Snow White was sitting on Pinocchio’s face, grinding her hips like a pestle and grunting “Tell a lie! Tell the truth! Tell a lie!” Gepetto permitted himself one long, lustful survey of her porcelain buttocks, impaled on Pinocchio’s nose, before closing the door in disgust. The little bastard, he thought. I make the boy out of nothing but an armload of planks, give him the gift of life, and what does he do? He whores his novelty nose to a train of slutty princesses and blushing damsels. First there had been Little Red Riding Hood, that jailbait minx with her tote bag full of goodies and her thighs scissored around the lad’s pencil neck for hours at a time. She had stamina; Gepetto had been kept awake entire nights by her wolfish howls. And then Briar Rose, who had woken up with years of repressed libido bursting her breast: far too much for that staid prince and his chaste good-morning smooches. She’d wanted it all, had ordered the boy through cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, missionary, and doggy-style nosejobs along with positions Gepetto couldn’t have identified with the aid of the Kama Sutra. Their affair had reached a level of kinkiness Gepetto had never imagined. Briar Rose had nearly flooded him out of his room when they’d experimented with watersports, and then the brat had the nerve to ask Gepetto for weatherproofing.
After that energetic fling had come Cinderella, with her shy-girl act, ragged Emo wardrobe, and pumpkin-sized hooters. She had almost turned the casual sex into a relationship. Then one day Cinderella had squealed to a stop outside the house in her mouse-powered sports car and climbed though Pinocchio’s window to find him giving a throbbing snoot-ride to her fairy godmother. Pinocchio had tried to weasel his way out of it, but the same feature that kept him up to his eyebrows in muff had proved his undoing. By the time he had finished explaining, his nose had been so swollen even Alice, with her talent for making holes stretch, couldn’t have fit it anywhere.
And now Snow White, the hottest disenfranchised princess in all of Fairyland. God damn. According to Sleazy, whose foul mouth and vivid imagination had gotten him banned from all the storybooks, Snow White could take all eight dwarves in a night and still have enough energy for three rounds behind closed doors with a Rampant Rabbit. But Sleazy had been known to lie almost as much as Pinocchio; according to the woodsman, Snow White never touched those dwarves. The one thing Gepetto knew for sure was that she gave Pinocchio’s face regular and thorough workouts.
Aw fuck it. Gepetto knew the score: he was jealous. The last time he’d lubed his crankshaft, Rapunzel had been wearing a bob. And look at her now: Gepetto couldn’t help remembering the time he’d been working on the fence in the front yard and glanced in the window to spy her mounting Pinocchio. Blond hair that cascaded over the two of them like a shifting blanket and a completely shaved snatch, gleaming with dew. It was almost more than he could bear to think about. Just listening to the wooden brat reaming his way through the Fairyland phone book was the closest Gepetto’d come to a sex life in decades. If he weren’t so disgusted by the lad’s antics he’d probably have been whacking off with his ear to the wall, imagining that it was his own lined face plumbing all those pink and puckered girl-parts. Maybe he could drill a hole in the wall… Too late to find out if the rumours were true about Little Red Riding Hood taking it in the butt, though, unless she came back for another round.
Gepetto rummaged noisily in his cabinets, hoping to remind the kid he was still alive but knowing Pinocchio wouldn’t be able to hear anything with Snow White’s thighs clapped over his ears.