All names, places and events in this story are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is totally coincidental.
This story is a humorous fantasy, written some years back and with some references to certain women’s names which may mean something to the Clintonic era of scandal archivists.
So these three kings arrived at this unexceptional town after a long journey into a remote area of a long forgotten country. No vehicles could negotiate the treacherous passes and ravines. Bridges were down, metalled roads were now dust and the thought of a personal jet flying in was laughable. King Charles of England was accompanied by King Bill of America and King Mandela of South Africa. The IMF logo in the sky they had followed, hovered far above, but gave no indication of the place they were supposed to go with their gifts. The town seemed quiet and uneventful for a place they had been told by their subjects to make sure they got there on time. But in time for what? Little scruffy hovels were scattered around and none seemed the sort of place kings would normally go to and there was no one to ask the way. “For God’s sake, where is the damn place,” moaned Charles. “My horse and I are absolutely worn out.” “Camilla always looks the same to me,” giggled Bill, glancing at the tired old nag Charles rode. “Well at least he’s got a genuine nag Bill,” said Mandela. “That Hillary of yours seems to think she’s a cut above the rest the way she’s insisted on that New York fodder every night.” Charles chuckled and wagged his huge ears, grinning with that lopsided smile so well beloved by his subjects. “At least I’ve got a horse Manny,” retorted Bill. “What the fuck d’you call that you riding on?” “You know it’s Winnie my donkey. She’s a real bitch and fucks me about something rotten, but at least she’s sturdy,” Mandela replied patting Winnie’s ample rump. “The new wife thought it would be a good idea to use the old gal for something useful instead of kicking the youngsters after they’ve had their evil way with her.” “The street kids still screw her then?” asked Bill in disbelief, dismounting Hillary and avoiding her attempt to nip his butt.
Mandela nodded. “Hey I have done too. Any port in a storm,” he told them. “She’s still pretty tight in the old coal hole, I ain’t talking about her twat,” he chuckled. Bill and Charles grimaced at each other and gazed around the township. Camilla started to piss and Charles sneaked behind her to watch her lift her tail sideways and let her droopy, greasy vagina flaps release her load into the sand. She had the most delectable looking vagina, he mused to himself. “Now I need a fucking piss,” muttered Bill, wandering to a wall. “So do I ... and me,” answered the other kings and they lined up at a mud wall, hefting their cocks from their pants. No sooner had Charles’s urine flow started, with Bill following suit, Charles had to leap out of the way, dancing about in indignation. Mandela chuckled as he waited for his to start. “Good god man,” whined Charles to Bill. “Can’t you urinate straight? It’s all over my brogues.” “It’s his banana dick Charlie,” giggled Mandela, still waiting and waggling his prodigious black cock. Charles managed to start pissing again, away from the mumbling Bill, who continued with his toilet. He didn’t react and wondered if the folk at the final destination would allow him to have a cigar. He pissed furiously, splashing the wall with a strong fountain of bright yellow urine. Charles’s crystal clear piss ceased and he adjusted his clothing and went to gather in the trusty steeds who had strayed a little. A trickle started from Mandela’s cock, alerting the American who peeped at the old man’s genitals while adjusting his clothing.
“Holy shit man!” exclaimed the American king. “That’s one hell of a Broaddprick ... Er! I mean schlong you’re packing there Manny, don’t do much though does it?” he added, watching the feeble urination. “Don’t you worry your bouffant head about this beast Billy boy,” said Mandela, banging his pink knob against the wall and knocking the drips off. “He’ll show you the way with interns and externs for that matter, whatever they are.” They joined Charles who stood patiently with the three steeds. “The camel train should be arriving now,” said the English monarch. He gazed into the dusk and pointed, confirming the approach of their loads of gifts sent by the various charity TV events and phone-ins world wide. “Yeah OK but we’d better find this motherfucking place,” groaned Bill. “Don’t be so crude Bill. Haven’t you got the Gracen to be pleasant for a while,” complained Charles, stroking Camilla’s underbelly. The horse neighed softly and he lovingly blew into the mare’s nostrils. “Shit! Look who’s talking,” laughed Bill, viciously pinching Hillary’s ear, making her twitch and skitter about nervously. “You’re the one wishing you could be a tampon. Did you hear about that Manny? Made front pages of the rags world wide.” The ancient old king nodded and chuckled as he took Winnie’s reins. Suddenly a man appeared from the shadows. “Pssst! You looking for Jesus?” he whispered. “We don’t actually know,” answered Charles vaguely, scratching his head. “You mean there’s a fucking Mexican out here in this godforsaken shithole? But I guess that figures,” said Bill, studying the swarthy stranger. The man who was crumpled in both appearance and shape, bent at the waist and shoulders, nodded and scuttled off, beckoning the kings. They shrugged their shoulders at each other and decided to follow at a distance. His clothes gave off the most pungent odour.
“Even if we lose him in the dark, we can follow his scent,” guffawed Mandela. “Yeah! you natives outta the jungle should know all about that. Smells like these three animals when they bed down for the night,” smickered Bill. Charles tutted and stroked Camilla’s flank, hoping that at last he could have a nights sleep in peace away from his annoying companions and be close to his beloved horse. “I think you smell wonderful darling,” he whispered. The old mare whinnied and nudged his leg with her muzzle. “There is no jungle in South Africa,” retorted Mandela in his wise old tones. The stranger stood near a stable, where a glimmer of light escaped through the boarded walls. “You bring gifts?” he asked. “Sure buddy. They for this Jesus then?” blustered Bill as he beckoned up the following camel train. They were led inside and gasped at the scene
A very attractive girl stood in the corner, quivering with fright, totally naked. She kept reaching down and swiping her hand through her crotch and muttering as she peered at what she obviously expected to be some sort of resulting evidence on her palm. She had long black hair, big firm tits, free growing pubic hair and long shapely legs. Bill clenched his sphincter making his cock lurch as he gazed with lust. Charles ignored her and stared at a muscular youth squatting at her feet, his bottom half wrapped in a white shroud, whose thick curly black hair and generous smile sat nicely atop his chocolate coloured frame. “No no it cannot be,” whimpered the girl, as Mandela approached her concernedly. “It is, it’s your baby Mary,” came a soft voice from the shadows of the stable. The three kings swivelled to see a tall skinny man emerge. He wore workmanlike clothing, had a long beard and long flowing hair and carried a bag of tools. The girl sank into Mandela’s arm in sheer terror as the tall man stepped into the middle of the stable. A cow mooed and a donkey whinnied in the corner and a cocky old rooster strutted about in the hay. The youth spoke. “Hi. I’m Jesus, You brought me some stuff?” he asked cheerily. “Look I’m going,” said the tall man. “I’ve got three roofs to repair and some old biddy wants a coffin made up, after I’ve repaired her commode.” “Who the fuck are you?” asked Bill, glancing continually at lucky Mandela, in whose arms the girl still cowered. “My name is Joseph and this is my son Jesus. Mary has just given birth to him, not sure how. Please give him the gifts, otherwise he’ll get very upset,” replied the tall man, checking to see if his tenon saw was in the tool bag. “You’re a carpenter,” said Charles knowingly.
Joseph nodded and muttered “wise guy” and left the stable. The girl shuddered and Mandela patted her head, liking the way she cuddled into him. He turned slightly so that his crotch was against her naked thigh as he held her close. Bill spat with frustration at the scene, watching her tits billow out against the old African’s chest. She had real nice nipples, all sort of pink and rose bud like. “He’s your kid?” Clinton asked belligerently, pointing at the smiling youth.
“He can’t be surely,” murmured Charles, not really knowing what a new baby looked like, not having been around when his two sons were born. The youth exploded. “Sure I am, now what about the stuff man?” He threw off his white shroud and stood nakedly aggressive in the centre of the stable. The three kings whistled in admiration as they saw his genitals. “Yep! He’s a damn Mexican alright. Just look at that Willey,” said Bill, staring at the bludgeon like cock swaying below the youth’s belly. “Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Mandela The youth nodded. The African king stroked the girl’s bare shoulder and felt his dick rising. “And I thought I was hung.” “For goodness sake chaps,” moaned Charles. “Let’s have a bit of decency around here. Get back Camilla,” he added, shoving the old horse’s head out of the stable door. She neighed loudly in disgust. He continued. “We have brought you gifts Jesus, from afar. This is King Bill from America and King Mandela from South Africa and I am King Charles of England.” “You had a baby ... him... ?” started Bill, his concentration still centred on the girl. “Noooo!,” the girl wailed. “I’ve never had a baby. I have not had sex, I couldn’t have conceived and certainly not with him. How can I have a baby? “ she added gesturing dismissively to the stable door where Joseph had left. “Well I could show you,” murmured Bill, smirking and walking round to her.
He reached the frightened female as Mandela held her closer. Bill spotted the African’s erection bulging and jealously decided to make a move. He was just going to reach out and stroke the girl’s bulging squashed right tit as the youth bellowed. “Hey man. Don’t you think you’ve forgotten something. Where’s the stuff?” The loud question jolted the three kings and Charles took control. “Er yes, of course,” he mumbled beckoning and calling out of the stable for their servants to enter. A man from his camel train entered carrying a large covered cage. He placed it on the hay strewn floor and left as King Charles dramatically removed the blanket cover and tossed it aside. “I bring you Goldie one of the finest bred Corgi dogs you’ll ever see,” Charles announced with great pomp. Jesus and King Bill spluttered with mirth as Charles let the dog free. It ran yapping noisily round the stable and proceeded to chase the rooster. “Is that it?” chortled Bill. “Your country’s gift, a fucking dog?” “I don’t want a dog,” yelled Jesus. “What you got old man?” Mandela was woken from his private reverie, his hand now dropping slowly from round Mary’s waist and finding she seemed to be warming to his gentle touch, smiling as he smoothed his gnarled mitt over her trim buttocks. He shook his head as if to clear it and reluctantly moved away from Mary to the stable door. Bill saw his chance and stepped close. Mary gazed up at him and saw the sly smile, the red eyes, the chubby chin and felt his sweaty hand slink round her waist, his middle finger perilously close to the top of her crack...
“I’ll take care of you honey. Just let me get the gifts outta the way,” he whispered. “You don’t want an old has been like Manny.” Mary let him clutch her close and felt his pocket fumblings as he manoeuvred his growing dick against her thigh. Goldie suddenly appeared yapping and sniffed round Bill’s feet. The American thought about kicking him away, but decided to concentrate on charming Mary, who was one hell of a tasty chick. “You a virgin?” he asked into her ear. She nodded sweetly and grimaced apologetically. Bill smirked and patted her butt and insinuated his finger into her buttock crease. “No problem honey,” he whispered. “I know all about de-Flowering.”
Mandela led the way into the centre followed by two servants carrying a large ventilated box. The door was laboriously opened and the servants were dismissed. Mandela checked inside the box as Jesus, Charles, Mary and Bill craned their necks to see the next revelation. After some harsh, impatient words into the crate, Mandela thrust his hand inside and virtually dragged out a twelve year old naked black boy. Jesus gasped with joy, Charles tutted and Bill lost interest and turned to Mary, whispering in her ear. He smirked at the throng as the boy was presented to Jesus. Mary did as Bill told and felt inside his clothes, grasping his dick. Her eyes widened as she felt the strange, warm, curved thing and its sticky sort of end. “You say you will give me a home if I do this?” she whispered. Bill nodded. “Yep, just Paula ... er I mean pull on that schlong sweetie,” he told her. She did and he groaned, as she rubbed. His audible expression was drowned in the rounded cultured words of Mandela. “My nation’s gift to you is Frankie. One of the famous team of Soweto child gangsters, but now tamed and straight. He is yours to do with what you wish,” said the old grey haired man with pride. “Now you’re talking Grandad,” sniggered Jesus, taking Frankie’s hand and swivelling him round as if on a cat walk show. “Nice ass.” “Surely not a slave Nelson?” asked a flummoxed Charles, who then spotted a commotion, but for once not interfering. Goldie had locked onto Bill’s ankle and was furiously humping at the American king’s leg. Charles chuckled heartily as Bill frantically tried to shake off Goldie while trying to keep Mary’s tight mitt on his bendy cock. Jesus glanced at the sight and laughed then drew Frankie onto his lap, stroking the boy’s thigh. He couldn’t take his eyes off the nice firm black pecker that wobbled between Frankie’s legs. “Call your goddamned dog off Charlie,” grunted Bill. “Its Jesus’s dog Bill,” said Mandela. “Serves you right for coming on strong with Mary.” “Shit, she’s mine Manny. She’s got hold of my dick beautifully and it’s going to get better, if I can get rid of the fucking dog,” groaned Bill. Goldie, used to humping at some of the best bred legs in the UK aristocracy, humped and humped and held the American’s leg in a vice like grip. “He said he will give me nice home,” squeaked Mary brightly, rubbing Bill’s inflamed cock briskly. “So where’s your present man?” asked Jesus petulantly as he stroked Frankie’s tender butt and making sure the boy’s hand grasped his growing poker.
“Perdue, Joe, get in here fucking fast,” shouted Bill and two huge men of his massive security entourage ran in and quickly seeing the problem, tried to drag a protesting Mary from an equally protesting Bill. In the process, her hand was trapped inside his clothes and all of the action, whilst giving delightful sensations to Bill, had unfortunate repercussions as her hand was finally wrenched up his dick and over his bell end. Perdue held the violently struggling girl, enjoying the warmth of her struggling butt against his crotch, while Joe grasped her ankles and had superb views up her crotch. It was peachy smooth and had just the slightest moisture oozing from her slit. Bill groaned and panted, then kicked Goldie viciously. The Corgi yelped and scuttled away as Mary quietened and examined a sticky white deposit on her hand. She smelt the pungent mess and grimaced, shaking her head in mystery. Bill chuckled and she glanced back at him. “Its cum darling,” he whispered. “What? Who ... what where?” she puzzled.