Story Teaser - Dickgirl Revolution (Erado's Journal)

(Hi, it's me- Flesh Seraph. This is a quick snippet of introduction that I'm considering turning into a story. This story would be a medievel tale about dickgirls and their rise to power, as told through the eyes of one of their young male concubines. If you like this idea, chime in here. If you don't, and want me to go back to writing gonzo stories like Dickgirl Washroom, well, that's ok too. To each his own!)

DICKGIRL REVOLUTION

PROLOGUE – ERADO'S TALE

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Journal entry - Marktch 4th, 1 PR.

My name is Erado.

In getting this down on paper I don’t expect to be understood. Rather, I only hope to chronicle my strange life, perhaps for me to look upon later once I have moved on from my current station. In starting this log I know that I am slave to ink and paper, and should either one elude me for a spell, the threads of my journey may begin to fray. This is a risk I am prepared to take- and as it happens there is plenty of both.

I am a squire, but I do not carry swords, nor am I burdened with armor, waterskins, or feed. My mistress attends to herself when it comes to garb of war, for I haven’t the strength. I am not permitted to perform any arduous task- and so when battle is joined, I buckle her clasps as best I can, and hope for a favorable result. Even this is difficult. My fingers are gentle, unsuited to the task of fastening leather and iron.

You must think this strange. Do not worry. You shall know it all before I set down this pen- the muse waits for no man. In equal measure to your curiosity, I am entranced by the telling. I am not alone as I write. I have one companion, a very special person- and we have made camp. My quill scratches are the only thing louder than her soft breath. The fire is dying now- but by starlight I can still see enough to accomplish my task.

Her beauty is apparent to me in ember-cast light of orange. Every flicker of the guttering flame stamps her freshly into my memory, as with an iron press. I want only to leave my writing by and lay at her side- but that is not for tonight. Our ride was too long. She sleeps. My rescuer. My perfect woman. The swell of her hip beneath a simple blanket breeds in my mind enough prose to fill ten pages such as this one- and