TracerBulletBilly: The Oddity - Armada of Idiots

Jem posted a preamble to this tale, you can read it on her blog here.

Book One: Armada of Idiots

Rage.

Sing, O Muse of the rage of Tracer-Achilles, murderous, repeater killer, fated to die, sing of the rage that cost the Graceans so many good men and sent so many vital, hearty spermatozoa down to the dreary House of Death. And while your at it, O Muse, sing of the rage of the Mistresses themselves, so petulant and so powerful here on their new Olympos LDW, and of the rage of the of the Strokanians and Sissifeans, thoughtful, serious, dreaming under the spell of their goddess Mistress.

Oh, and sing of me O Muse, billy-Odysseus. Sing of my rage, yes of my rage, O Muse, small and insignificant though that rage may be when measured against the anger of the immortal Mistresses, or when compared to the wrath of the Mistress squirter Tracer-Achilles.

If I am to be the unwilling Chorus of this tale then I can start it anywhere I choose. I choose to start it here:

Along the rocky shore lay the vast fleet of ships that comprise the host of pets assaulting Goddess Island in their mad quest for thin mints. The Mistress Goddesses are bogarting an immeasurable cache of thin mints stolen by Tracer-Achilles's mom in the Great Girl Scout Con of 06.

The Graceans are there, proud in their pink collars. The Tarananans are there, noble in their sun dresses. The Kateians are there, majestic in those thingies they wear. Other pets of proud Mistresses are there, too many to name without boring the shit out of the reader.

Tracer-Achilles paces the shoreline handing out Salad Forks of Shame and other implements of war. An excited FridayFridayFoFriday approaches with her oracle in hand and accepts an Eggbeater of Justice.

"Tracer-Achilles! I have Princess-Aphrodite on the Verizon oracle. She heard we're coming over and was wondering if She should get some pizza and beer?"

"Oh, that's nice of Her, FridayFridayFoFriday! Tell Her we could use ..." Tracer-Achilles scans the shoreline "about 12,000 pepperoni with double cheese, 8,000 'the works' and two veggie. I'd guess around 3,000 kegs of beer and 2,000 bottles of white wine. Tell Her we'll bring desert."

FridayFridayFoFriday is relaying the order into the oracle when she suddenly looks up and says, "She laughed, said 'Fuck that!' and hung up Tracer-Achilles!"

"Is that a yes?"

"I'm not sure Tracer-Achilles, sounded more like a 'maybe' to me."

"Well we'll find out when we get there."

After boarding the ships, the mighty armada heads out to sea.

Standing on the aftforecastlepoopdeck billy-Odysseus mans the rudder and heads the proud, pink ship of the line, the ::giggle::, in the direction Tracer-Achilles is pointing to off the bow. Tracer-Achilles is holding a map and a compass, brow furrowed getting a feel for the tricky navigation to Goddess Island.

"I'm glad we can see the Island from here, billy-Odysseus" says lbb-Agamemnon dressed in something that looks like a cross between a nero jacket and a mumu, "otherwise we might be in the hurt locker."

"What's up with the pointy ears lbb-Agamemnon?"

"I'm a Vulcan. You have pointy ears too, so why not?"

"Well mine are real, I'm an elf you see"

"What kind of elf?" calls Adonace from the nearby ship Denial, his voice filled with hope.

"Not a Keebler elf, Adonace" billy-Odysseus calls back, "More of a Santa elf."

"Well screw you then, you little pervert!"

"Tracer-Achilles has done a great thing here billy-Odysseus," notes lbb-Agamemnon, "He's united the sissies and strokers, the repeaters and the perverts into a Federation of Pets. All working towards a common goal."

"Oh for crying out loud lbb-Agamemnon, Tracer-Achilles is just jonesing for thin mints!"

"Well you should have Tracer-Achilles put the repeaters in red shirts, help tell them apart."

"Good idea."

Someone in the hold calls up, "Tracer-Achilles why are we rowing? I'm getting tired and sweaty!"

"We couldn't afford motor boats!" shouts Tracer-Achilles, "And you better not be rowing, you better be stroking. Now grab those shafts and puuuulll!"

"We could use a whaling song, it would help us with the rhythm. Anyone know one?"

"I know one," says billy-Odysseus, "I'll sing the italic text a capella and you pervs join in on the bold parts since you don't know the words. I can only remember part of it ..."

Oh it's "up me mates" as the lookout shouts from the topsail mizzen mast
Hey
And the capsail spins on the poopsail poop and we sighted whale at last
Hey
Then it's three char boats in the ocean waves while the oarlocks whistle and boom
Hey
Then Indian Joe in the spit of the bow lets fly with his lampoon

Oh it's all heads down and blow lads blow when you hunt for the horrible sperm

And the whale she's dives like a devil into hell in a wave of singing line
Hey
And Boston Ben took a flounder off the flukes and he drown in the salty brine
Brave Lad
And he drown in the salty brine
Brave

Now there's one less whale fish in the sea and the good ship safe and sound
Hey
And the oils onto boil in the belly of the hold and we're bound for Bedford town
Hey

Oh it's all heads down and blow lads blow when you hunt for the horrible sperm

A chorus of voices come up from the hold.

"Is billy-Odysseus gay?"

"I bet that's why he's so secretive about his fantasies with Aphrodite-Grace. He probably has Her acting like some sort of degenerate Captain Ahab who makes him blow for horrible sperm!"

Tracer-Achilles glowers wickedly, cocks his Soup Spoon of Sorrow and levels it at billy-Odysseus's knee, "No more gay whaling songs!"

Giggling wafts up from the hold.

Tracer-Achilles calls from the bow, "OK we have to stroke at just the right pace to pierce the hymen that protects Goddess Island! If we cum or don't pull just the right way we'll be devoured by the Krackon! Now stroke and pull for all you're worth you bastards!"

As the armada, moaning and whimpering with want and need approaches the hymen two of the boats erupt with geysers of cum. Monstrous tentacles explode from the ocean surface dragging the ships down to a watery grave.

A soft feminine gasp is heard as the ships pierce the hymen, "Ohhhh, Yummy!" a beautiful voice moans and thousands of erections grow even harder.

As the armies disembark from their ships and begin assembling along the pristine shoreline of Goddess Island, Aphrodite-Grace blinks into existence in front of the Graceans. Tracer-Achilles looks along the shoreline and sees other faultless Goddesses standing in front of their pets, such as Athena-Tara and Peitho-Kate.

Aphrodite-Grace is wearing gossamer robes of the finest silk, shimmery and ephemeral. Her pert erect nipples a muted brown barely visible through the supple fabric. Her lips a desirable shade of pink. Her satiny brunette hair, cascading down past her exemplary shoulders, drifting in the gentle beach breeze. She surveys Her craven, lascivious pets.

"What brings this baleful host to Our tranquil shores?"

Tracer-Achilles steps forward, "Thin mints."

"Oh, speak not to Me Tracer-Achilles! As if I'm going to foot the bill for 20,000 pizzas, beer and wine. No, I'm a tad cranky with you at the moment. I'm afraid your arrogance has Me in a bit of a mood ..." Suddenly, Her attention diverted, She says, "What do We have here?"

Aphrodite-Grace saunters over to a nervous Gracean spearman. Sweat pours from his forehead as he tightly grips his shaft. Eyes downcast he whimpers, consumed with lust for the magnificent Goddess.

Aphrodite-Grace giggles, "Awwww, poor baby! Look at his helpless, little pee-pee. It's all hard and leaky and looks so filled with rage ... " Musing, She softly says, "It looks so very pretty in such a vulnerable state ..."

Aphrodite-Grace further parts the robes of the spearman and placing her alluring face a mere inch from the dribbling cock, in a incomparable voice She murmurs, "Is your wittle wee-wee angry at Me? It looks so mad! Is it 'spitting mad'? Is it going to spit at Me? Awwww ... precious boy!"

A death grip on his shaft, moaning in ecstasy and terror the spearman begins to cum. Huge blobs of sperm trickle from his spasming cock hitting the sandy shoal.

"Mmmmmm, a dribbler, and My face so very close," pouts Aphrodite-Grace looking up with Her exquisite, doe-like orbs into the eyes of the poor spearman, "Come on sweetie get Me all gooey! You can do it!"

Cum is pouring from the hapless spearman. Unable to hit Her face he falls to his knees hearing Her sigh, "good boy," grunting and whimpering unable to stop his orgasm, his eyes silently pleading as he stares into the perfect remorseless eyes of Aphrodite-Grace. Spewing sperm his body mummifies, turns to dust and blows away in the gentle breeze of Goddess Island. Similar terrible moans can be heard along the beach as each Goddess Mistress accepts Their grim tribute.

Giggling, Aphrodite-Grace contemplates Her assembled pets, "I just love that! However I did not give him permission to cum, did I? Remember," Her Utopian voice booming, "NO CUMMIES without My permission!"

Her features harden into unequaled icy beauty, "Your path to the mints will be filled with much hardship and woe! And even if you reach your destination the very Goddesses themselves will oppose you! However I am not unsympathetic to your cause, you have been a delight to Me and I will aid you where I can. Remember if you feel lost, wanty or so very needy, call Me for guidance - 877-518-3575!"

Giggling, Aphrodite-Grace blinks out of existence.

Thunderous booms are heard from the interior of the Island. Something monolithic approaching. Palm trees, uprooted, fly through the air as the host rapidly assembles into their fighting formations. Trees along the shoreline part like blades of grass.

Tracer-Achilles looks up, up, up into the vindictive gaze of Giantess Gretchen!

"Super ..."

Sperm Whale Song freely lifted from the National Lampoon