50 shades of gnome
by Dani Brown
Larry loved his garden gnomes in the middle of each night in a frilly nightdress with matching slippers in a way sure to set off his neighbour’s motion-sensor lights. Every night he would select a lucky gnome to sit on. Sometimes two. And three on the weekends. He would wave his arms about while zigzagging across the garden in a series of clumsy leaps to ensure all lights were on and it was as bright as it would be at noon on a cloudless day close to midsummer.
He hoped his neighbours were watching. This was how Larry made his living while they went to their hateful office jobs and put second mortgages on their homes held together with motion sensor flood lights. He owned his house outright.
He knew his fans watched. Without them he would still be living in his mother’s basement with the smell of festering decay for company. Mould spores clung to his gnomes in those conditions. He streamed his nocturnal activities to an audience of millions in all the world’s time zones for large sums of money and even larger sexual gratification.
He smothered the tips of all the gnomes’ hats in Vaseline every morning at six (this too was streamed online but didn’t attract all that many viewers). He liked the jelly to absorb sunlight during the day so it was warm to sit on in the middle of the night. No one wanted to watch him jump because of an anal chill – not even his neighbours.
He knew he needed to up his show to compete with Octopus Lady. Goat Man showed signs of catching up in the ratings as well. That was a troublesome thought. Goat Man wasn’t anything special, unlike Larry and his garden gnomes. He didn’t know what he could do.
More than anything he wanted his garden gnomes to breath in the air and blood to pump through little veins to an oversized brain. They would offer advice on stealing viewers from Octopus Lady and Goat Man and how to go about it. Years of their hats meeting with his hairy anus made them super-smart. They would be only too happy to oblige – this was their online show too.
If Larry’s gnomes came to life Octopus Lady and Goat Man would be so slack-jawed with awe they wouldn’t be able to stream anything other than flies entering their open mouths and lying eggs on their tongues. Viewers would turn off and count the hours until Larry was streaming a new night’s garden gnome activities.
In the early hours Larry sighed and switched off the webcam after a night of violating his anus and went to bed just as he did every morning. His arse was so stretched after years of sitting on gnomes he could hardly feel it anymore. He was worried he might start leaking butt-juice into his nightdress. He needed something new both for himself and the online audience.
He crawled into his bed still in the same nightie he wore for his show. He kicked the slippers under the wooden frame to collect dust bunnies with the others. He pulled the custom-made blankets over his head and drifted off. The last things he saw before closing his eyes each morning were the gnomes that decorated his duvet cover and pillow. He has yet to save up enough money for the matching curtains but he planned to – if only he could stop adding to his gnome family and collection of lawn ornaments.
Larry only ever dreamed about his gnomes and their ceramic smiles. When he went to bed each morning the television would come out of the footboard via remote control and playback his night in the garden combined with his custom-made bedclothes, he was guaranteed gnomish dreams. In these dream sequences as the sun crept up from behind the hills, his gnomes were turned into supporting actors. That wasn’t right; they’re meant to be the stars.
His garden was visited by a fairy; not a pretty fairy from his picture books which he used as masturbation fodder when the cameras weren’t streaming. He wanted to swallow a real one if one could be found and used this image and the ensuring jealous gnome as he reached climax.
This fairy looked like Octopus Lady. Instead of wings she had tentacles. It was a sight he didn’t want to witness.
At the time of Larry’s dream, Octopus Lady was busy streaming real-time footage of giving herself an enema with puréed tentacles. Her fans often clicked on her page from his once Larry turns off his cameras but he doesn’t know that. No one planned to inform him.
Octopus Lady started to fly, pulsing and flexing her tentacles to move through the air. Larry wanted to vomit in the bushes but there weren’t any bushes; he uprooted them to make way for more gnomes.
Her legs, smooth in soft silk stockings and court shoes transformed into a series of tentacles with oozing boils. Larry’s stomach rumbled its intense disagreement but he couldn’t please it by shutting his eyes as the lids appeared to be missing.
Goat Man was there too. Pus-filled boils exploded out of Octopus Lady’s tentacles so it rained pus in Larry’s garden. Goat Man appeared to enjoy it. He rolled around on the grass and every now and then he would stick out his tongue to catch a blob of pus. Larry, however, didn’t like pus landing on his gnomes – he was the one who had to sit on them. He tried to catch her in a net so he could throw her in a fish tank but no matter how fast he ran she was always out of reach.
The goats sniffed the gnomes’ pointed hats in search of a decent one to nibble on; one that didn’t smell too much like Larry’s arse. They didn’t seem bothered by the pus that fell like snow on a winter’s morning. All goats were ever concerned with was eating; the ones belonging to Goat Man proved no exception.
Larry didn’t like Octopus Lady and Goat Man and he especially didn’t want them fucking with his gnomes, or worse, fucking his gnomes. They were his main competition for the online audience. He didn’t care if they were nice people in person; the risk of them pinching his viewers was too high for any affection towards either to ever grace even his most generous thoughts.
Goat Man preferred to be sucked off by his goats. That was his thing; his gimmick, except on Christmas when he would fuck them each in turn – the entire herd until he passed out drunk and covered in goat spunk, shit and his own semen. He had no reason to be in Larry’s garden with Larry’s gnomes. But there he was, with his dick flapping around through the hole in his crusty tighty-whities. He watched over his goats with a pair of night vision goggles as the neighbour’s flood lights failed to come on, his tongue going in and out of his mouth like a lizard’s as he caught pus, swallowed it and stuck his tongue out again. It didn’t appear to be a conscious action.
Larry didn’t believe Octopus Lady to be a lady at all. Or human for that matter. In waking life he had viewed her stream paying by the minute like a phone call and she clearly had the lady parts but this was dreamland; if it started to rain jelly beans, Larry would have viewed that as real and the world where Octopus Lady shoved octopi inside her as the imposter.
Everything Octopus Lady did while swimming through the air, she did through her mouth due her lack of lady-parts and an arsehole. Larry didn’t find this odd in any way.
She puked giant multi-coloured turds onto his gnomes. Larry wanted to shove them back down her throat but the goats ate them while he watched from a telescope on top of a hill two point four miles away. There was no way he could get to his garden in time to salvage even one piece of rainbow shit.
When he woke up at ten to six, it was like he hardly slept at all. His neck creaked with cold stiffness. His duvet was on the dusty wooden floor. His bladder wasn’t even full like it usually was when he woke for half an hour to smother his gnomes in Vaseline. Thankfully, his sheets showed no signs of dampness.
His dreams were so weird and vivid that he expected to see Octopus Lady swimming and pulsating through the air in his garden as Goat Man’s goats munched on the pointy hats of his gnomes, their fur splattered with rainbow shit. He was more shocked by their absence as the last of the hazy remains of the dream faded into oblivion and then he didn’t know why he was shocked.
All seemed normal when he went outside with his apartment block sized bucket of Vaseline (good for the entire block for a year or more!) to coat the gnomes for his activities planned for once the sun went down. A bucket of Vaseline that large lasted Larry about a month but he couldn’t find an even bigger one.
A gnome winked at him while he covered its hat in goo to melt in the sun while he slept the day away. His sleep deprived brain didn’t register the subtle action. Larry moved onto the next gnome. This one was very vocal about his dislike of slugs and snails sucking butt-juice and Vaseline off his hat (which wasn’t really a hat but a physical part of him). Larry thought he was hearing voices again. He was too tired to realise his wish of living garden gnomes had been granted during his fitful sleep. He crawled back into bed once the task was over. He didn’t bother to wash Vaseline and butt-juice from his hands first; he never did.
He slept soundly and awoke refreshed in the late afternoon. He didn’t have any dreams, or at least any he could recall. His early morning Vaseline trip into the garden lay forgotten with the dreams of the post-gnome sitting.
He didn’t stream his entire life online as tempted as he was to do so. He didn’t think his fans would appreciate watching as the camera steamed up from his epic post-breakfast dump, or even watching him eat a massive fried breakfast every late afternoon to crap out the following afternoon. Between waking up and going outside in women’s nightwear picked up on the cheap from the local second-hand shop, Larry was the average person. In other words he was so normal it was coma-inducing boring.
It was the way he made his living and the enjoyment out of it that set him apart. But that was just a job. A happy and fun job, but a job none-the-less.
He went about his day. He didn’t start streaming until the sun went down, which in the summer that far north was very late. He brought his gnomes into the conservatory during the winter months; his viewers didn’t want to see his cold shrivelled balls.
His day was uneventful. His days often were.
He opened his curtains to watch the sun set. His gnomes were having tea. He rubbed his eyes; his gnomes were still drinking tea. He didn’t know where they acquired the tea cups. He didn’t care. His gnomes were alive! Now his streaming wouldn’t have to compete with Octopus Lady anymore and he could stop worrying about the threat to viewing figures posed by Goat Man.
He was already in his nightdress; a thin cotton number that he picked up new from a discount clothing chain. He didn’t have matching slippers so he put his thinning shoulder length hair in rollers with cream cheese on his face (it gave the appearance of thick night cream) –his audience always appreciated extra effort.
It wasn’t time to go outside but he needed to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. He wanted to touch his gnomes before he felt them inside and maybe give them a wet kiss.
Larry just about tripped over his bare feet in his rush to make sure it was real. He wanted to learn their names. He had so many questions formed in his head. It didn’t occur to him that garden gnomes aren’t capable of polite conversation. It also didn’t occur to him that the words in his head wouldn’t come out of his mouth in a way that made any sense. He ran out of his door and across the warm concrete of the patio.
The gnomes weren’t frightened of the lunatic in the blue nightie running and leaping towards them. The man breasts flapping about braless beneath the thin nightie fabric wasn’t a pleasant thing to witness; it made their little stomachs rumble but the gnomes didn’t view it as shit-your-pants terrifying. The older ones had decade’s worth of butt-juice from when they lived in a mould stained cardboard box under the rusty bed in Larry’s mother’s basement – nothing could be worse than that. They continued to sip their tea in tea cups stolen from the old lady down the road like Larry wasn’t there. They didn’t think to steal some perfumed soap and sponges from the old lady.
He was trying to talk but the gnomes didn’t care. He wasn’t even forming words with what came out of his mouth, let alone sentences. It crossed their minds to have him sectioned under the Mental Health Act but that would be too simple.
Once the sun was behind the hill and only the cold dregs remained in their cups they would get revenge for years of being sat on. But first they wanted to fuck with him and wax his arse for his audience of millions. The wax strips they stole from next door and hid in the wishing well, along with other stolen items for tonight’s special show.
The gnomes planned to take control, for now; however, they sipped their tea and watched Larry. Due to their short stature they were unfortunate enough to see up the blue cotton nightie and witness Larry’s floppy cock flapping around with his festering low-hung balls covered in spikey hair. It was nothing they hadn’t seen before but that didn’t make it any easier.
They wished their trousers weren’t painted on apart from making pissing and shitting rather difficult - they fancied subjecting Larry to similar sights. They wanted to sit on his head. Alas, their arseholes were simply too small.
A spikey pube landed in a cup of tea. The gnome it belonged to wanted to bite Larry’s ankle and then let his anus swallow Larry’s head but the later was impossible and he didn’t desire a mouthful of wiry hairs. Besides, the gnomes planned to lure Larry into a false sense of security. When Larry bent down to inspect the gnomes he was given a ceramic kiss instead of having his face chewed off. Chewing off Larry’s body parts would come later.
The motion sensor flood light next door came on, set off by a butterfly so big it belonged in a sci-fi movie. Larry was almost too excited to switch on the webcam and run around with a leap every now and then to set off the rest of the lights. He remembered just as he was about to sit on a gnome with a hat so old and faded it looked pink.
The gnomes discussed how much more indignity they would suffer while Larry was taking care of lights and cameras. It looked like they were about to drink some more of his butt-juice. Now they were living breathing beings, Larry could, at the very least, think of something fresh.
By the time the garden was lit up like high noon the gnomes had finished their tea and smashed the little cups and saucers by throwing them against the wooden fence (the old lady had plenty more to steal due to her apparent hoarding problem). There was a one in fifty chance of being sat on – although Larry may decide to sit on each of them until ejaculation but that was a rarity reversed for bank holidays. No gnome wanted to be the one to connect with Larry’s hairy anus.
They scattered to the corners with hopes of hiding in what few shadows the garden knew. There weren’t enough to secure hiding spots for fifty garden gnomes. The recently purchased remained in the open due to confusion over their surroundings. The older ones knew that garden better than they knew themselves. Each morning after Larry removed the slugs and snails and covered them in Vaseline they would study it with their unmoving eyes. Of course they were blind to the areas not immediately in front of them but Larry exercised no order when displaying his gnomes each spring and would often move them around the garden during the summer months so they all faced different directions (as requested by his viewers). The ones moved most often had the advantage.
It was the gnome purchased from a discount market stall last Tuesday that Larry laid his beady eyes on first. The colours were bright but the cheapness of the paint and the coercive powers of Larry’s butt-juice caused it to peel. Larry didn’t care. This one was his new favourite (favourites could change in a matter of minutes but sometimes a favourite gnome would remain so all summer).
He caught the gnome by its feet and licked accumulated Vaseline from its oversized ears. The viewers at home were able to see the fur that grew out of his tongue and the bread stuck to his teeth. They were the sort of people to get off on such things. Some wished for the very same furry tongue to run along their arse-cracks and lick out shit instead of Vaseline.
Larry half closed his eyes to work the squirming gnome’s ear. It wasn’t necessary but he knew his viewers appreciated it. To the audience on the other end of the camera, they looked fully shut. To them, he was only focused on the gnome. What they didn’t see was the counter next to each camera that would show Larry how many people were streaming in real-time.
Since he attached these little counters his viewing figures increased because he was able to respond to the audience within seconds. He also took requests on his message board and would enact the most popular every Thursday, Friday and Saturday. He expected a sudden surge in viewers tonight due to the life breathed into his gnomes while he slept.
The discomfort of Larry’s tongue was comparable to being filed down by damp and mouldy sandpaper with his breath like a combination of decaying fish and cheap perfume. It took a lot of gnomish will-power to pretend to enjoy it but it was all part of luring Larry to his false sense of security. Even the newest member of the gnome family knew how important the farce was.
So the gnome allowed drool to drip down his ear without compliant. The coating of Vaseline protected him to an extent. He even managed to make some moaning noises. They excited Larry further. His viewers and the gnomes witnessed a tent pop up in his nightie.
Larry would often relieve his throbbing erection by fucking the hole in the bottom of the ceramic gnomes. He didn’t know if the hole was still there anymore. He didn’t know how much the gnomes had changed with their first breaths. He might have to order a fuck cup or two; the thought did nothing to help his current predicament. Old fashioned plain and simple jerking off with a little hand lotion always failed to get him off, unless fairy-princess picture books were involved. It was the gnomes that did it for him and the audience would be bored with his licking soon, if they weren’t already. They wouldn’t want to witness him spanking it while looking at his jiz-stained picture books.
He turned the gnome in his hand upside down, the tea and cake sloshed to the extent that the viewers at home were able to hear. The gnome fancied a chunk out of Larry’s hand; he restrained himself for the good of all the garden gnomes.
To Larry’s dismay, there no longer was a hole in the bottom of the gnome. Little legs with painted on trousers replaced the hollow ceramic. He flipped the little gnome over to inspect its backside. It didn’t occur to Larry that even if the garden gnome did have an arsehole his cock wouldn’t fit inside.
He would have better luck with the gnome’s mouth. To the gnome’s relief, the thought never seemed to occur to Larry. He had a mouth painted in a permanent smile that concealed teeth like iron spikes with decapitated heads on top surrounding an enemy’s castle. The spikes might betray evil intentions or the gnome would give in to temptation and relieve Larry of his man-parts.
Larry’s face conveyed utter disappointment. A split second thought of Goat Man’s goats was entertained in his head before he realised the other gnomes might have a fuckable butthole.
He placed the one he was holding onto the yellowed grass. He would have dropped it in dismay but he didn’t want to break it, he had broken too many gnomes when they fell from his grip.
The gnome ran as fast as its short fat legs would carry it to the bird bath with hopes it would find water in there. Even festering algae-covered water was preferable to a coating of Larry’s saliva seeped beneath the layers of Vaseline so it couldn’t evaporate. Anything would be preferable to a coating of Larry’s spit, except perhaps his semen and butt-juice.
The gnomes in the darkened corner where Larry was heading collectively crapped in their painted-on pants. The smell wasn’t too pleasant with nowhere for the shit to go except down their chunky legs. Larry didn’t notice it over his own over-powering body odour. The viewers at home couldn’t due to smell-o-vision having not been invented.
Larry owned a gnome that stood at nearly four feet tall. This one he sat on once by special request as any further sitting would result in an anal injury that would see him in the hospital. It was a gift from a fan. He was grateful to that particular fan just then, even if he couldn’t remember the name or the face that went with it. If any of the gnomes were going to offer a way for him to blow his load it would be this one. He saw them drinking tea and there were half-eaten cakes on little saucers. If they can eat and drink then they can piss and shit. Following this logic, they require a hole of some variety to rid themselves of the waste (unless it came out their mouths).
The gnome Larry wanted wasn’t in this particular corner. The gnomes weren’t sure which one of them was going to be next. They tried to hide as best they could but Larry cut down and uprooted the hedge six months ago the result of which, hiding was damn near impossible. Larry was too focused on finding the largest member of the gnome family to notice the smaller ones trying to hide.
One of the flood lights went out. Larry activated it again when he leaped and pranced to the next corner in search of his largest gnome. It wasn’t there either.
A gnome that big is expected to meet with trouble when securing a hiding spot. Larry didn’t believe it could have gone far. It must have found a spot amongst the lawn ornaments. Hiding in plain sight was the only explanation he could come up with.
In his haste to get outside he didn’t realise he left the French doors open. Prancing around the garden in his cheap cotton nightie, he didn’t notice the missing boards in the fence either, even though they were brightly illuminated along with the neighbour’s dusty yellow grass (no flouting the hose pipe ban in the middle of the night there, Larry had everything to do with that). A few missing boards won’t let nearly a four foot tall garden gnome through anyways. Garden gnomes were as wide as they were tall often times; nearly four foot tall ones were no exception.
Larry’s prancing became less joyful as panic took over. A belt tightened across his heart. Or was it a tentacle belonging to Octopus Lady? A tentacle seemed more likely. It squeezed and shook at the same time becoming tighter with each passing second. Something wet wrapped around his lungs and coated them in slime.
More than half his garden gnomes appeared to be missing. The observation threatened to send him over the edge of remotely sane and into the abyss of the ranting and raving lunatic.
Through-out his panic, he maintained his erection. He even leaked some pre-cum into his nightie. His cock felt like it was covered in tentacles with suction cups and lubricated by slime, yet, nothing except thrusting it into the back entrance of a garden gnome would relieve it. If he wasn’t careful he would end up with a case of blue balls so terrible he would need to seek medical attention.
The gnomes who entered Larry’s house through the open French doors were on a mission; not for freedom but for paint. They planned on a striking new appearance to act to their advantage when they shove a decorative flamingo up Larry’s anus and tie him down with whatever rope or twine he kept in the little shed. But no one had seen the nearly four feet tall gnome. He wasn’t with the gnomes in the house; a gnome of that size wouldn’t look pleasant with wet-look black painted to resemble PVC trousers.
The nearly four foot tall gnome decided his best option was to become lost amongst the random selection of lawn ornaments yet close to the flock of plastic flamingos. He knew he was the one Larry wanted. He was the only gnome large enough to maybe take Larry in his arsehole. Attired in painted-on clothing rather than physical fabric, his anus was a big black hole staring like a blind eye at the yellow grass between his legs. It would be only too easy to find.
To prevent the possible loss of his arse-virginity he plugged it with broken crockery and found a spot next to the wishing well. He struck a comfortable pose and looked set to spend his first night alive completely immobile.
The broken shards of dishes in his arse weren’t comfortable. He thought that being made of ceramic and fired in a kiln that broken porcelain wouldn’t hurt or that ceramics couldn’t bleed – he was wrong on both accounts. Through his bleeding discomfort he kept his pose, even when Larry came close to impaling himself on his pointy hat.
The nearly four foot tall gnome watched the freshly painted gnomes emerge from the French doors from his unmoving eyes. Larry was too busy trying to rip tentacles from his body to notice. To the viewers at the other end of the webcam, it looked like Larry was ripping his nightie and tearing off his skin. They found it hilarious. As word of mouth, or in this case, instant message, spread more and more people clicked onto the live stream. Even Octopus Lady and Goat Man watched, more out of curiosity than anything. They were sure to send the link to all their contacts. Larry had such a large audience that early retirement was a feasible option as long as the servers didn’t crash.
The gnomes emerging from the house found hairpins and twisty-ties while they climbed onto the kitchen counter to act as whips and chains. They didn’t plan on using them but they appreciated the dramatic effect offered by such props and thought the internet viewers would too. These gnomes could have won an award for the ugliest and shortest dominatrices in the land. They each took a turn to hiss into a camera. It enticed more viewers.
Larry didn’t notice the gnomes with their wet paint creep up on him. He was occupied with efforts to breathe deep and break the tentacles shackled around his chest and cock. He pranced about with even less grace than usual, it was more stumbling about but he failed to fall as he tore at his nightie and the skin beneath. The online audience didn’t know what screen to watch – there was too much going on in Larry’s garden.
The largest of the family watched the gnomes disguised as ugly pseudo-sex workers sneak up on Larry, taking a chance on moving his body the slightest bit. When the signal came his task was to pull up a flamingo and tip over the wishing well – to spill the stolen contents onto the yellowed grass. A much needed evening shower could have ruined the plan.
The gnomes that escaped into the neighbouring garden made their way back with Vaseline stolen from bathrooms up and down the road. They planned to layer it onto Larry’s body while not lubricating his arsehole. They even found a little bucket to gather slugs and snails in to see how much he enjoyed having them slime up and down his body. The online audience were sadistic fucks; they’ll enjoy watching that.
A painted gnome came close to ending his life underneath Larry’s feet. Larry failed to notice due to two more tentacles wrapping themselves around him each time he succeeded in tearing one away. The gnome scurried away.
The captain of the BDSM gnomes farted with such velocity it shattered the crystal ball beneath his arse, as was the agreed signal. Larry didn’t notice; he was too busy with imagined tentacles and skin-tearing suction cups.
The nearly four foot gnome pulled a plastic flamingo out of the dried clay that served as soil and kicked over the wishing well. His anus swallowed a broken piece of a saucer with the impact of the stained wood on his foot. He impaled himself through the beard and throat on the stick of the plastic flamingo when he fell over in surprise. Larry was now down to forty-nine garden gnomes, or would be in within a few minutes.
The gnomes from the closet corner to the accidental impalement ran over. They could do nothing to save the largest gnome so they uprooted more plastic flamingos as he took his dying breaths.
The gnomes with the Vaseline carried it above their heads. These containers were normal sized – the neighbours didn’t require enough Vaseline for an entire apartment complex. They crept up on Larry and stood next to the gnomes with the flamingos. The gnomes from the furthest corners made their way towards the others until they formed a ring around the newly painted gnomes who formed a ring around Larry.
It was only when the flamingos were held as spears and pointed at Larry that he noticed them. The freshly painted gnomes tried their best to look grim and would have succeeded if they didn’t have painted on smiles with a twinkle in their eyes to match. The gnomes in the ring behind them bared their teeth. Yet, Larry failed to recognise their sinister intentions.
Salty pre-cum escaped Larry’s cock. He was getting too old to jiz more than once a night, he wasn’t even sure if he would be able to get it up again if he spunked down his leg. The thought of grannies sucking diarrhoea off each other’s sagging breasts through extra-long bendy straws threatened his low-hung balls. They began the long journey back inside him as his dick returned to its default state. He saw some of his gnomes had painted themselves and nearly lost it all; grannies couldn’t help him even when he added vomit into the fantasy. He sensed he was about to be dominated by gnomes and how right he was. He succeeded in not blowing his load.
The viewers at home fell out of seats and banged their fists on tables and desks. Some held their breath with anticipation. This was taking too damn long in this world of instant gratification. Unfortunately there was no way to fast forward life.
The gnomes with the fresh paint drew closer to Larry. A flood light went out; it added to the effect owing to the new-found shadows. It even disguised that not all the gnomes with fresh paint received enough coatings of flesh coloured before layers of silver and wet-look black were applied, there just wasn’t enough to go around (once again it was the newer gnomes that missed out). Larry liked the touch added by the pretend whips and chains; he was certain the online audience appreciated the effort displayed by the gnomes.
He sat on the yellowed grass lifting up his torn nightie to feel it stab his arse. Some of his cream cheese smudged during his panic and gnome licking so it ran off his face – sweat cut canyons on his cheeks and formed deep lakes on his forehead. Rollers had fallen out his hair and were scattered through-out the garden. He was the spitting image of the world’s least likely porn star, yet, more people tuned in.
Forty-nine garden gnomes approached him in two rings. This didn’t at all seem imposing, even with the flamingos held as spears and pointing at him. His dick throbbed with the thought of some gnomish role-play.
The captain of the BDSM gnomes jumped onto Larry’s chest. Garden gnomes, once they become sentient beings weigh a lot more than their size would suggest. The gnome forced Larry onto his back with his weight and pushed the air out of his lungs. Upon being forced onto his back he found it impossible to not straighten his legs. Gnomes don’t like being kicked; they poked him with plastic flamingos. He laced his hands behind his head as a pillow. Larry’s earlier panic lay forgotten at the bottom of his knocked over wishing well (it didn’t touch the unnoticed contents spewed across the lawn or the dead gnome next to it).
There was enough fabric left of Larry’s shredded nightie to create a tent where his cock poked up. The gnomes wanted to vomit their tea and cakes into the proverbial gutter between their legs but swallowed the burning liquid down to once again take up residence in their stomachs. Heaving gnomes would take away from the aesthetic they were going for, unless they puked down his throat.
Larry might have been physically capable of over-powering all forty-nine gnomes. They didn’t want to take any chances; they resorted to psychological domination. Given that Larry wished to submit to his garden gnomes’ deepest desires all it took was extending the plastic flamingos in a criss-cross pattern over Larry’s body. He could have escaped the restraint if he really wanted to but it put control firmly in the hands of the gnomes.
Larry heard shuffling. He couldn’t prevent turning his head to check out what was causing the sound. The captain of the gnomes didn’t take kindly to this and bit Larry’s nipple. Larry somehow managed not to tear the fabric across his nipples in his panic so the captain of the gnomes couldn’t bite off his nipple. He found himself disappointed even as red flowers blossomed across the tattered fabric.
The online audience were divided between Larry and the gnomes by the shed. Larry hadn’t lost blood on the show since he last tried to sit on the largest gnome; the audience were fans of blood. But there might be blood if the gnomes climbing onto each other’s shoulders by the shed fell. The death of the largest gnome proved dying and dead gnomes didn’t revert back to their ceramic form.
Some viewers had a split screen on a smart phone which made it nearly possible to watch both at the same time if they were willing to sacrifice concentration on either. These viewers couldn’t get full enjoyment out of the scenes as they unfolded and had to use the playback feature.
Larry knew not to attempt movement again – it was all part of the game the gnomes wanted to play. Larry wanted to play it too. To him, this was simply a temporary submission. Once the sky fades from black to grey he would be allowed into his home to sleep for a few hours until it was time to give the gnomes their daily coat of Vaseline. The gnomes knew this wasn’t going to be the case. Even the viewers at home could see what was happening, including the ones with terrible connections.
Larry allowed a stupid-looking grin to cut through the cream cheese. He hadn’t entered sub-space but he thought he would (he wouldn’t). This was the happiest he had been in a long time. His joy transferred onto the screens of millions of viewers across the world.
The gnomes broke into the shed without impaling each other on their pointy hats or toppling over to their death. For all Larry’s security precautions, he wasn’t all that concerned with the shed. The lock on the door was so rusty it was nearly dust. A firm punch and it broke away.
Apart from storing odd bits of things he would never use but bought anyways, it served as a gnome graveyard for all the gnomes broken beneath his anus or when he kicked them over in a rage. When Larry’s garden gnomes were brought to life, so were the broken pieces. Some were so broken they were fly-covered parts but others were alive and moaning in agony. The gnomes wanted to put them out of their misery but they were there for one purpose – something to tie Larry down with (none of the neighbouring houses seemed to have anything while they were gathering supplies for tonight’s live stream).
Waiting around for rope or twine to arrive was boring business. Viewers would start to click off. The hairpins and twisty-ties were meant to be a simple prop designed to make the gnomes appear with more intimidation than their painted on smiles and twinkly eyes would allow. But hairpins and twisty-ties were all they had until the gnomes in the shed arrived back to the circle even with the contents of the wishing well so close, yet, so far because Larry couldn’t be left unattended, not until his submission was complete.
The gnomes with the hairpins passed them to one gnome without a word between them. These were then passed onto the captain. He secured them into a bundle with twisty-ties.
Larry didn’t notice the bundle of hairpins until they entered his piss-hole; he was too lost in relaxation and the quest for sub-space to notice much of anything. The gnomes should have shoved a lit firecracker up there, the pain was the same and just as sudden but Larry wasn’t about to suggest the idea. He did express his physical agony in a series of screams and tears cutting through the smudged cream cheese. He wasn’t in a condition to suggest agreement of a safe word. The gnomes managed to not laugh; gleeful laughter would come later. Despite the excruciating pain, escape didn’t enter Larry’s mind.
The gnomes in the shed returned with twine and post-traumatic stress from the sights they witnessed. Some of these gnomes were broken when Larry sat on them. Others, when he kicked them over during the height of orgasm. And others still when he was angry about a swollen pus-filled infection in his arsehole; a snail was at fault and not a gnome but that didn’t occur to Larry until his guilt-filled tears in the early hours. They didn’t have the time to seek the stories of each dying gnome in the shed.
The viewers at home were concerned for Larry’s welfare; they reserved no affection for him but they didn’t want to see him pass out before the gnomes had tied him up. They typed suggestions of ways in which to preserve his levels of consciousness onto the message board but they weren’t sure if the gnomes would see it or if they could read. They suspected a bit of both.
With twine acquired and tears in the eyes of the gnomes who walked amongst the broken dying, the gnomes felt like genies in granting Larry his wish. They lacked scissors; it was time to demonstrate the sharpness of the iron spikes that hid behind the painted on smiles. Larry didn’t notice the teeth or the twine or anything except the agony erupting in his pisshole.
The twine was more an aide to psychological control rather than a way to keep Larry physically restrained. It was too weak and he was too strong; therefore, the twine was really super weak because Larry wasn’t that strong. The gnomes didn’t know much about Japanese rope bondage but they did their best and were satisfied with the result.
The gnomes that ventured into the shed were in no fit state to make a trip past a dead gnome to the wishing well so another group was sent. They weren’t allowed a rest; they were handed plastic flamingos to keep Larry in line. They were only too tempted to barrage him with ceaseless poking.
Larry didn’t really feel the poking. It was annoyance like a fly at a picnic beneath the pain in his cock. The flamingos and twine weren’t required to keep Larry stationary; the pain was enough but the gnomes weren’t about to take any chances.
Larry didn’t react when the body-temperature activated wax strips were applied and then ripped away from his legs. The gnomes decided to use the remaining strips on his balls. He felt that through the pain coursing from his penis.
He tried to sit up. He tried to cup his balls with his hands. He was poked in the eye with a plastic flamingo stick.
More viewers clicked onto the live stream putting the servers under increased pressure. The gnomes were unaware of the disadvantages of the technology which allowed them to reach millions of people all over the world.
The wax strips were used up but the gnomes did not despair. The captain called for his special weapon that he stole from a house two streets away while Larry was lost in the blissful oblivion of dreamless sleep in the afternoon. The gnomes heaved it up over their heads and helped the captain attached the stainless steel to Larry’s hairless balls.
The cool metal offered mild pain relief. Some of Larry’s senses returned but not enough to stutter the suggestion the gnomes ease up for the night.
A collar was secured around Larry’s neck and twine attached to the buckle. It wasn’t as cool as the metal around his balls. Larry let the first thoughts of no more pain enter his mind.
Feathers danced across the soles of his feet while the stainless steel lost its cool. Larry began to relax again, even with blood staining his nightie and flamingos held over his body.
The twine around his wrists and ankles rubbed the skin away and itched but Larry didn’t mind. He didn’t mind a bit of foot tickling either. It was nice compared to the waxing and the explosive pain in his cock. He tried to focus on both the pleasant sensations at the same time to drown out the agony.
Larry’s breathing became normalised and his pulse rate slowed. It didn’t reach relaxation levels but was close enough for the satisfaction of the gnomes.
The captain jumped on the ball clamps. He nearly lost his balance when Larry sat straight up due in part to too much leeway on the twine (it didn’t snap). In anger, he shoved the hairpins back into Larry’s pisshole.
The online audience loved it. Whenever they thought Larry would pass out from the pain he proved them wrong by taking double.
The plan didn’t include castrating Larry. The clamps were removed as the risk factor was too high. Larry would need to be worked up over weeks to handle them. Larry was pulled back to the dirt whimpering in pain.
Lids were removed from pots of Vaseline. Gnomes hated Vaseline but each of them smeared some onto their hands and wrists and fought for a place to rub it onto Larry. He found the massage to be nice – a pleasant way to make him forget about the pain coursing from his cock and balls.
Everywhere except his arse received a healthy coating. The gnomes even rolled him onto his stomach to get at his back. More was applied until it was at least an inch thick in places. It mixed with the cream cheese on his face and ran into his hair. The grease will remain with him for the rest of his life.
The gnomes wanted to wash their hands but lacked the time. The sun was peaking up from behind the hills. They couldn’t risk anything melting the Vaseline so it ran into Larry’s arse offering him lubrication – his body heat was already at work in that.
A flamingo was selected at random. This one would find a new home amongst the shit in Larry’s anus. The captain shoved it up. Years of sitting on gnomes had loosened Larry’s arsehole but unlubricated, it still caused a howl.
Groggy-eyed neighbours twitched their curtains and blinds to look into Larry’s garden. They learned the location of their missing items and found it worth the cost of a few wax strips or some Vaseline. Larry deserved everything. Some had watched the live stream in the night and weren’t surprised to see the gnomes and others thought they were still dreaming.
Larry wasn’t given any time to adjust to the strange shaped object in his arse. It was pushed in and out with such force it broke. An unlucky gnome had to retrieve it so a fresh one could be shoved up there.
Shit clung to broken shards of plastic as the newest gnome in the family stuck his fist up Larry’s backside. He planned on chopping it off once he removed most of the broken flamingo. His plan was never carried out and it withered and died while still attached to him two weeks later.
The new plastic flamingo pushed the broken shards into Larry’s body where they were absorbed by his bowel to become part of him. It was more pleasant than the agony experienced in his cock but painful none-the-less. He wasn’t sure he still possessed a cock; the pain could be a simple phantom of excruciating throbbing memory of man-parts after they were severed. He was aware he had an anus, albeit, one that was plugged up and cut up.
The gnomes untied Larry’s wrists and ankles. He was in no position to escape if the thought were to cross his mind. They forced him onto his hands and knees with the flamingo protruding into the air. The twine attached to the dog collar around his neck served as a leash.
They walked Larry on all fours through his house and out his front door as the land was waking up and wiping the sleepiness out of their eyes. Except the people up all night watching the live stream, they were washing caffeine pills down with double espressos to see themselves through the day.
Plastic flamingos that survived the night were carried with them as spears to keep Larry in line. It was unfortunate they couldn’t carry the cameras with them but a fan hacked into the area’s CCTV so grainy images were broadcast all over the world.
Wherever there happened to be glass or a pile of steaming dog shit, Larry was forced to crawl through it. His legs were torn as badly as his nightie. People lined the roads to watch. The gnomes allowed Larry a breakfast of raw road kill. They planned on having him out all day and couldn’t have him passing out from hunger.
The gnomes paraded Larry through the city centre as the business men and women arrived at work and the shops were opening. Most had dark circles under their eyes or disguised behind poorly applied make-up from watching the live stream all night.
The police force had been up all night viewing. Those coming off night shift went to watch Larry and the gnomes instead of going home for dinner and sleep. They were observers in Larry’s degradation. They didn’t even try to cover him up when giggling school girls walked past.
No one’s sleep deprived mind was able to process forty-nine garden gnomes had come to life. No one bothered to check if there were any other living lawn decorations. No one cared. Larry and his garden gnomes were too distracting.