Get In My Swamp

by G.M. Fairy

To anyone who feels like they have as many layers as an onion.

Victoria Farque is the only human being I know that would think it’s a good idea to hold a bachelorette party in such a place. I’m fortunate to have Victoria Farque as not only my maid of honor but also my future sister-in-law. Yay, me.

But I do feel like this trip fits the theme of the wedding because if I’m being honest with myself, which I am in the mood to do right now (I think this mindfulness is working), this wedding is not the wedding of my dreams.

The worst part about Lawrence would have to be his size. Oh, he’s tall enough, five-foot-eleven. The size of his little friend, though, let’s just say the rumors aren’t true about the correlation from hand to dick size. He has big hands.

Well, most guys would pick me in a crowded room. I’ve got huge boobs, pornstar lips, and an ass that won’t quit.

My rationale for trapping and eating them is that they clearly want to die. I mean, there’s a sign, come on.

I’m the only ogre in my community. It can be rather lonely being the only seven-foot, green, hilarious, and gut-wrenchingly handsome creature around, but it’s a cross I bear.

Who has nightmare sex dreams about their fiancé?

It’s hard to find the strength to care if someone is judging you because you’re wearing TJ Maxx leggings instead of Lululemon when your childhood was like a WWII battlefield. But, since I started stepping into this LA socialite lifestyle, the judgments are getting to me a little bit.

I have nothing and no one. I need to make myself fit into this lifestyle even if it evaporates my soul. Even if I’m subjected to mediocre sex for the rest of my life.

I walk towards the path, hoping the house doesn’t belong to a serial killer and is actually a 24-hour pancake factory.

Her skin is unbelievably soft, and with one hand, I wander from her neck to her collarbone to her breasts… I stop there, even though I want to explore more.

Her big blue eyes slowly blink open, and I wait in anticipation to see their full effect.

Tie her up and have my way with her? Absolutely yes. Kill her? Hell no.

She kicks me in the chest and scratches my arms. It doesn’t hurt, though. Honestly, it just makes my dick even harder.

I’ve always been a gentleman. An ogre, but a gentleman, nonetheless. Tonight, I’ll just defile her in my dreams.

I want to protect her for some odd reason. It must be her rack. A nice pair of tits always ruins a man’s judgment.

“No! I’m not going to get her to do anything for me if I frighten her to death. It’s probably traumatizing enough to be captured by a seven-foot-tall ogre. If I introduce her to a centaur on the first day, her heart might stop.”

Some would say that Donny is my only friend because he’s the only one I mildly converse with, but they would be wrong. I have no friends. Donny annoys the fuck out of me.

Touch her and die.”

“Well, I’m going to make your life a living hell until you let me go!” He leans into the cage with a shit-eating grin. I lean in too, with a clenched jaw. I want him to see I’m not going to back down. I’ll be his worst nightmare.

I’m getting out of here. I may not have the strength or agility to escape, but I do have one thing I think he’s interested in. I saw the way he looked at me. He couldn’t keep his eyes off my lips or my tits. I’ve used my body to get my way before. Heck, I would say I’m even doing it now with my upcoming marriage. I think the feminist gods will forgive me if I use a little seduction to get out of the clutches of an ogre. Fuck that guy. Operation Pussy-Trap, commence.

She doesn’t seem like the type of girl to swoon over such basic decencies, such as not eating her, but maybe my good buddy Stockholm will help me out.

I carefully place my hard cock back into my shorts and struggle to stand up. “Ah, well, that was a fun show. I bet you worked up an appetite there. Ready to eat?” Trying to play nonchalant.

“Of course not. You try to escape; it will be a matter of minutes before I’ve got your arms tied behind your back and you sprawled across my bed.” I laugh. She doesn’t. “You’re a dick,”

Oh my God, Liona, get a hold of yourself! This is Operation Pussy-Trap, not Operation Stockholm Syndrome!

Sure, I’d grown up roughing it, but I’m used to the finer things at this point in my life. Lawrence has a God damn bidet. I can’t say I actually miss him right now, but I sure as hell miss his toilet.

“Do I have to sleep in the cage tonight?” My plan of escaping hinges on him saying no. He stops what he’s doing and looks at me. “No, but I only have one bed, so you will have to sleep with me.” I swear he says this while looking at my tits. “Can’t you be a gentleman and sleep on the floor or something? It’s the least you can do after kidnapping me.” It’s going to be harder to get around him if we’re sharing a bed, but not impossible. “No, thanks. If you want to sleep on the floor, you can.” “Dick,” I whisper to myself. “Oh, I’m sorry did you want something? It sounds like you’ve got one of my body parts on your mind.” He gazes at the fire with a snarky grin.

He could break my neck without even exerting much energy, and for some odd reason, that turns me on. God, do I need a therapist.

I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed to discover he’s wearing pants, but not just any pants, no, gray sweatpants. Are you shitting me? They have gray sweatpants in his secluded wilderness village?

Yes, once I get out of here, immediately going to therapy.

Beck pulses inside of me, filling me. His thrusts become slower, and he leans over to my ear. “I love you.” Oh, fuck.