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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Comedy / Humor
- Published: 12/03/2019
Sign Here
Born 1976, M, from Whitechapel, AustraliaFrancis shuffled toward the door. He chanced a look through the front window and tried to see who was knocking, but couldn’t. What he did see was his neighbor’s wife, peering at him from across the cul-de-sac. His first impulse was to wave but he quickly suppressed it. Francis looked through the peep-hole with a bleary eye and coughed. He opened up to a short, stocky man in a grey uniform, brandishing a clipboard.
“Francis... Asinine?” the small man asked, not looking away from his paperwork.
“Addison,” Francis corrected. “What is this?”
“Kobold Kollections Agency. We’re ‘ere to pick up some stuff,” the man said, smiling crookedly.
“Listen, who called you?”
“Look mate, we got a coupla’ jobs to get done today. The big boss is on my arse twenty hours outta’ every twenty-four. Mind if we speed this along?”
“Was it Angela?”
“Like I said...” said the man, his voice trailing off.
Francis stormed off to get his phone, dodging three men that looked almost identical to the one at the front door.
“How the hell did you lot get in here so bleeding quick?” he quizzed.
They sped around the house, packing items and ferrying them back to a truck idling in the driveway. Francis soon realized they were taking only his ex-wife's belongings whilst tossing his aside.
“Hey! Be careful with my stuff. Sue your little asses if I have to.”
Francis dialed Angela’s number and waited. She picked up on the third ring and stifled a yawn.
“Yep?”
“Yep? There are dwarves in my home, manhandling my stuff!”
“You always said I never manhandled your stuff enough, so...”
“Did you just wake up? You with someone? Who is he?”
“Don’t be daft. Anyway, they’re just grabbing my things and then we’ll officially be done.”
“Nice. Real nice. So that’s it then?”
“Look up the definition of ‘divorce’, genius.”
“Sure. Right after I look up the meaning of ‘twat’.”
Francis happened to lock eyes with one of the collectors. The small man flashed a mouth full of rotten teeth at him and Francis snapped his eyes shut.
“What does that even mean?” asked Angela.
“I’m... not entirely certain. Hey, where did you find genuine Middle Earth dwarves in Britain?”
“On the dark-web. And I think they’re actually Goblins.”
“Funny. You got real funny after you left me.”
“Good thing I left you, then.”
“Oh... that hurts.”
“Hey... make sure you hang around long enough to sign their paperwork. Just make sure this goes smoothly, please. Don’t drag it out.”
“Sure. Bye now.”
“Bye dumb-ass.”
Francis rubbed his eyes and felt a pang that could have been loss or regret; he was no longer able to differentiate his feelings. He knew that screwing his neighbor’s wife — while Angela was at night-school — was the start of it. He also knew that he needed to screw often, and Angela was the coldest fish in the cooler. He wondered if the little men would notice him nicking off for a quick wank in the bathroom. He was just about to put his plan into action when the dwarf leader appeared.
“Sign here.”
“What am I signing... exactly?”
“It’s just a ‘fing what says that we’ve done all the stuff.”
“Oh well, that’s much clearer. Let me at it!”
“No need to get sarky, mate. Just sign on the dotted line and we’ll be off like last week’s stew. Just one more ‘fing your missus needs us to take.”
Francis sighed and grabbed the pen offered by Captain Clipboard.
“Tell me, do you lot mind being called dwarves? Asking for a friend.”
“Now that there’s offensive to my people, mate. You was gonna’ get the easy treatment, but now, you gone and done it.”
“What?”
“See, I was gonna’ give you the option of either kicking and screaming or gagged and bagged.”
“What is all this?”
“But now, kicking and screaming is the only offer on the proverbial.”
Francis didn’t even see the hammer.
Δ
Francis opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. He was laying in the dirt, his wrists, and ankles bound by wire. His head ached and he felt nauseated. It looked as though his assailants had dumped him in a forest, though Francis wasn’t sure where exactly. He could hear the crackling of a fire nearby, and then two booted feet appeared.
Francis looked up to see the dwarf leader, smirking at him crookedly. The man tugged at a zip on the front of his uniform with stubby fingers. The grey jacket split open, as did the shirt underneath and the skin beneath that. The man cast off his clothing — and his human-hide — revealing green, greasy flesh underneath. The creature crouched and stared at Francis with its yellow eyes.
“Firstly: Goblins don’t like being called Dwarves. Anyway, my name’s Brian. Secondly: Get up!”
The goblin kicked Francis in the ribs and he awkwardly got up on his knees. More goblins appeared from the shadows, and then, from out of the crowd, emerged a colossal creature with sagging breasts that slapped its knees.
“This ‘ere is our mum. She’s gonna’ indulge you in a bit of the old slap and tickle and you’re gonna get pregnant, see.”
Francis tried to hop away pathetically, but Brian punched him in the stomach and he flopped onto his side.
“Up!” scowled Brian, pulling Francis back up to his knees. “You’ll show Mother the proper respect.”
“B-But I can’t get pregnant! I’m a m-man!”
“That’s not what your missus told us. Anyway, ‘ow you ‘fink goblin babies is born?”
“H-Haven’t really asked myself that question... ever.”
“Well, least you’re honest. Mum’s gonna duff you up the jaxie, and the babies is gonna grow in ya’ until such time as they’re ready to pop. Then they’s gonna’ eat their way out. Little rascals.”
The female goblin pulled her loin-cloth aside to reveal a large, green and very erect looking prong, roughly the size of a cricket bat. Francis squeaked, then he fainted.
“Best be getting on then, Mum.”
Sign Here(Jason James Parker)
Francis shuffled toward the door. He chanced a look through the front window and tried to see who was knocking, but couldn’t. What he did see was his neighbor’s wife, peering at him from across the cul-de-sac. His first impulse was to wave but he quickly suppressed it. Francis looked through the peep-hole with a bleary eye and coughed. He opened up to a short, stocky man in a grey uniform, brandishing a clipboard.
“Francis... Asinine?” the small man asked, not looking away from his paperwork.
“Addison,” Francis corrected. “What is this?”
“Kobold Kollections Agency. We’re ‘ere to pick up some stuff,” the man said, smiling crookedly.
“Listen, who called you?”
“Look mate, we got a coupla’ jobs to get done today. The big boss is on my arse twenty hours outta’ every twenty-four. Mind if we speed this along?”
“Was it Angela?”
“Like I said...” said the man, his voice trailing off.
Francis stormed off to get his phone, dodging three men that looked almost identical to the one at the front door.
“How the hell did you lot get in here so bleeding quick?” he quizzed.
They sped around the house, packing items and ferrying them back to a truck idling in the driveway. Francis soon realized they were taking only his ex-wife's belongings whilst tossing his aside.
“Hey! Be careful with my stuff. Sue your little asses if I have to.”
Francis dialed Angela’s number and waited. She picked up on the third ring and stifled a yawn.
“Yep?”
“Yep? There are dwarves in my home, manhandling my stuff!”
“You always said I never manhandled your stuff enough, so...”
“Did you just wake up? You with someone? Who is he?”
“Don’t be daft. Anyway, they’re just grabbing my things and then we’ll officially be done.”
“Nice. Real nice. So that’s it then?”
“Look up the definition of ‘divorce’, genius.”
“Sure. Right after I look up the meaning of ‘twat’.”
Francis happened to lock eyes with one of the collectors. The small man flashed a mouth full of rotten teeth at him and Francis snapped his eyes shut.
“What does that even mean?” asked Angela.
“I’m... not entirely certain. Hey, where did you find genuine Middle Earth dwarves in Britain?”
“On the dark-web. And I think they’re actually Goblins.”
“Funny. You got real funny after you left me.”
“Good thing I left you, then.”
“Oh... that hurts.”
“Hey... make sure you hang around long enough to sign their paperwork. Just make sure this goes smoothly, please. Don’t drag it out.”
“Sure. Bye now.”
“Bye dumb-ass.”
Francis rubbed his eyes and felt a pang that could have been loss or regret; he was no longer able to differentiate his feelings. He knew that screwing his neighbor’s wife — while Angela was at night-school — was the start of it. He also knew that he needed to screw often, and Angela was the coldest fish in the cooler. He wondered if the little men would notice him nicking off for a quick wank in the bathroom. He was just about to put his plan into action when the dwarf leader appeared.
“Sign here.”
“What am I signing... exactly?”
“It’s just a ‘fing what says that we’ve done all the stuff.”
“Oh well, that’s much clearer. Let me at it!”
“No need to get sarky, mate. Just sign on the dotted line and we’ll be off like last week’s stew. Just one more ‘fing your missus needs us to take.”
Francis sighed and grabbed the pen offered by Captain Clipboard.
“Tell me, do you lot mind being called dwarves? Asking for a friend.”
“Now that there’s offensive to my people, mate. You was gonna’ get the easy treatment, but now, you gone and done it.”
“What?”
“See, I was gonna’ give you the option of either kicking and screaming or gagged and bagged.”
“What is all this?”
“But now, kicking and screaming is the only offer on the proverbial.”
Francis didn’t even see the hammer.
Δ
Francis opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. He was laying in the dirt, his wrists, and ankles bound by wire. His head ached and he felt nauseated. It looked as though his assailants had dumped him in a forest, though Francis wasn’t sure where exactly. He could hear the crackling of a fire nearby, and then two booted feet appeared.
Francis looked up to see the dwarf leader, smirking at him crookedly. The man tugged at a zip on the front of his uniform with stubby fingers. The grey jacket split open, as did the shirt underneath and the skin beneath that. The man cast off his clothing — and his human-hide — revealing green, greasy flesh underneath. The creature crouched and stared at Francis with its yellow eyes.
“Firstly: Goblins don’t like being called Dwarves. Anyway, my name’s Brian. Secondly: Get up!”
The goblin kicked Francis in the ribs and he awkwardly got up on his knees. More goblins appeared from the shadows, and then, from out of the crowd, emerged a colossal creature with sagging breasts that slapped its knees.
“This ‘ere is our mum. She’s gonna’ indulge you in a bit of the old slap and tickle and you’re gonna get pregnant, see.”
Francis tried to hop away pathetically, but Brian punched him in the stomach and he flopped onto his side.
“Up!” scowled Brian, pulling Francis back up to his knees. “You’ll show Mother the proper respect.”
“B-But I can’t get pregnant! I’m a m-man!”
“That’s not what your missus told us. Anyway, ‘ow you ‘fink goblin babies is born?”
“H-Haven’t really asked myself that question... ever.”
“Well, least you’re honest. Mum’s gonna duff you up the jaxie, and the babies is gonna grow in ya’ until such time as they’re ready to pop. Then they’s gonna’ eat their way out. Little rascals.”
The female goblin pulled her loin-cloth aside to reveal a large, green and very erect looking prong, roughly the size of a cricket bat. Francis squeaked, then he fainted.
“Best be getting on then, Mum.”
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