The Inexplicable Reality - Timmy Turner Part 1

BY : Wendell Urth
Category: +1 through F > Fairly OddParents
Dragon prints: 1502
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: The Fairy OddParents and all associated characters belong to their respective creators and owners, not me. I receive no compensation whatsoever for this story

3. Starting Over – The Village – Year of the Rising River, After the Storm

Disclaimer: The Fairy OddParents and all associated characters belong to their respective creators and owners, not me. I receive no compensation whatsoever for this story.


Timmy, the Boy-King of Skulls, Storm Child of the Rising River (and a dozen other titles we can skip for the moment) stood on the burning sand, surrounded by his cheering subjects. The slack jawed psychopaths he ruled over were anxious for sunset so he could perform yet another ritual.

His ability to fuck, his virility was the subject of much speculation and laughter. They were a cheerful bunch of murderers. Either he would succeed as King tonight and thereby bless the village, the land and its people (aka, this collection of homicidal maniacs) or there would be new King of Skulls on the Throne of Bones tomorrow.

Timmy tried not to look at his predecessor. The last King of Skulls’ head was on a stake just a few feet away.

Behind the grisly remains were four girls, bound by wrists and ankles, staked naked on the hot sand. Virgins all… at least that’s what he had been told. Timmy had his doubts.

  • One for bride
  • One for servant
  • One for pleasure
  • One for dinner.


A redhaired pink eyed witch with sharpened teeth and dirty claws. The oldest of the girls.

A raven-haired beauty whose strangely seductive eyes betrayed her origin in some distant land.

Another beauty with hair the color of spun gold and a filthy mouth muttering curses no one could understand.

And just to make things interesting, the youngest granddaughter of the previous King.


The idea of fucking these four strangely beautiful girls to please his subjects made the Boy-King nervous. He was pretty sure he was only twelve summers old and almost positive he had never been with a woman… or girl before (or a sheep or goat as many of his subjects seemed to prefer).

How could he perform sexually in front of a drunken, leering, chanting crowd like this?!?

Truth was, the memory of his life from before the storm was pretty much gone. At the height of storm, the unconscious boy had washed up on the shore. Truly, the Gods had sent him here to be their King… just moments after they had ritually sacrificed the previous King… who was pretty old and smelly anyway and nobody much liked him anymore.

“Sooo… I just have to have sex with four of them while everybody watches? Gross!”

One of the elders wiped the drool from his toothless chin. “Your virility will bless the crops and anoint our brave troops… or is it the other way around?" (a drunken cheer from the club wielding morons broke out). There was more Timmy couldn’t hear. Then “… all their openings. One to bring the rain, one to makes the whores fertile and one to please…” A fight had broken out and the elder ran over to see (or join in?) before finishing whatever it was he was saying.

Timmy was scared and confused. Sex was mystery to him, but watching the four girls struggle was kind of a turn on. He was stiff under his dirty loin cloth and the idea of fucking the helpless girls excited him (though he knew it shouldn’t).

Then he asked, “Wait… what was that about openings?”

“Bitches have three, didn’t you know that, your Highness?”

“Err, that include the ears and eyes? Maybe belly button?”

The tribesmen laughed. “No, three holes for pleasure… mouth, cunt and arse!”

Timmy was appalled! He glanced again at the maw of the pink eyed witch who had filed her own teeth down to points. Then he realized… “Ass. I have to fuck them in the ass too? Disgusting.”

He must have spoken out loud or else the elder was reading his mind… and got it all wrong “Do not worry, your Highness. Girls this young will have tight, tight assholes like sheep, but if you want we can loosen them with goose grease and our clubs. A little blood and grease will make it all the sweeter.”

“Gee… thanks so much,” Timmy grunted. The elder wouldn’t get sarcasm if it speared him through his guts, which Timmy wished it would.

“And the teeth?” looking again at the red-haired witch and her fangs.

Another elderly idiot stepped forward. Evidently the previous elder had been knocked unconscious… or was dead. “Oh, we can knock their teeth out if you want... just like I did with my own sweet wife… and daughters.”

From someplace a nearby voice called out, “And my son, too, ya' bastard!” Another voice “And his goat!”

The elder drew himself up with dignity, turned to the crowd and said “Your mother too, at least that shut her up!”

Laughter. Drunken laughter. Drunken evil laughter.

“Fuck them and cum. Cunt, mouth, then ass! Then choose…”

  • One for bride
  • One for servant
  • One for pleasure
  • One for dinner.

Timmy looked at the head of the former King. What ritual had he failed? Would there be as new head there… and when?

“Errr, how long do I have.” He was hoping a week or two. Go slowly. Get to know the girls… especially since there was that business about “One for dinner!” He hoped that it was meant as an invitation… and not the menu.

“Setting of the sun to it’s rising.”

Boy-King Timmy gulped. Cunt, mouth & ass, four girls, one night. “Twelve times? I’m supposed to cum twelve time in one night?!?” He didn’t know much about sex, but even so, that was scary/excessive for a virgin!

The men began chanting “Twelve! Twelve! Twelve!” and striking their clubs and spears against the ground, some ten times, some as many as fifteen.

Math was not a strong skill among the Boy-King’s subjects.


At the base of the stake containing the head of his predecessor sat a forgotten object. A doll. A simple doll, a poppet. A fetish doll. A thing of twine and twigs with a twisted oval for a head. It glowed blue as it looked on.

The sun was still above the horizon. The crowd began to place bets over which girl their Boy-King would choose first. An immensely fat old woman ran up and began to finger each of the girls as the crowd hushed.

She rubbed her fingers together, sniffed them, licked them.

Timmy gagged.

“This one is tightest” pointing to the youngest girl with black pig tails. “Choose her first!”

“Grandma!” Tootie complained then turned her head to the blonde next to her, “Told ya Id be first!” and smiled.

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