The Bawdy House at Woo Corner

[slash_cave]

Authors:  silvan_lady and gattodoro (who clearly need therapy)
Beta: Huge thanks to dienw (if she really wishes to be associated with this!)
Rating: NC17 - CRACK!!!!
Warning: Please Read!!! Oh god, where to begin ...we wish to apologise for trashing childhood innocence, abusing the English language, terrible puns, inter-species relationships and cross-dressing.
Disclaimer: Any resemblance to any well-loved children's characters is entirely in your own minds, no really it is.  
 
This highly dubious fiction came out of conversation concerning the most unlikely Slash in existence. Smurf Slash (specifically PapaSmurf Wanking) was mentioned and we decided that we could raid our store of children's stories to beat that... Some alcohol was involved during the concept phase, but surprisingly, nay embarrassingly little during the gestation. Sorry! 
 





Setting the Scene
Winston, or to give him his full name, Winston Peter Oliver Oscar Horace was a bear. Specifically he was a bear who compensated for his limited intellectual means with an outgoing and generous nature that matched his physical endowments. He was also so screamingly gay that even the small matter of his having yellow fur didn’t hold him back from thinking pink and accessorising with as much bling as his stubby little paws could grasp, which was quite a lot. (Visitors here will be well aware that yellow is a favoured colour of gay and ultra-huggable types.  Winston does seem to qualify in both categories, even if his fur colour wasn’t a matter of choice). Winston, like other people we could mention, but won't, had been in showbiz from an early age, a "blooming" child star indeed, but his act and persona had evolved quite radically over the years and he had felt compelled to adopt a pseudonym so as to protect the innocent childhood memories of his original fans.  So it was that the torch-singing diva, who strutted the stage in stilettos and fishnets like a gayed up and much more flamboyant John Barrowman (if such a thing can be imagined!), was known to the world, and his friends as Willie Woo-Hoo!

 
The demands of the stage meant that Willie kept a shag-pad in town, but whenever he could he returned to his weekend place in the country, a place known to the libidinous locals as The Hundred Viagra Wood thanks to its restorative powers. (The writers strongly suspect that that most denizens of fandom live in The Hundred Viagra Wood if the incidence rate of multiple orgasms in fanfiction are anything to go by.) This salubrious location (with the emphasis on lube) is where we find Willie’s friends – Tugger, who has plenty of spring in his tail despite his compulsive wanking, Eyesore, a morose type with a shabby “flasher” Mac; a voyeur, Rampant Rabbit, enough said, and Porker, who was small in stature but had the meat where it counted. Unfortunately, Willie’s neighbour, Mrs Kango wasn’t talking to him after what she called “inappropriate behaviour” with her son Prude; poor Prude was still living in his mother’s pocket at the time and Mrs Kango muttered about invasion of personal space for weeks afterward.
 
On this particular afternoon, we find Willie taking tea with Tugger. Porker is away having a sizzling (sorry!) weekend with his little Irish friend, Chip O’Lata and Eyesore was invited but sullenly declined (though he is in fact watching from his usual position by the front room window). Everybody knows about Eyesore’s strange habits, partly because of the hoof prints in the flowerbed, but also because Willie never washes his windows yet one pane of glass is always clean; since they are all exhibitionists they don’t care!  This being Willie’s house “tea” actually means cocktails and Willie is half way through his second Fuzzy Nipple, a drink he has become addicted to since a party given by his agent, Robin Christian, who he caught going down on Alice, his secretary. (Don’t panic – this is a male Alice, like Alice Cooper only with fewer snakes, but possibly with more mascara and he doesn't play golf*). Willie is (as usual) lamenting the lack of interesting parts for camp corpulent bears and Tugger is barely listening because he’s too busy bouncing because he is feeling randy (this is also normal).
 
On to the Plot (Ha! You don’t believe that, do you?)
 
Out in the cold, Eyesore rolled his eyes. Once Willie was in full rant, it would be a long time before there was any action and Eyesore would be late for supper, again. “Oh dear,” he said to himself in a dying sigh, as he rummaged through the deep pockets of his Mac for something that would move things along. He finally pulled out a crumpled page from the “Wood on Sunday” magazine and pushed it through a gap in the window frame so that it fell at Tugger's feet (and none of this was easy with hooves, you know?). 

 (N.B. Jokes about Tugger Woods will be carefully avoided at this point.)
 
“Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!” crowed Tugger, grinning even more widely than usual (and that’s wide; he’d have an excellent mouth for oral sex if it wasn’t for his scarily sharp teeth). “Thisss, isss what you need,” he spluttered, “an artic-cul-ule to raise your profile.”
 
“Why, that’s an excellent idea Tugger. I’ll get Porker# to put pen to paper on a puff piece when he is pleased to pause his Paddy poking.” 
 
Sometimes Tugger thinks that Willie picks his words to deliberately poke fun at his unfortunate speech disorder. He was tempted to show his colour-blind friend the picture he had concealed in his paw just to provoke a reaction – it’s of Rupert Everready, Willie’s fashion-challenged arch-rival – but he knew he’ll never get laid if he did so he bit his tongue (he has to do this a lot, which is possibly why he lisps, though the stammer is more to do with the b-b-bouncing!), though he did get in a little dig. “I’m sure that he will be p-p-pleased to do so, you know how P-p-porker loves an old ham.”
 
Willie frowned at his stripy friend, but Tugger was the picture of innocence, if you can be a picture of innocence while fisting your fuzzy erection. He tried to think of a response suitable for an acid-tongued theatre queen, but then Tugger started bouncing and Willie knew he had to act quickly or he’d have to call in the industrial cleaners again. (Mrs Kanga used to clean for him, but she resigned after a carelessly disposed of Gay Bear Condom (TM) caused the toilet to overflow).
 
# He is a member of the press and a person of a porcine persuasion, what other nickname could he have?

Of course, as we well know, what one reads in print is usually one percent fact and ninety-nine percent fiction, so Willie's reputation concerning his love of honey, or hunny as he prefers to call it, is well documented and completely erroneous.  Yes, oor Willie (sorry Sunday Post!)  is partial to a spot of the sweet runny stuff, but not for eating, at least, not intentionally, although when Tugger is tugging and bouncing it does tend to go everywhere.  (See above!)

Then there is the story of how Willie floated away while hanging on to a bunch of balloons. Yeah, right.  Actually it was an entire packet of Gay Bear Condoms (TM) blown up in response to a comment from Owl, who said that Willie couldn't even fill one of them.  Willie then had to prove that he could fill all of them, and did.  The unforeseen consequences of a sudden gust of wind were of course, well documented, but happily for all concerned it was sanitised and reported as a bunch of balloons and a search for honey rather than Willie showing off his prodigious capacity.  Owl moved to another part of The Hundred Viagra Wood shortly afterwards.

But we digress, and not for the first time, nor, we suspect, for the last! 
 
  Anyway, when Tugger started tugging, Willie decided that it was time to divest himself of his pink sparkly hotpants, not least because they were a bit short in the body (or rather he was too rotund in the stomach department) and the straps were chafing his nipples. In short order he was stripped down to his bearskin, stubby legs akimbo in what he hoped was an enticing manner. Apparently it was because Tugger stopped bouncing and p-p-p-pounced, which rather knocked the wind out of Willie, but at least meant that he might not have to redecorate. Fortunately, Tugger had come equipped with some Predator brand prophylactics, because he liked the go-faster stripes and because he was larger than the average bear, Booboo.  (You are thinking, ‘wrong cartoon’, aren't you? So what, get over it!!.)  
 
Some time and much matted fur later ….
 
“Ouch!”
 
“What?”
 
“Do you mind not digging your claws into my belly?”
 
“S-s-sorry!” Tugger wasn’t, not really, there was something compelling about kneading that tubby mound with his paws and as always when he was really happy, his claws popped out. Quite a lot of things popped out (or up) when Tugger was happy. He retracted his claws and rolled onto his back, wriggling to scratch the itch he always got after sex.
 
“Do you think Eyesore is still watching?”
 
Wearily Tugger raised his head to look. “Nope, he’s gone, but I can see the drool marks on the glass.”
 
“I really don’t know why he just doesn’t come in.” Willie was a “more-the-merrier” sort of bear.
 
“Hmmm,” agreed Tugger, who was prepared to bounce anyone. “No idea, though Rampant Rabbit did hear a rumour that Eyesore might not be fully equipped, if you get my meaning.”
 
“Really?” Willie’s already round eyes expanded at the horror of not being in full possession of one’s appendages. He had heard horror stories of bears that had been dragged around by small children until their ears or noses fell off, but never that. One thing about being a bear is that all that fur generally kept one’s private parts private. Still, it wouldn’t do to let a small (if it was small – and that saying about being ‘hung like a stallion’ suggested it might not be) thing like that ruin a friend’s sex life.  “Couldn’t he get a strap-on?”
 
“R-rabbit said he was thinking of having one sewn on.”
 
Willie winced and grabbed at his crotch in sympathy. Tugger noticed the movement and laughed. “Not there, you stupid bear! He hasn’t got a tail.”
 
“Ohhhh… And?” Willie didn’t have a tail so he didn’t see why it mattered.
 
“Apparently he needs something t-t-to lift when, er you know….”
 
“So he is a bottom! I figured as much.”
 
Tugger chuckled, how could poor, gloomy Eyesore be anything but a bottom?
 
How indeed?

Willie looked thoughtful, or at least as thoughtful as a sexually sated bear of very little brain can look, which is to say not much, but Tugger got the general idea.

"I think you're right," Willie announced. "I'm sure I overheard Rampant Rabbit remark that the dolorous donkey was down in the dumps because he couldn't find some tail! Tugger my friend, it is our delightful duty as amorous acquaintances to aid our miserable mule! We must set forth on a quest of great significance.  We shall search high and low until we have found the absent appendage!"

Tugger narrowed his eyes; these sibilant sentences were beginning to annoy him but before he could utter a complaint Willie leapt up from his recumbent position.  (Which, keeping in mind the rotundness of his fat, furry body, was quite some feat.)  Somewhat startled by the now perkily upright Willie, Tugger forgot his suspicions and distracted himself by indulging in a spot of stripy salami stroking.  
 
Willie vanished, and re-appeared a few moments later looking like a cross between Jessica Rabbit and Indiana Jones. Tugger thought that the hat was a nice touch, but he wasn't at all sure about the baggy fishnet shorts and red stilettos.   Willie was, however, raring to go, and Tugger was not inclined to stop him.   "Where first?" Tugger inquired, bouncing around in front of the door and knocking over the umbrella stand.

"Where does one look for a bit of tail?" Willie asked. 

"Pubs, clubs, shrubs and tubs!" Tugger reeled off. 

"Shrubs?" 

"He hides in your flower bed!"

"Tubs?"

Tugger winced. "Well, there was one time I was washing my winky and..."

"No more!" Willie affected a dramatic pose, which he rather spoiled by wobbling on the stilettos, "I shall believe you, my bouncing boisterous buddy.  Spare me the details."

Tugger breathed a sigh of relief.  "Very well, let us go forth!"

Willie looked around in confusion. "Fourth? Why?  Who else is coming?"

 Tugger rolled his eyes, which since he was still bouncing at the time, made Willie feel quite sick.  Deciding that Tugger had obviously been indoors (or sexually inactive) for too long he threw open the door and stepped outside.  It was a very blustery day, but then it often was in The Hundred Viagra Wood. Something to do with a huge front being blown in was how Owl explained it.   Willie didn't understand that, he thought it was something to do with the weather, but the idea of some celestial front being blown and shaking the trees was very appealing, so he didn't argue.

Their progress was slow, Willie wasn’t exactly aerodynamic and his heels kept sinking into the muddy ground. Tugger got quite fed up with pulling him out – pulling him off, was much more his thing – and eventually decided that he would have to carry his feckless fuzzy friend. (Don’t try bear backing at home please children!). At first, Willie quite enjoyed being on top for a change, but Tugger’s enthusiastic jiggling rather upset his tummy and he was quite a queasy queen when they arrived at Grey Stables and he had to have a little something to settle his stomach, much to the personal pleasure of the door Weasel.
 
Grey Stables billed itself as the club for discerning stallions and was, in fact, the only club in The Hundred Viagra Wood apart from Peppermint Beaver’s Lap Dancing Emporium, which was going out of business because the owner had failed to do his demographic research. The club had no official dress code, but the prevailing theme was latex and leather and Tugger would have felt quite underdressed had he not remembered to bring his rhinestone studded collar and matching posing pouch. They were playing his song (Mud’s “Tiger Feet”, obviously) so he hit the dance floor with a “G-g-g-rrrr!” shaking his booty for all he was worth. Willie was more circumspect – with those fishnet shorts he had to be or risk bisecting his differentials – but he too was soon strutting his funky stuff and had quite forgotten that they were supposed to be looking for a bit of tail for Eyesore until Tugger spotted a nice piece of Ass at the bar.
 
“Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!” cried Tugger triumphantly, putting in an extra bounce so that he could get to the bar ahead of a foxy- looking, err, fox (whose number he took for later). “Well, helloooo,” he purred to the startled Ass, “I’ve been admiring your r-r-rump and I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Eyesore.”
 
“No thanks,” replied the Ass, looking down his long nose, “I’ve seen your friend and he’s rather let himself go, hasn’t he? Not to mention having questionable dress sense.” The Ass looked across at Willie, who had a Red Squirrel draped across him (actually a Grey Squirrel with a bad dye job and a worse reputation).
 
“Oh, h-h-him! N-n-not him. My friend Eyesore is a donkey.” Tugger grinned, "you’d like him, he has all his own teeth."
 
The Ass, who liked nothing better than a game of ‘pin the tail in the donkey’, brightened considerably at this news – it wasn’t just his ears that pricked up! “Well, where is he then? I’ve just had my hooves lacquered and my mane plaited and I’m ready to do the donkey derby!”
 
Tugger pulled out his BlackBerry (it's surprising how many pockets there are in a Tiger skin) and hit the speed dial button for Eyesore. The phone rang … and rang and rang, but Tugger had learned to be patient and let the morose mule mull indecisively over answering.  Eventually the embittered burro answered.  
 
“Hullo, who is it? If you are selling double glazing I’m not interested.”
 
Tugger rolled his eyes, he knew perfectly well that Eyesore had caller ID, but was too vain to wear his glasses. “It’s me, Tugger. I’m at the Stables with Willie and we think we’ve found you a piece of tail!”
 
Eyesore sighed deeply, for no particular reason other than he could. “I’m sure that it’s very nice," he said in a voice that implied it was absolutely awful, “but I’m very happy with my bit of string.”  Eyesore was happier still with his “Dragon’s Tail” anal beads, but he wasn’t going to mention it to Tugger – Tugger couldn’t keep his mouth shut (which was useful sometimes…).
 
Tugger growled softly, would the obdurate equine ever change? “S-s-stuff the string, don’t you want a nice Ass? Get your butt over here and work it!”
 
“Oh dear,” lamented Eyesore to no one in particular since Tugger had hung up. Why the stripy one was so concerned with his exercise routine was beyond him, but he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t put in an appearance so the jaded jackass shrugged on his Mac and set off  - at a trudge rather than a trot – towards the club. At least he could have a Dandelion and Burdock when he got there.
 
Some time later …
 
Tugger was exceedingly happy to see Eyesore’s grumpy face coming towards him. The Ass might be well-hung, but he had an awful braying laugh that was beginning to grate on Tugger’s nerves, not to mention that Willie had disappeared off to the gents loos with at least three different partners and if the dim-witted bear could get that much action on a slow night then he, Tugger, ought to be setting world records instead of running a stud book. Fortunately the Ass wasn’t put off by Eyesore’s drawn features since he considered them to be a sign of good breeding and once it was clear that the hormonal hooved ones would be getting hot and heavy without his assistance, Tugger went back on the prowl, swinging his striped appendage (his tail!) as he went. Willie  - who has to reappear as he has been out of the spotlight and doesn't like it - hailed him on his way across the floor towards a promising looking leopard-skin jockstrap.
 
"Well done Tugger, I always knew that our errant Eyesore would get excited over a cute Ass!"
 
"P-p-please! Enough with the alliteration already. If the d-daft donkey doesn't get harnessed to this hot favourite he can put a personal Ad in Horse and Hound for all I c-care!"
 
Tugger was always prone to getting fractious if he went too long without an orgasm - hence his favourite solo activity - so Willie was inclined to cut the temperamental tiger some slack. Indeed he offered a suggestion of his own. "Maybe we could put a card on the Pony Club notice board?"
 
Tugger's jaw dropped, then it dawned on him that the unintelligent ursine had no idea that The Hundred Viagra Wood "Pony Club"  took quite an unusual, if not downright alarming approach to equestrianism. He had a brief vision of Eyesore wearing some decidedly non-standard tack, and nothing else, and determined that he needed a stiff drink to rid himself of the image. A black cat cocktail hit the spot, but not nearly as well as the black cat's cock did!  
 
Finally our furry friends had had their fill of fruity frolicking, fumbling and firkling - Willie was "singing" **, which was never a good sign so Tugger took Willie home for their favourite "nightcap" - Hot Chocolate Willie and Whorelicks.
 
And so to bed.
 
 
** Willie Woo-Hoo's " Clubbing Song"
 
The more I sup
 
Doodely-Dum
 
The more I tup
 
Doodely-Dum
 
And though I come,
 
Doodely-Dum
 
The more sore my bum
 
Doodely-Dum
 
Is growing.
 
Doodely-Dum
 
But baby I don't care
 
Doodely-Dum
 
'Cos I'm a horny bear!


*Alice Cooper said in a documentary that during the 70s it was okay to admit to sex, drugs and rock n roll, but he had to hide that fact that he used to sneak away with David Cassidy to play golf!

If you've made it this far, you might as well scroll on to read a "The Wood on Sunday" article 

Comments

[silvan-lady.livejournal.com]

*snorts*

It's pretty much a given I think!

[artemisallen.livejournal.com]

You are especially going to hell - I've just read your shopping post.