Suggested Audio Candy

 [1] Steve Martin “The Dentist Song”

[2] Paul-Dean Martin “Suppertime”

Practice makes perfect. Isn’t that how the saying goes? I had been deliberating long and hard about my upcoming date with Randy and decided that I needed to learn a little more about my vagina’s eating habits before inviting him to try his luck on my one-eyed bandit. If it had been nigh-on any other boy I knew I would have bitten down first and asked questions later but I wasn’t up for slaughtering innocent lambs and didn’t fancy biting off more than I could chew. Randy certainly hadn’t done anything to constitute such a hideous fate, he had never been anything less than polite and courteous and deserved the benefit of any niggling doubt. Unfortunately, it was fast becoming apparent that my lady monster wasn’t choosy and I was still working out her dietary requirements so it was imperative I give her another run-out before my big night. I had been booked in for a smear test at the local clinic for weeks now and this presented the opportunity I was searching for to give her a quick test run. Nobody had really missed Chet since he disappeared from the face of the Earth days earlier and his remains had since been polished off by ravenous coyotes so it seemed as though I was home free on that count. Maybe a trained professional could tame the beast more successfully.

Dr Percival Smythe had been my family doctor since as far back as I could remember and was nothing if not thorough. He’d almost been struck off the medical list three years prior after a patient complained that he didn’t wear a glove when poking about in their inner workings. It was the done thing to always have a nurse present when investigating below the waist but Smythe’s practice was woefully short-staffed thus he bent the rules for his own sick kicks. Historically, one trusts their physician wholeheartedly as they are apparently in the business of helping, not taking advantage of their position. However, there are always exceptions to any rule and the gynecology profession was no different. I figured it was win-win for me. At the very least I would learn a little more about my affliction and receive a lollipop at the end of my check-up. If he did decide to take advantage of the position of trust afforded him, then I would be saving another young girl from being placed in such a compromising position. My appointment was tabled for the end of his shift so either way I would have sufficient breathing space to work out what to do next should he incite my appetite. He was about to moonlight as unwitting orthodontist.

It was all simply a case of prioritizing. Randy deserved the benefit of the doubt and Smythe had coasted by on his medical know-how for far too long so it seemed like a no-brainer to take this test run. I knew the very moment I entered his office that his intentions were less than honorable as there was just something about the way he carried himself which, instead of putting my nerves to rest, had both sets of teeth grinding. Smythe asked me to drop my panties, interestingly only to my knees, and open my legs wide so as to provide him the perfect vantage to practice and he shone a beam straight into the danger zone so as to illuminate his subject sufficiently. Making small talk about one’s genitalia is definitely not a customary part of the service so, when he commented on my haphazard pruning skills, I knew he was less than conscientious. It wasn’t my fault, much as I would have loved to fashion a landing strip beforehand to prepare for his perusal, I didn’t fancy a stint at gardening as I would likely get more than I bargained for and my salacious appetite had already led to Chet’s undoing. Biting the hand that feeds you wasn’t an appealing outcome, I much preferred the doctor rolling the dice as it was what he was paid to do after all. Not that they would have taught him this one during his internship.

To begin with, it seemed pretty routine. He scrubbed before commencement, wore sanitized gloves, and acted like one in his position of trust would ordinarily act. His bedside manner noticeably changed at the point where he decided to wax lyrical about my genitalia. One doesn’t wish to be informed that their lady garden is a curious creature as that could so easily be misconstrued. When I questioned his comment, he began taking liberties and painstakingly explained how the lips of my vagina were far different to any others he had screened. This, in itself, was somewhat disparaging but the fact that he chose practical means to make his point just took the biscuit. When undergoing a smear, it is only customary to be prodded and poked some but Smythe saw fit to linger, stroking with a little too much a for effort to be considered honorable. I found myself retracting my jaws so as to coax him deeper, fully aware that he was getting his kicks, and decided it was high time to lure him into the den. He took it as the open invite it was and slipped first a digit, then two, and ultimately three inside me as he rummaged for Intel. This clearly wasn’t your usual bedside manner, I could feel his erection pressing against my thigh as he scouted further and suddenly the hunger began to return.

Smythe was already up to his knuckles before I finally noticed the straw which broke this particular camel’s back. His gloves were now rolled up on the gurney, suggesting that he was enjoying this smear a little too much. Instant lockjaw ensued and I knew immediately that I had scuppered any chance of receiving my lollipop. Going against the grain, he pulled back his fresh stump, while my teeth clamped ever harder, ripping his wandering hand away from its root. Knowing full well that demand for one-handed surgeons would be anything but vast, Smythe stumbled back against the cabinet clutching his opened wound and screaming in utter discombobulation. I felt not a scrap of sympathy for him; abusing a position of trust is something which sickens me to my very core, and those culpable of such abuse deserved everything they got in my book. My hairy haunch dweller shared my lack of understanding and clearly found the taste of his feelers a little too salty, spitting them back into his lap in disgust, along with his cheap wristwatch. Things had taken a turn for the worse for Smythe but they were only about to get more portentous as I made my next discovery.

His discarded iPhone gave his game away on this occasion and, considering it was nearly two minutes into its record cycle, I knew only too well why he had taken his sweet time. Allowing him to bleed out, something which wouldn’t take long considering the velocity of my clampdown, appeared too kindly a fate and I decided that it was time to get medieval on his ass. Fuck it, I knew where he kept his lolly stash anyway. I’d take two and feed one to my vagina as I was sure his sweaty palm would have left a rather sour aftertaste. Moreover, I would make this sicko pay for abusing his position; he was about to get up close and personal with my intimate workings as his unsavory actions had encouraged a more punishing demise. It was time for Smythe to taste my retribution first hand or, more accurately, face first. I certainly wasn’t about to suggest Randy going down on me but felt far more comfortable with this derailed deviant catching two flared nostrils of any mingivitis knocking about my Fallopian tubes. He was losing consciousness so time was of the essence, I thrust my little shop of horrors into his face and applied all my weight into pushing his nose and tongue into the eye of the tornado.

It is funny the things that you learn about yourself when squeezing a man’s head between your thighs like you’re cracking a walnut. I discovered the inner-exhibitionist in me as I glanced once more at his cell. I wasn’t about to upload this clip to YouTube, such an act of stupidity would surely harry the net in. However, personal playback was a far more appealing option as I wanted to watch this fuck choking on his chicken bone on perpetual loop after such nefarious treachery. I also learned the art of the one-liner, something I had picked up from Freddy Krueger and Schwarzenegger but never worked into real life until now. “Smile for the camera” seemed sufficiently ironic, enough to make them proud at least. It gave me a jolt of superiority and opened the floodgates for puns of peril aplenty. “Don’t worry, I shall return the favor. You eat me and I’ll eat you” and “Make yourself at home while I rustle up a bite to eat” helped me to stamp my authority and I felt invigorated by turning the tables so effectively. With one splintering crunch, I shut up shop and Smythe’s entire nose, upper lip and curiously outstretched tongue all come a cropper in bloody fashion. I may have been in partial control of my amenities but my carnivorous clit wasn’t finished just yet…far from it.

With a further convulsion, I consumed what was left of his face, sucking free his eyeballs as though they were lychee and sending his hollow skull back for air, while he clutched at his numerous fresh cavities in disarray. To add a final layer of insult to his injury, I spat out the pips of his peepers, before deciding my appetite had been sufficiently whetted and closing my legs. He had entered into a state of shock by this point and death was but a final heartbeat away but he wasn’t getting off the hook that easy after his indiscretion. Grabbing a lollipop from his drawer, I commenced to push the stick straight into the fleshy pulp at the bridge of his nose. Instant hemorrhaging ensued and it was time to finally call time on Smythe. Much as I had desired to rid the word of its Chets, the last thing I wanted was to leave a breadcrumb trail at this point so it only made sense that I mixed things up some. I had quite the clear-up job in front of me but it helped being surrounded by so much sanitary product. Ironically his gloves would prove indispensable when cleaning up my mess as I hadn’t laid a single hand on him. Desk staff had been finishing their stints as I entered which gave me until morning at least and I intended on his office being spick and span long before sunrise.

I never considered myself capable of acts so monstrous before now; but have to admit that every meal was becoming more scrumptious than the last. First Chet, now Smythe, who would be next to suck face? I still had no inkling as to whether or not I would spare Randy the indignity of being devoured for his endeavor and felt as though I needed to conduct more research before going there with him. Smythe had sixty dollars plus shrapnel in his wallet, along with a photo of his wife and three year-old daughter which sickened me to my core, so one option would be to procure myself another Rampant Rabbit. However, this suddenly didn’t arouse my appetite; what good is a salad bar when you’ve already experienced a carvery? It was then that the realization dawned for me; my vagina had a mind of its very own and needs which were my obligation to provide for. Never one to shirk responsibility, I agreed to its terms, heading off to the nearest tavern to bag myself another lab rat. All sorts of deviants could be located in such an establishment and there would never be a shortage of donors. We had become thick as thieves and dessert was just too tantalizing a prospect to pass up on.

Click here to read All You Can Eat

Truly, Clearly, Really, Sincerely,

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014