A Cellar Fairy Tale

[Sundae]

Once upon a time, in a Kingdom long ago, far away but not all that different from our own, the people lived under a terrible tyranny. Oh, not the taxes, or the tooth decay, or even the watered down beer. No, in this particular time and this particular Kingdom there were terrible daemons.

The people believed that what the daemons required was young, female, virgin flesh to devour at every quarter year. And accordingly they sacrificed the best, the most beautiful and the slowest runners out of the entire Kingdom. Their land was known far and wide as the Country With No Brides, due to the supposed shortage of naïve and compliant young women.

One day, a Knight came riding into the Kingdom. It might be supposed that he was on some sort of heroic quest, that he had heard of the Kingdom, the waste of the delicate flower of womanhood, that he had come to slay the daemons and claim the hand of the fairest maiden left. This was not quite the case. Although the Knight was bold and brave, he had been round the jousting field a fair few times. He was a little tired of squeaky voiced buxom lasses wittering in his ear about their own beauty and tired of lacing up magical stays and polishing magic mirrors. He was coming to the Kingdom because he had heard it was full of lithe, athletic, sensible matrons, who could hold an intelligent conversation, brew their own beer, read aloud in failing candlelight and run for the hills in times of trouble.

But no sooner was the smell of his iron scented on the breeze, than did the King send an escort to apprehend the Knight and beg his assistance.

“Sir Knight,” said he, “Please help us! For it is our own comely daughter who has been caught by the townspeople and is tied up in the daemon’s lair! Well, she isn’t technically a Princess, being the illegitimate get of a King and a barmaid… But she is royal nonetheless!”

“How very careless of you, your Majesty,” replied the Knight. “I will go and have a butchers, but I can’t promise anything.”

So off set the Knight, into the gloaming. And lo! There, around the corner of a rather attractive rock feature, was a young wench, blonde of hair, blue of eye and certainly pneumatic.

“Hello you,” she giggled. “Has am come to sort me out then, eh?”

“Look,” said the Knight, “You don’t need to be here. You don’t need to stay chained to your own rock, living with your own daemons and ruining your own life. Stop with the self-destructive behaviour and be yourself. You can be accepted and appreciated without making yourself a victim – there are enough women in the Kingdom to provide an example….”

And at that, the chains fell from the young girl’s body, and she was free.

“Oooooh!” she cried, “My saviour!”
At this, the chains gave a twitch and the gibbering of daemons was heard from the dark chasm.

“NO!” said the knight. “No more saviours, no more excuses, no more empty-headedness. Mmm-kay?”

The young lady looked at him sadly, reholstered her upholstery and took his arm as they started to walk back to the castle.

“How did you know the daemons were summoned by me?” she asked plaintively.

“Bin there, sin that, bought the breastplate,” replied sir Knight. “The rescued maidens from this place end up all over the realm, and I’ve seen enough sad confusion to last me a lifetime. It used to work because the meatheads who went rescuing only wanted tits and teeth, but these days decent knights are being sucked in, and ladies who have more to offer are being taught too young that this is the only way.”

“Here we are now at your mother’s inn. I suggest you learn yourself a trade and look out for a man who makes you laugh. Goodbye.”

“No kiss?” asked the fair maiden, wet thighs and sticky codpieces on her mind.

“Sorry,” said the Knight. “Miles to go before I sleep and all that.”

“At least tell me your name! You who have obviously woken countless women to themselves!”

"Bruce," he said. "Forget the hugs and kisses, you can call me Bruce."