Thursday, June 30, 2011

Spanking Prince Harry

Dead Planet LXXXVII

Spanking Prince Harry

I know it sounds perverted—and oh so sick But sometimes Prince Harry would let me—spank “Sarah Jane.”

After all the Prince’s nice fine ass—needed lots of royal attention. Simply oodles & gobs of it, my dears. Shameless British royal princes were into it—the Fine Art of S&M spanking, black leather nights & decadent druggy lost weekends.

In fact, we spanked each other—all the time actually. I’d bend him over my knees on the mock Throne in the apartment. One nice big hard slap on his fine little tight ass—causing titillating tidal waves up and down Atlantic & Pacific oceans, creating thrilling tsunamis washing up on all the vast shores of the British Empire.

Harry & I really got into it. We’d go all the way, José —into it from London to Mozambique. Harry’s nice fine hot Princely ass so pouty & blushing red. Almost as red—as his bright orange-red electric pubes glowing in the dark!!! My tongue got up there too—deep into his naughty tight Heart of Darkness.

What can I say? I confess it all—I got rudely abducted one weekend by a young racy Prince in a stylish Rolls-Royce. It happened one dark & stormy night. I met him in a local club—a dirty punk dive called The Tower of London. A kinky S/M venue—plus lots of young bored Parliament queens.

The travesty of profaning a royal British Prince—the obscene spilling of all that innocent youthful English Testosterone? Hardly, my dear. Get real. William & Harry are hardly innocent—that whole Clarence House crowd is a bunch of Lizards.

The shameless long drawn-out so-called Sacrileges of Love—get real. That went out the window simply centuries ago. Tricking with Romanov princes & queens, well, it’s more SSDD—Same Sex Different Dynasties. Yawn. Although I’ll agree—a Prince a day keeps Miss Freudenschade away…

How many times—did I get rudely abused, sneakily shanghaied & abducted, thank god? By Harry the Prince? I shan’t go into risqué details too much—other than to say that the Clarence House apartment was rather crowded with Harry & the newlyweds.

Prince “Charming” William and lovely Kate were waiting for their aging, decrepit Kensington Palace apartment to be remodeled—the old dump was full of asbestos & bad wiring. It’s a lovely threesome actually—the threesome get along simply famously. Even tho Harry’s bachelor lifestyle--sometimes gets rather kinky with me hanging around.

Innocence is something—I don’t possess. Living with Harry was more like— “Mars Needs Young Cute Redhead Studs”!!! Reptiles like me don’t walk—we slither like Snakes. Wrapping our lips around guyz—strangling our victims, draining them dry.

Lizards are all around the joint—they’re cold-blooded, no-nonsense, creepy creatures. How to recognize one? It takes one—to know one. Lizards, snakes, Reptoids—what else is new? The planet has always been ours—that’s no Jurassic jive either.

Harry wore a black silk kimono—I got him from the Tokyo Red Light District. It had puce fuchsias & pink dragon-flamingos. Harry was rather sophisticated—for an inbred spoiled aristocratic cocky pretender to the throne. After Kate moved in—William insisted that Harry not keep stumbling nude around the apartment after orgies the night before..

William, Kate, Harry—the three of them got along brilliantly—even though on one risque occasion Kate opened the door to Harry’s bedroom and found his close friend, Astrid Harbord, passed out nude in Harry’s bed after a particularly raucous night out.

Ah wonderfull Royal Youth!!! So charming & unsophisticated. Of course, it’s hard for me to remember very much about it—I had a rather debilitating hangover most of the time. I preferred keeping Harry home at night—away from the cruisy clubs & black leather bars. He should’ve owned stock—in the Trojan Rubber Company.

So we’d watch “oldie but goodies” movies at night—funky flicks like Nosferatu and Dracula. Silent ones—with our earphones on. Listening to our own music—Lady Gaga for him. Liberace for me.

We lived in our own separate worlds—sharing only one thing, really. And that was our somewhat mutual lusting flesh. That way Harry didn’t have to hear me bitch all the time—nor did I get bored with his primitive Uncle Philip the Virus animal grunts & groans.

We’d pantomime our filmic existence—when we’d get bored with things. He’d smirk like rubber-lipped, heroin addict Bela Lugosi—I’d guess the film right away. Whether Bride of the Monster or Plan Nine From Outer Space. I’d bare my fangs like a vampire fag—he’d guess bloodsucking Dracula’s Daughter each time.

“Don’t you ever get sick of it—playing tacky Marya Zaleska all the time?” Harry would say, dishing me. “I’m simply getting tired of that same old famished Hungarian Countess queen. Dream up another faggy avatar, sweetheart.”

We’d do bug-eyed outer space opera creeps—like The Thing. Or mad insectoid monsters—like Them or Tarantula. Or giant rabid starved rodents—like Attack of the Giant Shrews. Or ancient Jurassic lizards—and various boring Creatures from fetid Black Lagoons. They were all born losers—including us in bed.

“The horror! The horror!”—sayz Joseph Conrad in his tacky, depressing The Heart of Darkness. The Congo River was a long drawn-out Snake nightmare to him—but, well, it appealed somewhat to my rather phallocentric Reptilian urges. The only interesting thing about most human males on this stupid lonely planet—was the Snake each one had between their spastic legs.

Gimme Nights of the Iguana please—Latino boyz are quite enchanting. Ava Gardner thinks so—and so does poor hysteric Richard Burton. What a raving queen—tied-up in his hammock there in the jungle like a straitjacket talking head blithering away.

Yes, the Congo fascinated Marlow—drove Kurtz toward the edge. But for me, well—The Heart of Darkness was my own Tower of London. Locked away in Clarence House—with all those blueblood snakes & Reptoids. I became Prince Harry’s Royal Snake Charmer. Yes, I knew when to blow—when to play the flute. When to know—and not know.

Who could hypnotize me—better than Bomba? Better than Johnny Sheffield in a leopard-skin loincloth? And all the other young male Hollywood stars & uncredited cute extras? That’s no secret—I was easy & I could be had. We’d get stoned in Clarence House—the whole joint simply packed with Snakes, Lizards, Reptilians & Decadent Blue Bloods.

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