Wendy Knows How to Make the Caged Bird Sing.
Lube Me Up with Fry Grease part 8! Now with Trigger Warnings.
It’s crazy to think that something that started off as a joke is about to have its season(?) finale!
TW: necrophilia, adult babies, cannibalism, amputee stump-shaming, mention of cloaca.
Was it fun practice to learn how to write sex scenes? Yes. Did I google & write things that made me question just where in life I might have gone wrong? Sure, but when don’t I?
It’s been a wild, musky, bumpy ride but we’re not done yet! I plan on going out with a tickle, slap, and a gang bang (eh, why not?). The list of things that I haven’t done yet is narrowing down. Let’s see what I can squeeze in, where I can squeeze it in at, and how will they explain how burger sex sent you to McTensive Care. Thank you, drive-thru!
The ketchup and mustard-colored clown was frozen in place. The million-mile stare of sheer terror as the familiar face that haunted his past glared at him for the final time. The chopping whir of the helicopter blades, exploding shrapnel, and the agonizing scream of his mutilated friend erupting into a fireworks display of viscera.
“C-C-Carl?” Ronald stammered.
The beet-faced giant’s eyes began to flicker before he uttered, “…J-junior,” closing them once and for all.
The gargantuan body slowly deflated beneath the striped burglar. Shackle chains clattered beneath his weight as the duo crash landed to the torture room floor. Hamburglar rolled off of the mountain that was once a man, gasping for air as he let the chains free of his hands.
“Robble…Robble” Hamilton gasped out. [Baby fall down go BOOM!]
Wendy crawled wantonly towards Ronald.
“Snap out of it MacDaddy!” she groans, arching her back like a cat in heat. Wendy padded towards him and climbed his leg like a yellow beanstalk.
Ronald’s grease-painted eyelids blinked back to reality, feeling her hands grazing his upper thigh and [Quarter Pounder with Cheese.] His mind jogged and he bucked back, hissing at her.
“Did Sanders French Fry your brain or something? There’s a dead man not 4 feet from us and all you can think about is getting extra mayo on your Filet-o-Fish?”
The lustful look in her eyes faded, leaving her discombobulated.
“How-How do we get out of here?”
The pair looked toward Hamilton, now rising and unraveling his chains from the downed giant. He exhaustedly felt around and fished a set of keys out of his pocket. He motioned for Ronald to unlock his cuffs as they both sidestepped Carl Jr.
Hamburglar’s shackles fell, and Wendy was next in line. The ex-con stared down at the lifeless corpse and waxed poetic:
“Robble.”
[Tis a sorrowful day when Lady Death tolls for the soul of the young. A baby boy, just barely a man. May his wings graze the sun as he plummets from heaven and swan dives into the flaming depths of the River Styx.]
The tear he shed soaked into his mask.
Ronald’s iron cuffs clanked to the ground as Wendy gathered their clothes. Hamburglar’s beady eyes rocked like a metronome while her pendulous [milkshakes] swayed in the stale room air.
“He-he looked just like…”
“Robble” Hamilton barked pulling his pants back on, rolling the body away from the door.
[His father. Carl Karcher. The burger baron before…the King reigned supreme.] shudder [That’s a whole other story arch for another season though. Carl Jr. was another hired hand of Sanders. His favorite cleaner, best known for his sociability and obedience. That’s why he always called CJ “such a good baby boy” I presume. With him gone, once and for all, that should be the last hurdle in this hedonistic relay race I hope.]
Just as the torrid trio entered the hallway, a shriek was heard upstairs. Ronald looked towards the darkened windows, noting the steel shutters in place.
“Lockdown mode. If we want out of here, I need to find that original recipe asshole’s security hub.”
Wendy glanced up toward the noises coming through the ceiling.
“I’ll look upstairs. Leave no sex slave behind. I know I wasn't the only one.”
Ronald stopped his protest when he saw her determined face and the agreement from Hamburglar.
"Robble Robble.” [You take the bottom floor. When I first started taking his contracts, I was told in order to access the colonel’s rear passage you had to fondle the plumage and squeeze the eggs before you get your knuckles wet. You can’t just ram your way through the security panel and hope to make it in that way. I think it’s some kind of riddle but what could it mean?]
Wendy and Ronald both stared at Hamilton and slowly blinked at one another.
Ronald said “Yell if you find anything. We have no idea when he’ll be back so we have to figure this out quickly.”
######
Ronald’s oversized red shoes descended the stairs while Hamburglar started into the other rooms on the main floor. He slipped into every open room but found no clues that would help; until he remembered all the cameras and security the colonel had in the beefed-up torture room. After rapping his gloved fist along the drywall, he found a hidden safe with a keypad that blinked ominously.
Special-op training, secret service detail, and a life of crime (after that unfortunate seat-sniffing incident in the Oval Office) had prepared the Hamburglar for how to crack the lone combination in 729 possibilities. He steadied his breath and cleared his mind for this test of patience and focus. Then he looked to the portraits of the withered southern gentleman hung around the fetish room and furrowed his brow. He typed in 1-2-3-4 and the wall safe cracked open like fresh meat on cell block 69 once the lights went out. The disbelief on his face transformed into shock and awe as the safe door swung open, displaying its coveted contents.
#####
Ronald followed the trail of wires through the stark white country kitchen, they led him to a door marked [11 Herbs & Spices - Keep Out]. The dunderheaded fool pushed past his remedial blind obedience and entered the unlocked door.
Once inside, his pale white face was awash of reds and greens as panels of buttons and lights flashed. Ronald was scanning the barrage of security protocols necessary for the exterior doors and saw that unlocking the interior doors - by floor - was a simple flick of a switch.
#####
Wendy trepidatiously put her ear to the door, hearing the scraping and grunting going on just beyond it. As if by the necessity of the author for story progression, a buzz sounded from the lock & the light above it turned from red to green. She shakily pressed the door inward, flinching at the sounds of shrieking from within.
Wendy peered into the darkened room, astonished at the vision before her. Half of the room was a cage, thick wrought iron bars dividing it. Beyond it stood a shapely female form, apparently jaundiced. Her yellow skin was dotted with tufts of downy feathers. The harpy batted her eyelashes, cowering behind her wings. Her minuscule hands were shackled to the wall behind her, giving her enough room to move around but not enough to reach the blinking green cage door.
Wendy stepped closer, her eyes trained on the majestically bossomed badass chick. She placed her quivering hands on the bars, attempting to gauge if this sexy chicken was friend or fowl.
“Hello…I’m…”-her breath caught in her throat, her temperature rising- “Wendy. Can-Can you speak? What’s your name? Are you hurt?”
The winged woman woefully wept with weakly whispered words. (Whew!) She softly uttered, “Birdie…need…help.” She shuttered, and twitched, letting a few loose feathers fly towards Wendy. The movement caused Wendy to jump, almost falling back when she finally noticed the keys hanging on the wall behind her near a light switch. She hit the light and retrieved the keys, struck dumbfounded by the number of fried chicken carcasses strewn throughout the cage among the red and white striped buckets.
Wendy swept them away with the cage door as she slowly opened the enclosure and entered. She kept her hands up to show Birdie she meant no harm, even though the air grew thick with intensity. As she got closer, she scooped up the feather-flecked blanket on the floor in order to cover her prisoner of whoa.
Birdie slowly turned, pushing her winged arms out in supplication. Her shackles caught the light almost as much as her honkingly hefty [hush puppies.]* Wendy came closer, biting her lip and feeling for Birdie’s cuffs. Birdie’s heaving [Egg McMuffins] floated like golden orbs in front of Wendy’s eyes, entranced by their bouncing motion. The first cuff fell, stirring Birdie to coo in gratitude while pressing her body against Wendy in a weakened state. Wendy dreamily tried to unlock the last shackle but could barely focus as Birdie's intoxicating fragrance nestled her in fluffy warmth.
Before Wendy knew it, her hands were caressing Birdie’s budding [biscuits]. Their eyes met, revealing Birdie’s globular eyes and her pupils dilating. Wendy found herself enraptured by wings that could take her to heaven, the hot sun warming her preheating oven. Birdie’s beak parted as she slipped her black tongue into hers. Wendy was surprised by the rigidity of the reptilian tongue probing her mouth. It teased her darting lollipop-licker and promised its skill and precision could make her knees buckle more than they already were.
Birdie’s final shackle shifted and clanked in their ear. Reminding Wendy to finish what she started. With the flick of her wrist, the final cuff fell. The buxom slumber-party besties also slid to the ground, hand in hand. Their gaze intensified as Birdie lovingly mounted her, her robust [Chicken Caesar Salad] humming like a rising thermostat before Wendy’s submerging face. Suddenly Birdie grabbed Wendy’s shoulders with her taloned toes and held her in place. The mood slammed to a feverish halt.
The temptress’s breathy tone announced,
“I’m Birdie…the early bird and I always cum first.”
######
Hamburglar had the holy grail in his hands, the final piece of the puzzle. The answer for all of Colonel Sander’s villainy was ready to be announced to the world. He was about to charge out of the room and scream the truth from every mountaintop.
Until a loud parppp-p-p-p-p-ing sound of postmortem flatulence ripped out of the deceased & rapidly decomposing Carl Jr. The Hamburglar’s nose twitched and his eyes went wild with desire. Their kerfuffle had caused the dearly defarted’s pants to sag, exposing the adult diaper that was now swelling with horrors and odors only known to hell’s janitor himself. The sound of a loudly deflating balloon filled with burnt popcorn, sun-baked roadkill, and unwashed amputee stump wafted. Blinded by the stink lines & everything…Hamilton B. Urglar wept, knowing he was powerless to his carnal vices. He knelt behind the contracting corpse, knowing he could save the world in a minute.
All he needed was…
one
good
sniff.
Passive-aggressively Yours,
Phrique
*Season 2? Nautical theme? 🏴☠️
I threw my phone @ sexy chicken