature and became as good a man as anyone could ever know. Generous and supportive to all those who needed help, and active in the many circles of Londoner sexuality.
He was a man haunted, but found the situation had improved for the better and was glad for his chance to be merry with all those who were around him. Holding Yiffness in his heart and partaking of all the joy's, Screwed was indeed 'screwed' on several countless occasions.
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Dialogue and events inspired by the Charles Dickens work "A Christmas Carol"
Thanks for reading =3