Lady Heady Antfarm

It went Bump in the Nightie

lady-heady-face-2“It went Bump in the Nightie” – Extract of a SL novel by Lady Heady Antfarm.
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(Soon to be found at Grignano Books)

“Damn it Philipina! I told you this was no job for an ex-kneecap model and budgie-sexer! This house is haunted damn it! Haunted by ghosts, spectres and at least two hideous ghoulies if what we’ve been told is right and it may just be or not who knows!” Dr Erasmus Wilkinson was angrier than he’d ever been, and the sight of his faithful assistant shivering and scared in her translucent night gown just made him even more furious. Furious and curious, for he was a scientist after all, lest he, and we, forget it, of course. Naturally. Furious that she had awoken him from his slumber, and curious as to what was making the air temperature drop so much he fancied he could easily hang a couple of hats in front of his beautiful Lady-Man Friday.

“I’m so sorry Razzy,” she said between heaving sobs. Heaving sobs that, he calculated, would leave both his hats on the floor – back to the hat stand drawing board he mentally noted. “I really am,” the silly girl continued, “but I know I saw them! I really did!”

“Saw what, you silly girl?” he snapped, angry his hat stand concept would never see light of day. He’d even begun to work out the air-cooling system, dammit!

“The ghoulies! Both of them!” she squawked.

“Good God! The ghoulies? Both of them? Are you sure?” he asked, all thoughts of his hat stand gone from his head, bar a lingering thought about wobble stabilisation using a rubber band network… Hmmm, that might work, you know…

“Yes!” she interrupted, “both of them – big and hairy and they were coming at me – coming and coming and coming and I couldn’t stop them!”

“Good Lord! What did you do?” he gasped and he began to sketch out a system of using three silly girls back-to-back for display purposes in a gentleman’s hatters.

“I jumped out of the shower, threw my nightie on and ran down the hall to you, Razzy.” She underlined this description with a mock run that would have sent any number of hats flying to the four winds and caused a reaction within the good professor that instantly afforded him a rack on which to hang several umbrellas.

“Oh Razzy!” she sighed breathlessly looking down. A trouser button narrowly missed her nose.

“Damn the ghosts! Damn science and damn the bloody hat stand! Come here, Philipina!” he ordered masterfully. He gabbed her nightie and with one powerful yank, tore it off. She stood naked and heaving in fronts of him as he released his umbrella rack and pointed it at her with intent. “Now. Tell me what those ghoulies did to you again and let’s see if I can’t better them…”

(For more by the same author, click here)

A Warm Front in the Cold War

“A Warm Front in the Cold War” – Extract of a SL novel by Lady Heady Antfarm.
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(Soon to be found at Grignano Books)

“Ah, so you think your American bravado will save you?” Major Ilyka Italot stood before the captured B52 pilot, her leather-clad hands resting confidently on her shapely hips.

“Honeypie, all youse is gonna git out of me is my name, rank and number. But if you’re a good girl I reckons I can stretch to kiss,” Captain Hank Wayne the Sixth of the United States Navy Air Force Wing Marines Crops quipped with a wink and a smile. At least it looked like a wink and a smile. It could have been a nervous tic. Even he wasn’t sure now.

The Russian Major (theatre studies minor) stared at the handsome imperialistic pigdog sat before her. From the toes of his strong, athletic legs to the curls of his boyishly charming hair, she hated his capitalistic guts with a passion.

“You Americans! You think that with a joke here, a wink-smile-thing there you can just charm country peasants such as myself, don’t you!” She hissed at him, her anger rising and making her chest heave.

Hank Wayne watched her chest heaving inside her uniform. He was no longer listening to her and had no idea what she was saying, something about heaving breasts he guessed.

“YOU MAKE ME SICK!” she shouted at him and slapped him hard across his cheek, an action that proved too much for her collective-sewn blouse and caused both of her magnificent and perfectly round breasts to leap out of her regulation five year bra and burst from her blouse in a shower of buttons, torn fabric and magnificent, round, large, lovely breasts. And nipples.

“By Lenin’s Tomb!” exclaimed the Major’s second-in-command, a small man in the Urals, who fainted dead away at the sight of such a forbidden and foreboding spectacle.

“By Lincon’s Beard!” exclaimed Captain Hank.

The Major, proud of her magnificent people’s bosom stood in front of him unashamed of her nudity. And with a rack like that, why should she be? “You Americans! You know nothing about hardship! Struggle! Pain! We Russians know these things. And in Russia, these things know you!” she bellowed cryptically.

Captain Hank had no idea what the broad was on about, but he nodded and made vague reassuring sounds. If being married three times had taught him anything, it was how to keep his mouth shut at the right time or risk losing all chance of landing his bomber.

“You think that with your B52s and your up-and-over garage doors and your popcorn you will win the war? You are fools!” Her passion burned brighter inside her, its warmth flooding into all the hidden nooks and crannies of her Amazonian body. She looked the western swine full in his handsome face and she kissed him hard and deep. She tore her clothes off and then his until they were both naked. She stood astride the chair he was chained to and noted with pleasure the generous size of the salute he was giving her military honours.

“Prepare to cross Checkpoint Charlie, Captain Hank Wayne…” she whispered as she lowered herself onto his refuelling rod…

(For more by the same author, click here)

Dick Tupin

lady-heady-face-2“Dick Tupin” – Extract of a SL novel by Lady Heady Antfarm.
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(Soon to be found at Grignano Books)

Through the foul, dread night she rode, like a man possessed but in a woman’s body and riding side saddle to boot. A hoot! An owl cried in the inky black and her horse, already half mad with fear and mouldy apples, had a seizure and dropped dead on the spot. M’lady flew through the air and sluiced to a stop in the sticky mud. Behind her she heard her pursuer’s horse slam to a stop with a start as it hit the already rotting carcass of her own ex-mount. With a rebel yell, a dark, powerful shape came slithering along the muddy trail and rolled manfully on top of her.

“Unhand me, you wretch!” she demanded.

“M’lady, I can assure you my hands are nowhere near you.” He replied, his voice a curious combination of silk wrapped honey and cobbler’s tacks.

She looked and saw his leather gloved hands propping him up either side of her shoulders, “Well at least move that damn sword hilt, man!”

“M’lady, I’m not wearing a sword…” he growled in a way that sent a thrill down her spine and through her hips. Unbeknownst to her, it carried on down her legs, through her boot and into the ground where it travelled into the forest and felled a moose.

She could not help but push her fulsome hips upwards to investigate. Their findings were entirely to her liking and within seconds her nimble hands had joined in the investigation and were already uncovering his reward.

“You rode hard and fast tonight,” she hissed as she grasped his stallion and led it to her very own secret hay bale, “but let’s see if you are masterful in my saddle, you dog!”

“Oddsbodkins!” was all he could reply as he went cross-eyed and donned a stupid smile…

(For more by the same author, click here)

Dharlinks! I love it!

Lady Heady Face 2 Oh my dharlinks! That delicious demon man Dr Darien Mason has recorded his sweet husky voice reading from what I can only describe as both  a lost masterpiece and a hideous act of plagerism!For this work, this magnificent work is nothing but a blatant re-telling of my 1956 novel “The Slattern Needs Seamen!” which, rather like Captain Hip Shank’s vessel, sank without a trace due to a very poor choice of publisher on the part of my then fourth husband. Anyways Dhalrlinks, you simply must listen to the ravishing Dr Mason saying “her sex was a rainforest” – I guarantee that won’t be the only moist thing by the end MWAH!

Capn Dick’s Other Wooden Leg

“Capn Dick’s Other Wooden Leg” – Extract of a SL novel by Lady Heady Antfarm.
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(Soon to be found at Grignano Books)

“Arrr! Thar she blows!” growled the gruff tones of the even gruffer Captain Richard Rumpole of His Majesty’s Frigate “The Pumpernickle”. Captain Dick was known across the seven seas (not to mention three and a half of the oceans and quite a few canals) as “Capn Dick The Bastard” by those who wisely feared him (although, following an accident one night whilst inspecting his officer’s mess – and giving it a really good inspecting at that – brave and foolhardy wags had been known to call him Captain Half Mast. Usually from the safety of a different ship. Or continent if they knew what was good for them).

Hi firstmate, Isaiah Obadiah Woebetidteya Firstmate, a man hardened by the relentless sun and salt-laden sea air to such a degree that he bore to the casual observer the appearance of a small, ugly tree that had uprooted itself and mastered not only the art of walking but also of wearing pantaloons and shovelling huge quantities of cooked animal into its maw, lifted a spyglass to his eye and looked hard. “Grrrr! I see it not, capn,” he said eventually.

Jack the Bastard looked round, his wooden leg clip clopping on the tossing deck, which is the one below the poop deck but next to the tinkle deck, like a horse trying to play a zylophone, “Arrrgh! I be surprised not, firstmate Firstmate. Ye be looking down me other wooden leg, ye great scurvy pillock!”

Firstmate Firstmate, whose eyesight a kind soul might describe as somewhat less than optimum but a brutish soul might say was somewhere between shocking and bloody awful (indeed had it not been for a rather magnificent skill with his musket, it is doubtful that Captain Dick would have ever taken him onboard. Or off for that matter), removed the short, stout wooden appendage from his eye and stared hard at it until a look of growing horror spread across his face like a sudden squall slapping into his sails. “Shiver me mainbrace! You means to say I’ve had this in me hand all this time an’ ye never said a word!”

“Arrr, well I thoughts ye was warming it for me,” arred Jack, “like ye used te in the olden days o’yore before ‘e came between us!” The captain flicked his head, an act that dislodged his parrot and sent the terrified bird skittering across the now aptly named poop deck towards a young lithe lad busying himself in the rigging. The sun glinted off his rippling chest and the seagull droppings flecking his wild mane of hair shone like doubloons in the moonlight of his limpet pool eyes. His ears were okay, too, but his teeth were a right old mess. But then he wasn’t the kissin’ type so that didnae matter, Jack told himself out loud by mistake.

“Yarg! Git yer eyes off him, ye ‘ooer!” belched firstmate Firstmate, “kissin’ type or nay, ‘e be twice the dumb plaything and crew barrel boy you’ll ever be, ye slatten!” With that he took a good, firm hold of the captain’s appendage and roughly tossed it overboard in front of the whole startled crew leaving Jack the Bastard gasping for breath and griping tightly to the sheets as the world around him reduced to the fury and noise of small explosion in his brain…

(For more by the same author, click here)

Torn Asunder in Thunder

“Torn Asunder in Thunder” – Extract of a SL novel by Lady Heady Antfarm.
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(Soon to be found at Grignano Books)

“Damn it Philipina! I told you that the life of a federal storm chaser was no life for an ex-international fingernail and earlobe model!” Dr Erasmus Wilkinson was furious, and mixed in with that fury was concern and love and no small measure of lust. Philipina had never looked beautiful and available as she did now stood, as she was, in the torrential rain with her dress reduced to naught more than a transparent rag ripped by the wind and glued to the perfect curves of her womanly body.

“I… I didn’t mean to, Razzy,” she sobbed, “It just that I’m so cold and it slipped out of my hand…” she trailed off.

She was cold, he noted, Very cold. He could feel his very own barometric pressure rising as his eyes followed the curving isobars of her thighs and derriere. “Well it’s gone now and there is nothing we can do. We need to find somewhere safe to wait out this tornado.”

“What about that barn over there,” Philipina shouted over the wind, her face often obscured as her dress made frequent bids for freedom until it was whisked off over her head and swallowed whole by the dark, whirling behemoth above them. A behemoth made of clouds and rain and lightning and cows and dress.

Erasmus felt a force nine of his own stirring but fought back his carnal instincts for the good of science and mankind. Instead he took the naked assistant by her delicate wrist and ran like a man possessed across the field and to the barn. He ripped open the doors and threw his charge to a pile of straw inside before fighting manfully to close the doors against the howling winds outside. Finally, he staggered backwards from the locked doors exhausted. Philipina rushed to him “Oh Razzy, you did it. You did it!” she wept into his chest which was already wet from the rain so he didn’t feel it.

He did feel her tremble in his arms though and removed his coat to wrap around her “You’re freezing. You picked a hell of a time to stop wearing underwear, Philly,” he purred as his hands moved up inside the coat to cup her heaving cumulonimbi.

Outside the barn hell may have been breaking loose and sucking cows up like they were going out of fashion, but inside Philipina felt nothing but an approaching warm front as Erasmus’ very own twister rose to meet her storm funnel head on…

The Rise and Rise of the Roman Empire

“The Rise and Rise of the Roman Empire”
Extract of a SL novel by Lady Heady Antfarm.
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(Soon to be found at Grignano Books)

The quiet, still night air moved around her like a cat nosily chasing a butterfly and it tickled under her toga in a manner she found entirely to her pleasing. Like the time she found a slave lurking under her aqueduct. “If only my darling Liximous were here to see me now,” she thought as the full moon peeked out to illuminate her own.

But even though her betrothed’s name had sprung to mind, it was the face and body of the famed Gladiator Thrustuptious Hilticous that sprang to mind. His brutish ways and general aura of sullen libidinousness had awoken in her a sleeping tigress with claws of passion and teeth of desire.

She imagined him now, coming to her, his oiled and scraped torso gleaming in the moonlight, frightening away small mammals and causing an owl to choke. He strode up her driveway, lust powering him to the entrance to her villa – he was an unstoppable force, not to be denied, not to be stopped. Or denied.

Her breathing quickened and the cool night air seemed to cling to her skin in anticipation.

“The gods are in the air tonight, I feel,” his voice was like boulders rolling over other boulders and then down a hill and off a cliff into a valley of boulders.

She turned, her wispy toga spinning around her and revealing her moon soaked nakedness to him. “Blimey!” he coughed loudly, “Look at that!”

“What?” she cried.

“Er… nothing,” he fumbled, “I thought I saw a wild mountain beaver in your garden,” he recovered.

“Really? Where?” she turned and once again he was afforded a view of her garden normally reserved for her fiancé, lovers, servants, close friends and occasional strangers. By the time she turned back his short sword was in his hand and he was tugging away like a man possesed.

“Damn this buckle,” he said as he struggled with the scabbard.

“Let me,” she purred and wrapped her hands around his weapon and began to manipulate it like an expert, pulling it first one way and then the other, twisting ever so slightly and pushing back until, with his satisfied grunt of approval, it came off in her hands…

Across A Crowded No-Mans Land

“Across A Crowded No-Mans Land” A SL Novel by Lady Heady Antfarm.
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(Soon to be found at Grignano Books)

Tarquin would always remember the day the whistle blew, for it was the day he met and lost the love of his life: Klaus Von Ripburn, the Prussian Tiger of Old Pillkallen!

Over the top he went, the harsh shrill of the whistle still ringing in his ears as he ran headlong across mud and wire and into the path of bullets. Bullets, he noticed, that were not forthcoming. Actually, now he came to look about he found he was rather alone. No Prussian devils were charging towards him and a quick glance over his shoulder revealed the shocked faces of his comrades as they held the still whistling kettle aloft. Some of them waved slowly, pity writ large on their faces. Tarquin decided that a quick and silent retreat would be the order of the day. The brickwall of Klaus Von Ripburn’s chest put paid to that as Tarquin slammed hard into the huge naked, sweating, heaving chest and rebounded into the mud at his feet.

“Har! Zilly Inglisher scum, now you vill feel ze might of Ze Purssian Tiger! Oh yes! und Gott en Himmel!” the huge bear of a man bellowed to cheers from his lines.

Tarquin pulled himself up to him full height of five feet and nine inches and stepped up to the beast; like a magnificent oak Tarquin couldn’t help but think to himself, like a mighty, strong, rippling, oiled magnificent oak.

“Really, old chap? I rather think you are about to feel the bally might of His Majesty’s Own Lancer, you pompous, oiled muscled hunk of hun!” Traquin shouted back to a decidedly mixed response from his lines. He tore open his tunic, buttons flying this way and that like shrapnel, to reveal a chest and torso every bit as toned and rippling as that of the Tiger’s. Back in the trenches gasps of appreciation were heard and at least one swoon was registered.

“Mmmmm,” rumbled the Tiger, “zo you are a fighter. Zat is gut! I like nothing more zan to test myself against ze power und prowess of another zuch as yourself, Tommy Schwine!”

Tarquin watched the beast speaking, his strong throat bobbing and his harsh, cruel lips curling around the words, lapping at them one by one with his strong tongue… “Really? Well take this!” was all he managed to say as he leapt forward and wrapped his strong, lithe arms around the muscled torso of the Tiger’s beautiful, terrible body and they fell backwards into the mud…

When Twin Orbs Collide

“When Twin Orbs Collide” – Extract of a SL novel by Lady Heady Antfarm.
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(Soon to be found at Grignano Books)

Commander Wrench gazed off into the infinites of his own space, the space around him being small and encased in metal and not worth a gaze. But the space beyond that space was infinite like the space inside him that he now gazed at. He was a troubled man and he knew it. The space he gazed into seemed small and constraining, and not at all infinite any more and that troubled him all the same.

“Commander?” squawked Torque the ships main service droid, “You seem troubled and I can tell from your broad, strong, rippling shoulders that something is troubling you.”

Wrench turned from the wall unit he had been facing and looked at Torque instead. He couldn’t help think that she was a far better view than the wall unit and he allowed his eyes to follow the curves and lines of her robotic body like two drunken skiers tumbling into the valley between her lovely, pert K2s. He felt his flight suit tighten as if his hips were coming out of a 10G loop-the-loop and looking to punch through some likely looking barn doors. “Down Big Guy,” he mistakenly said out loud.

“Commander?” beeped Torque milliseconds before the bio-information from the flightsuit’s stress gusset informed her of his reaction to her twin presences. “Ooo, why Commander…” she then purred and popped her eyestalks out for a better look.

“Oh… Oh God. I’m sorry Torque. I… I just… I mean I’m your Commander and the leader of this mission to impregnate the Co-Ed Nebular with the JockSeed1 pod. Failure is non-imaginable, even by one single degree or a near miss. And yet here am I contemplating how my flightsuit feels when you are around. I was contemplating it a lot last night. And the night before. I feel I may drive myself insane and maybe even blind with all my long contemplations!”

“But Commander, you shouldn’t have to wrestle with such a weighty thing on your own,” Torque used her wifi connection to dim the lights but the signal was weak so she used her hand instead. She slid her other hand across her metallic breasts and gently tweaked a chrome-plated nipple to activate a vintage Barry White MP3 she had been storing for just this occasion. “You never have to do anything alone when you have me to lend a hand. Or a service duct…”

Wrench’s flightsuit gave up and his biplane of desire exploded out of its hanger, eager to get back to some real barnstorming rather than the endless practice runs of late.

“Ooo Commander!” popped Torque and trundled towards the log-in of a lifetime.

Meanwhile, air began to hiss from the crack in the plexisteelforcewinsheildow caused by a shard of stray zipper…