Jessica Adkins fidgeted on the pedestal-like bar stool she was forced to sit on. Spanking? Had she just heard right? Man, what she wouldn’t give for a good spanking! If only to get her juices flowing. It was amazing how arousing the thought of a good bare-butt smack could be. Already her libido was rising like a weather balloon. Hold on…which bachelor was the Spanker?
She squirmed again and cursed her thong underwear. The damn thing had a life of its own and had crawled up her butt crack. She longed to reach under her short skirt and just tug it out. But jeez, how classy was that… Here is our lovely contestant Jessica Adkins with her hand up her ass! Welcome Jessica!
Here she was, looking for the love of her life—ass-floss underwear and all. Well, bachelor number one sounded promising…if you liked vanilla boys in the missionary position. And bachelor number two was trying too hard. He sounded like a bad rapper, trying to make everything rhyme and calling her “My queen.”
But what was with bachelor number three? Ah, yes…he was the Spanker. He had possibilities… Except for that vampire crap. Jessica looked down at her index cards, carefully placed in order so she could ask the right questions. For once in her life she’d tried to get organized. She had to keep pinching herself to make sure she was really here. What a thrill; she’d made it! She was on a game show looking for romance and a chance to go to a real, live dude ranch!
It had started as a dare. A pixie never turned down a dare. She’d sent in her candidature along with a photo. When they’d called and said she’d been accepted, she’d been so excited. She’d rushed to her desk and written out a bunch of fun questions. She must have been on drugs. Now the questions looked ridiculous. That was another pixie problem though. Pixies tended to have rather violent mood swings and pixie doctors were big believers in pixie prescription pills, which pixies popped with pleasure.
She’d sworn never to take any more of those little blue ones after she woke up one day in the back of a football team’s van with no recollection of what had happened before. That had really bummed her out. She would have at least liked to remember making out with all the handsome jocks. Now she stared at the questions with growing dismay. She had actually thought they were witty when she’d jotted them down. The blue pills had
“Bachelor number one… If I were a pie what kind would I be?”
Bachelor number one’s voice sounded deep, but his answer wasn’t. “You’d be apple… All-American and sweet.”
Jess tried not to gag. Puhleese
. It didn’t damn well matter to her what kind of pie she was as long as she got eaten. She wriggled again. Between her underwear and the thoughts of spanking and getting eaten, her libido was going through the ceiling.
Another pixie trait: they tended to have a rather high sex drive. She sighed and tried not to think about getting bachelors one, two, and three together in a room full of soft pillows and a squirt bottle full of warm baby oil…
“Miss Adkins, the next question please!”
The voice jolted her out of her daydream and she glared at the game show host. “All right already! Bachelor number two, same question. If I was a pie what kind would I be?”
A lighter, singsong voice sounded. “My queen… I would serve you up on a platter…cuz that is whut matters… You’d be light as whipped cream…and lean as a bean. So, my queen, you’d be lemon meringue.”
What the fuck?
Jess cringed. Lean as a bean? What kind of idiots were hiding behind the wall? It was like when you wanted a simple chicken salad with ranch dressing. Not an oriental medley with shaved almond particles and sesame seed mustard dressing with bits of dried fruit instead of crunchy croutons. But noooo…the restaurant doesn’t serve simple cuisine…and you have to eat or get a blistering headache and low blood sugar, so you order the fancy salad and it’s just as awful as you imagined. And that’s what this dating show was turning out to be—something she’d looked forward to turning out as awful.
She had flipped when she’d heard about the prize. A visit to a dude ranch in Las Vegas with cowboys and a limo… Damn! She’d always fantasized about doing it on a horse. But there was a small catch—she had to take one of these losers with her. And from the answers so far, they were all losers. Well, she’d take one of these flaccid flirts to Vegas and then dump him in favor of a cowboy. Oh, she wasn’t heartless, just tired of always being the doormat for neurotic guys with hang-ups that could be solved by a good piece of leather or a paddle. But bring up sexual bondage and the whole world cringes. Loosen up, people! C’mon, get happy!
Jess couldn’t help but smile at the idea of getting her butt smacked by a real cowboy crop. Her pussy clenched, the string of her thong shifting to rest on her clit with a little electric jolt of pleasure.
“Miss! Get on with the questions!”
The game show host glared at her and pointed to his watch.
She took a deep breath to get hold of herself and tucked a strand of shoulder-length honey-gold hair behind her ear. She frowned and quickly untucked the hair, letting it fall forward to cover her shame. Her ears would give her away for sure. Small, but nonetheless very pointy, they gave her a decidedly elven look. And the other problem was just as bad—a long exposure to sunlight turned her green. Not an awful brassy shade, but somewhere between silvery mint and moonglow. Well, as they say, at least you’ve got your health.
Being a pixie wasn’t that bad, except that in the scheme of things pixies were considered the trailer trash of the supernatural creatures living among humans. All because most of her ancestors had abandoned Earth for their mystical isle. Those very few pixies who’d decided to stay behind suffered the ignominy of knowing that the other creatures all thought of them as poor relations.
Vampires, on the other hand, were the aristocrats, the elite, the ones everyone else looked up to. The thought of a real vampire slumming was ridiculous, and this show was about as low as a supernatural creature could sink without actually selling his story to The Enquirer
. Which happened on occasion, just before the poor schmuck committed supernatural suicide.
Ah well, maybe it wasn’t all for nothing. Things were looking up with the Spanker, alias the Wannabe Vampire. She looked at her next index card and grimaced.
“Bachelor number three, describe your perfect date from start to finish. Woo me, romance me…”