The Friday Chronicles
Part 1: Fridaylocks and the Mean Sheriff

Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Reluctant, Magic, Fiction, Humor, Spanking, Light Bond, Sex Toys, Food, Exhibitionism, Transformation,

Desc: Fantasy Sex Story: Part 1: Fridaylocks and the Mean Sheriff - A certain author of our aquaintance, Girl Friday, has been moonlighting as a Muse, here are the results. They are a series of short stories all linked by the presence of someone special...

Once upon a time there was devastatingly attractive, erotic storywriter called Fridaylocks. (Though she preferred Friday amongst friends.) Besides the aforementioned attractiveness, she was also intelligent, talented, witty,... (is this too much?)... and very pretty to boot! (Quieten down at the back there! Now where was I?)

One day she had been taking a walk in the picturesque region of Fairyland called FDWritings. Though it was a sparsely populated place; the people that she had met were uniformly handsome and talented too! (Look you can never be too effusive!)

As she was walking she spied a pretty cottage nestling in a sylvan* glade. (*I know it doesn't really mean anything but I used the word in the teaser and now I'm stuck with it! - OK?) Just as she was contemplating how tired she felt, a shaft of sunlight broke through the wind-rustled tree cover and illuminated the front door. "How convenient", Friday muttered to herself. And so it was; a cheap trick by a second-rate author had alerted her to the fact that she was supposed to go in.

"Why should I?" Said Friday truculently. "If there's one thing people hate it's pointless self-referential fiction where the heroine starts complaining to the author and the whole thing is passed off as some sort of ironic post-modern investigation into the limits of internet erotica!"

As if in answer a distant rumble of thunder echoed menacingly through the forest. The beam of sunlight intensified slightly and then faded. The sound of rainfall could be heard from afar and the wind started to pick-up.

"All right! Already! I was going, I just didn't want to give in too quickly to the obvious." She started toward the door, the wind died down and the squall of rain miraculously skirted the small clearing and died away. The door opened to her touch.

"Why are there never any locked doors in Fairyland? And where is the bathroom?"

Inside the small entrance hall a door prominently marked bathroom immediately drew her attention. So she tried to open it. The door refused to budge.

"Oh very funny! Just open the damn door will you?" So saying she gave the door a kick. This was enough to free the door, which had just jammed slightly in its frame. (What can I say? They just don't build fairyland cottages like they used to.) By now Friday was desperate, so she pushed her way into the bathroom.

"Oh just what I need. A Brit. author trying to take cheap shots about American euphemisms for toilets!" The room contained a bath and not much else. Actually it did contain something else, a very small door with the initials 'WC' engraved on it. Unfortunately not being 6 inches tall meant that Friday was unable to go through it. However this didn't matter as Friday's urge to pee had faded and this little narrative cul-de-sac was revealed for what it was.

A little more exploration revealed the kitchen - with the obligatory three bowls of porridge cooling on the table. Not feeling particularly hungry, Friday was not tempted to try any. Apart from anything else and along with all her other good qualities, she was far too well brought up to be so rude.

"OK there's no need to lay it on so thickly! Anyway I thought I was tired, were do I sleep?" Back in the entrance hall a hitherto unnoticed staircase led up to three perfectly charming bedrooms. Choosing the room that had a 'Frank's Guests' sign on the door she thankfully collapsed onto the comfortable bed and fell fast asleep.

"WE KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE FRIDAYLOCKS! THROW OUT YOUR AWARDS AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!" The amplified southern twang of the Mean Sheriff echoed through the cottage. Friday awoke with a start and noticed the flashing blue and red lights reflected from the ceiling. Getting out of bed she crept over to the window and peeked out. The clearing was filled with police vehicles. All of them with their flashing red and blue lights left on.

"OK! Don't shoot I'm coming..." Before she could finish her sentence the Mean Sheriff cut her off.


As she was making her way downstairs someone started banging very loudly on the door.

"Open this door!"

"OK! Jeez! You guys will never win any awards for patience will you?" So saying Friday opened the door. Two deputies grabbed each of her arms and pulled her from the cottage.

"We got her Sheriff."

The Mean Sheriff turned towards her.


With a resigned look on his face a deputy standing next to him pulled the megaphone away from the Mean Sheriff's mouth.

"Uh Sir. You don't need to use the megaphone any more."

"Oh yeah! Thanks"

"Fridaylocks. You're under arrest. If you'll just strip off we..."

"Uh Sir." The deputy spoke again. "You need to show her the warrant."

"Oh yeah! I forgot."

"Then we need to Mirandise her."

"Is that were we get to take things down?"

"Uh yeah."

"That's what I was doing."

"No, we write down what she says."

"Oh so that's what it means! When do we get to see her naked?"

"Well first we arrest her; then we mirandise her; next we tell her that we can get this sorted out much quicker if she signs this waiver that we just happen to have with us. Finally we thank her for agreeing to forgo her constitutional rights and then we make her take her clothes off so we can search her."

"Is that when I get to make her get into all sorts of shamefully exposed positions?"

"Yeah well..."

"And then can I make her bend over and spread her legs really wide? So that we can see everything?"

"I suppose..."

"And then I can slip on my extra thin rubber gloves and use our special Supaglideô lubricant so I can slip my fingers into her..."

Before the deputy could answer, a stray thought crossed the Mean Sheriff's mind, interrupting his salacious monologue.

"What are we looking for?"

"I don't know."

"How will we know if we've found it?"

"I don't think it matters. It's just an excuse for us to feel up very attractive women that we otherwise wouldn't have a hope in hell with."

"Is this a private exposition or can anyone join in?" Friday was getting impatient. "What am I supposed to be under arrest for?"

The Mean Sheriff squinted myopically at the papers in his hand.

"It says here you're suspected of smuggling."

"Smuggling! What am I supposed to be smuggling?"

"Talent. It says here you're 'suspected of smuggling previously undiscovered talent as evidenced by your recent double Silver Clitorides award win.'" The Mean Sheriff read the indictment with some difficulty struggling with some of the multisillab... multisyla... long words.

"Damn! I thought I'd gotten away with it! OK I'll go quietly. Where do I sign?"

This uncharacteristic capitulation on Friday's part was due to an unsuspected desire that Friday had, had to be strip-searched...

"Hold it right there buster! If you think I'm just gonna meekly take off all my clothes and let two strange men feel me up, just so hordes of faceless readers can get their rocks off. You can just think again!"

The Mean Sheriff and the deputy looked at each other in bemusement. Who was she talking to?

Just then an attractive female deputy tapped the Mean Sheriff on the shoulder.

"Sheriff. We just got a call from Judge Search'em. Apparently there's a riot back in Strip-Searched county; some guy called Arty is writing second-rate pastiches of Joe Doe's stories. We gotta go and arrest him."

"Well missy it looks like you have got off lightly this time. Just remember if you go about using undiscovered talent like you are, anything could happen!"

"Yeah! You could write long, unfinished, multi-part, romantic stories that win golden clitorides awards and then keep your readers hanging on desperately for the next part!" The deputy looked embarrassed by his outburst.

Meanwhile all but one of the big police cars had left the glade. Turning to leave the Mean Sheriff called over his shoulder.

"You have a nice day now!"

Shaking her head at the vagaries of life, Friday wandered back into the cottage and prepared to wait for Frank to return.

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