Possible Murder At The Vicarage:
The Strange Case Of The Disappearing Kinky Community
A Miss Marble whodunnit/notme/wasityou/notlikely/mystery
A sci-fi tale of mystery, suspense, tea drinking and heavy breathing (and that’s just the author) that rivals anything Agatha Christie didn’t write, including a shopping list. The literary critic for the magazine, ‘Tea Drinkers Monthly’ Mr I. P. Daly, praised the story, as being worthy of infusion in the Top Ten of must avoid reads.
In the quaint and quiet little village of Walloponthebottom an elderly lady is presiding over a traditional English Sunday morning custom: taking over the vicar’s house after the service and making copious amounts of tea. But all is not as it should be in Walloponthebottom.
“More tea, Vicar?”
“No thank you, Miss Marble, twelve cups is more than enough. I’ll be piddling like a great big huge stallion if I have another one.”
“Tell me, Vicar,” Miss Marble, parish spinster, reputed transvestite and nosy old boot, dominantly replenished the vicar’s cup against his wishes, “did you notice anything unusual about this morning’s service?”
“Well, now you mention it, Miss Marble, I did, I did indeed.” The Reverend Viagra gazed at her earnestly, “I couldn’t help noticing that your grey cardigan was looking unusually lovely, and that you’ve had your hair done a different way. It’s most becoming, if I may say so. I also adore the way your leg hairs peek over the top of your delightfully sparkly sock suspenders.”
“Don’t be silly, Vicar, it’s never going to happen, so cut the crap and drink your tea. This virgin is not for shagging.”
“You’re a strong woman, Miss Marble; those biceps would grace a navvy. I find that very attractive.”
“Do we want a spanking, Vicar?” Miss Marble fixed him with a stern look.
“Oh, Miss Marble, I thought you’d never ask! Yes please, and make it severe. Hercule Pout speaks very highly of your prowess with a paddle.”
“Does he indeed,” Miss Marble simpered modestly, “yes, well, perhaps later. Where was I? Ah yes, what was unusual about this morning’s service, Vicar, was the lack of a congregation. Apart from me there wasn’t a soul in church. I’m no detective, or even amateur sleuth, but a soulless church suggests foul play to my mind.
“Really? I can’t say I noticed, dear laddy, er, lady.”
“I’m not surprised, Vicar, you were more interested in fiddling with something beneath your cassock. I couldn’t understand a word of your sermon on the sins of the flesh, what with all that heavy breathing you were doing.”
“Sorry, dear lady, my humble apologies. I deserve to be horse whipped...in your own time of course.”
“Be quiet, Vicar,” Miss Marble thoughtfully stroked her five-o clock-shadow, “now is not the time for matters corporal. We have serious matters to deal with, and deal with them we will.”
“Oh, Miss Marble, I love it when you talk dirty. I’ve recently purchased an implement over the internet. It’s exceedingly flexible, would you like to hold it?”
“Settle down, Vicar, or I’ll have to bring out the bromide. Listen carefully. I have reason to believe that an Alien invasion has taken place and that, apart from you and I, every single member of this kinky little community of ours has been abducted.”
“I thought it had been hideously quiet lately, not so much as a swish or squeal. Oh calamity!”
“Get a grip, Vicar...no not on that...Keep a stiff...”
“Oh believe me, dear Miss Marble, I’m keeping a very stiff...”
“That’s enough of that kind of talk, Vicar, unless you want to feel my hand on your bottom?”
“Oh God, yes. YES!”
“For heavens sake, man,” Miss Marble beat him off with a slab of her homemade fruitcake. “I’m eighty-four years old, you could fatally fracture my hip leaping over my lap like that.”
“Sorry, sorry, it’s just the smell of your heavenly lavender water. It reminds me so much of my grandfather who brought me up. He was a stern disciplinarian.”
“Don’t you mean your grandmother?”
“No, kinks run in the family. My grandmother wore the pants in our house, my grandfather preferred high heels and a frock. Of course the bishop disapproved, but it was just jealousy. My grandfather had much better legs than him.”
“Enough!” Miss Marble raised her hand and the Reverend Viagra hopefully stuck his botty under it, but to no avail. “We must find out what has happened to the residents of this sleepy, kinky village.”
“I’m right behind you, Miss Marble.”
“I know, and if you don’t take that thing out of my back and move around to the front where I can keep an eye on you, there will be serious trouble.”
“You’re a disgrace to the cloth.”
“Sorry, dear lady, humble apologies, I’ll wash it later.”
End of part one.
Part Two of Possible Murder is sponsored by Bendoverfreddie, suppliers of the finest rattan implements: Today’s big offer: Buy one get one free, four, five, six, ouch! Bendoverfreddie, your flexible friend!
Something very fishy is afoot in the quiet, sleepy, kinky community of which Miss Marble, Jock, to her closest friends, is a member. Will she trace the whereabouts of the missing fetish community? And what's happened to the vicar who hasn’t been seen since strange noises were heard coming from the vicarage cellar? Based on a real life, classic, science fiction, cross-dressing and whodunit detective mystery romance and cookery novel.
Somewhere deep under the ocean, aboard the Starfish Enterprise:
Captain’s log (absolutely huge...the curry was a little powerful at lunch time)
star date, something or other. I, Captain James T. Carp, am hereby recording my decision to place under arrest, pending trial and execution, death by battering and frying, the following Starfish crew: Mr Hadock, a Sulkan, a strange species from the deep waters just off Portsmouth. Fishbones, the ship’s medic and Coddy, ships engineer. Their crime: failing abysmally in their mission to boldly go where no fish man has gone before, seeking out new civilisations, blah, blah, blah. They boldly sought out a kinky village community, and brought the whole damn lot back with them.
Carp frowned, his scales ruffled all over again, it just wasn’t on! They’d get their Starfleet Federation Licence revoked for exceeding international quotas again, and it would be his arse on the line, the fishing line that is and he’d be reeled in for a reprimand, if not worse, a dishonourable discharge, which he knew from experience would be a bugger to clear up.
“But it’s not fair, Captain, it’s just not logical!” Hadock stamped his fins, “it wasn’t our fault. We’d finished studying this strange disciplinarian civilisation and one of them waved a massive paddle thing at us. Fishbones panicked and instructed Coddy to bream us down. The great fool breamed the entire community down along with us. If anyone should fry it’s him.”
Carp agreed that Coddy indeed deserved to fry, he was far too handy at breaming stuff up and down without due consideration. However, he was also resolute about frying Hadock and making soup out of Fishbones, they’d been getting on his wick for a while and besides he was sick of curry, he fancied a change.
“Cap’n,” Coddy’s voice urgently interrupted Carp’s search through the recipe books for a decent fish pie. “Cap’n, there’s something coming through in the transporter room.”
“What have you breamed down now, Coddy, you mackeralhead?”
“I cannae help my parentage, Cap’n. Anyway, it wasnae me, Cap’n, I promise. I didnae dae it. Och aye the noo.
“I’ll have your head on a plate for this, Coddy!” Carp licked his lips at the very thought. “And why are you talking like that, you’re from Scunthorpe not Scotland.” He hurried quickly to the transporter room, he would have hurried slowly, but even he wasn’t that illogical.
“Captain James T Carp, I believe.” A small grey haired, grey cardiganned and strongly muscled woman stepped out of the transporter thingy.
“How did you know that?”
“I read the script. Now, the author is soon due for a quiet rest under heavy sedation, so let’s cut to the chase. Release the kinky community that your incompetent ships engineer or something accidentally breamed down here, and we’ll say no more about it.”
“How did you know what happened?”
Miss Marble sniffed. “It’s a matter of simple logic, so simple that I won’t bother telling you.”
“She read the script again, Captain,” explained Mr Hadock kindly. “She is obviously privy to the author’s most secret thoughts, not a happy situation I can assure you.”
Miss Marble nodded approvingly at Mr Hadock, “I like a fish with a logical mind, that and a dab of tartare sauce, perhaps a squeeze of lemon and a nice crisp Chablis.”
“Cap’n, Cap’n, och no, I’ve done it again,” a frantic voice came over the intercom. “I’ve accidentally breamed something aboard. Oh my God, Cap’n, it’s big and it’s making very strange noises and jerking about.”
“Don’t worry, Captain Carp,” Miss Marble calmly finished shaping the armhole on the grey tank top she was knitting. “It’s just the vicar, the Reverend Viagra. I beat his bare bottom severely, tied him up and left him for dead at the vicarage. He obviously enjoyed it so much that he’s come looking for more. I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.”
“Do exactly what you did back there, dear lady,” the vicar materialised and lurched towards her with out stretched arms, “only much harder and with cuffs this time.”
“Shall I stun him with my little thing, Capatan,” a small, yet virile member of the crew leapt between the vicar and Miss Marble.
“Oh YES! Please stun me, stun me hard. What’s your name?”
“My name is Eric Frequently, but aboard the Starfish I am known as Jacov.”
“Jacov Frequently, I like it. I like it! You and I were meant to be. As a vicar I know a soul mate when I meet one.”
“Ah, you are familiar with my race then, the Lemonsole?”
“Not unless they’re related to the Leamington Sparsole’s? Now, tell me more about your stunning little thing. I’d like to become more than familiar with that?”
They walk off arm in fin to the sound of romantic interlude type music.
“Let my people go, Captain Carp,” Miss Marble measured the tank top against his back. “We miss them in our kinky quiet disciplined backwater.”
“Quiet?” Carp stared at her, “but all you can hear is the sound of bare bottoms being spanked and whacked.”
“Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it, Captain.”
“What shall I do about Fishbones, Hadock and Coddy? I was planning on eating them.”
Miss Marble shuddered genteelly, “most uncivilised, Captain, if I may say so. It’s not the sort of thing we do behind the net curtains in my part of the universe.”
“What do you do, Miss Marble?”
Miss Marble opened her handbag and withdrew a large oval hairbrush, “come with me, Captain, I’ll show you how we deal with offenders.”
“Thank you Miss Marble,” Captain Carp, shifting rather uncomfortably from fin to fin, shook her hand, wincing slightly, she had a powerful right arm for a woman of eighty-four and also some remarkable tattoos. “Thank you for showing me a better way to deal with my crew’s foolishness. Take your community and go in peace. May they flog, cane and spank in abundance.”
“They’d better,” Miss Marble glanced sternly around the assembled group. “We must go. It’s coming up to four o’clock, tea and cucumber sandwiches at the vicarage. Stop playing with that thing at once and come along, Vicar.”
“But what about Jacov? I can’t leave him.”
“I’m afraid you must be a very brave boy, Vicar. Jacov can’t come back to our world; he’d be like a fish out of water. Come now, I’ve got a nice birch rod in soaking. If you’re very good, I’ll shake the water from it straight after tea.” She inclined her head graciously, “goodbye, Captain, use that brush wisely, but with vigour.”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you, farewell and bottoms up!” Captain Carp turned to Cod, instructing, “bream them home, Coddy and when you’ve done it report to my quarters along with Hadock and Fishbones.”
copyright 2009 by Cat/Fabian Black