About the Author
Regina Montgomery is a housewife from Montpelier, Vermont. Her hobbies include knitting, looking at pictures of horses, thinking about princes, and staring at men in the grocery store for uncomfortably long periods of time. Bad Romance is Montgomery's 334th novel.
Chapter One: Cruel Misfortune
Lady Stéfanie Gagault was despondent.
"Oh, woe, I am despondent!" she wailed as she sat at her vanity, clad only in her gingham bodice, a pair of dark glasses with lenses shaped like field mice, and a four foot tall, utterly indescribable hat. "Oh, unhappiness! Oh, cruel misfortune!"
Stéfanie's despondency was rooted in an event that had transpired just an hour ago, in the great hall of Gagault manor. There, she had been reading poetry to her husband, the cruel and rapacious Lord Gagault.
"Ra ra," she had begun, clutching a slip of paper in her delicate, trembling hands as Lord Gagault devoured an oversized drumstick, tearing noisily at its tender flesh. In her melodious voice, she had continued her opus:
- Ra ra.
- Oh la la.
- Ga Ga.
- Roma. Ro mama.
- Whoa-ee-ohh-ee-whoaa, whoaa, ga ga romama.
"Enough!" Lord Gagault had bellowed, tossing the gnawed remnants of his meal to the hounds and rising from his chair. Through his tight leather pants, Stéfanie could just make out the outline of his thick, semi-erect member.
Despite the general adequateness of his penis, Lord Gagault's marriage to Stéfanie had not been a happy one. Although twoscore years her senior, her parents had betrothed her to him at the tender age of eleven. A joyless man, Gagault found little pleasure in the simple pleasures that pleasured his wife, such as poetry comprised of random syllables and incorporating random objects found about the manor into her dress.
"Enough!" Lord Gagault had bellowed a second time, for his was a demeanor that enjoyed an occasional bellow. "My little grasshopper, why must you waste your time with such frivolities? They are not befitting of a woman of your station! Whoaaargh!" This last exclamation was not a word, but rather, a bellow.
"Oh!" Stéfanie had exclaimed as she raised the back of her wrist to her forehead, fearing she might swoon. "Oh, you brute! Oh, misery! Oh, sadness!" With that, she had turned her back on her husband and his visible penis outline and dashed upstairs to her chamber, the checkered tablecloth she had converted into a cape flowing behind her. And there she had sat for the last hour, exclaiming "Oh!" followed by synonyms for being generally bummed out.
And this is where we join our heroine. "Oh... hypothymia!" she wailed, and, realizing she had just exhausted her repertoire of synonyms, began to sob quietly.
Chapter Two: The Stableboy
Presently, Stéfanie Gagault wiped away her tears with a faux-chainmail gauntlet she had assembled from hairpins and resolved to make the best of the day. Seizing a quill and inkwell, she wrote a short missive to her friend, Lady Beyoncé De La Croix, asking if she would like to accompany her to the market. Seizing a messenger pigeon from a nearby stoop, Stéfanie secured the missive to the bird's leg with a piece of twine she had glued to her nose for no particular reason. She watched as the bird flew into the distance.
Time passed. Then, a flutter. The pigeon had returned! Stéfanie unrolled the return note, and was dismayed to read:
- My dear friend, I am unable to respond to your missive, for I am presently engaged in the club, wherein I am sipping dat bubb. And your barrage of birds will not encourage me to leave faster, nor fasten my vestments upon my person faster, nor shall it encourage me to leave my girls no faster. I hope to sup with you on the morrow.
"Bitch!" exclaimed Stéfanie, tucking the missive into her décollatage, feeling the rough paper brush lightly against her stiff nipples. "Then if I must make my own entertainment, then make my own entertainment I shall!" The pigeon cocked its head at her quizically, as though approving of her carefree spirit and excellent sentence.
Donning a fake nose and moustache and part of a curtain, along with a gingham bodice, Stéfanie strode down the stairs and past the haughty Lord Gagault, who had fallen asleep at his dining chair, his erect member twitching nocturnally betwixt the folds of his leather trousers.
From there, she walked briskly to the stables, enjoying the brisk sea air of seventeenth century France upon her décollatage and young, creamy thighs. And there, she saw a sight.
The young stableboy was the handsomest man she had seen since her unfortunate betrothal. He had the rugged constitution of an athlete. His jaw was squarely set upon his handsome visage, and a mane of golden hair flowed down his shoulders. From where she stood, Stéfanie could make out the outline of his penis. It was a thick, coiled, snake-like penis, nestled in his trousers as though waiting to strike with its thick throbbiness.
"Stableboy," began Stéfanie, a fluttery feeling transpiring in her fertile loins, "I am the lady Stéfanie Gagault of Gagault Manor, and you are therefore in my employ."
"Milady," replied the handsome man, his penis all atwitch, "I am Bernard Lapin. I am a nobleman by birth, but my pedigree has been stolen by my former lover, the cruel Countess of Vichy. Now, I lust only for revenge."
"What a queer introduction," opined Stéfanie.
"Indeed, I -" began Bernard Lapin, but then his eye drifted down to the décollatage of Stéfanie's bodice, and with a great shudder, he grasped it by the lapels and tore it asunder, her pert, young, snowy breasts spilling freely from it.
"My stars!" exclaimed Stéfanie. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Milady, please forgive me," said an abashed Lapin, his face blushing with the same blood that presently engorged his penis. "The cruel Countess of Vichy once wore a bodice such as this, and I have grown to hate bodices with a fiery passion for revenge."
"I see," replied Stéfanie Gagault.
Suddenly, Stéfanie was struck by a peculiar mix of lust and shame, and turned tail and dashed back to the manor.
Chapter Three: Of Love and Revenge
"This shall not stand!" bellowed Lord Gagault. "Whoaaargh!"
"But, my lord," protested Stéfanie, "All I did was speak with him!"
"He is but a lowly stableboy!" bellowed Gagault. "Even allowing him to look upon you is beneath your station! And the handmaidens have spent all morning restitching your bodice and gasping at the impropriety of your liaison!"
"Oh, cruel misfortune!" wailed Stéfanie, dashing upstairs to her chamber, the stuffed cats she had attached to her sandals bouncing upon the floor behind her.
There, she sat at her vanity, pondering the cruelty of the misfortune that had bestruck her, when a seed of an idea took root in the fertile fields of her mind. She would visit Bernard Lapin despite the wishes of her cruel and rapacious husband! Climbing from her window, Stéfanie dashed across the field to the stables, thus engaging in dashing for the second time that day. Where was Bernard Lapin? But then he came into view, his thick penis twitching gently beneath his garment.
"Milady!" he exclaimed. "Whatever is the problem?"
"Oh, M. Lapin!" wailed Stéfanie, pronouncing the M. as "monsieur," for that is how it is pronounced. "I have written you a missive of my feelings for you!" With that, she handed him a small yellow square of paper.
"This is a Post-It Note," observed Lapin.
"Indeed," rejoined Stéfanie.
"It says 'List of Things I Want From You'," Lapin observed further.
"Read it, my stable boy," entreated Stéfanie.
"One," intoned Lapin in a clear, strong voice, "Your love. Two - your revenge."
Stéfanie waited expectantly.
"Turn the note over," Stéfanie entreated again.
Lapin did. He read from the back of the note: "'List of Things I Don't Want From You. One - your friendship. Two - Fashion belt from chandelier and pieces of cheese.'" Perplexed, he regarded the nubile young Stéfanie Gagault. "I don't believe I understand the second item."
"I'm sorry, my love, I forgot that I was not writing my to-do list. But you must understand, stableboy, that I am your biggest fan! I shall follow you until you love me."
"I see," said Lapin, his penis gently undulating from his fly and exposing itself. "Milady, I must caution you -"
Chapter Four: Wrestling!
Bernard Lapin and Lord Gagault locked themselves into mortal combat, their glistening, naked chests pounding against one another, their bodies intertwining with a great shudder.
"Watch out, Bernard!" cried Stéfanie. For Lord Gagault had drawn a stiletto from his trousers.
"Oh, happy day!" wailed Stéfanie. "Now we can be together eternally!"
"Alas," replied Lapin, "There is still the matter of the cruel Countess of Vichy, the woman who stole my pedigree and against whom I have sworn revenge."
On a whim, Stéfanie grasped the hairline of her fallen late husband and pulled. His mask came away, revealing none other than Countess Vichy herself! In a rasping death rattle, Countess Vichy wheezed, "And I would have gotten away with it, too..."
"Countess Vichy!" exclaimed a shocked Lapin. "Whyever have you impersonated this lady's husband?"
"I was not done with you, Bernard," gasped the cruel Countess. "I wanted your psycho, your vertical stick. I wanted your leather-studded kiss in the sand."
"My psycho and my vertical stick are my own!" exclaimed Lapin. "As for my leather-studded kiss in the sand, I'm not completely sure what you're referring to! But I'm sure that's my own, too! Unless it's some kind of a gay thing!"
"Peasant!!" spat the Countess. And with that, she shrugged off her mortal coil. Lapin knelt and checked her pulse, but there was none to be found, for her mortal coil had been shrugged off just moments before.
"Capital!" exclaimed Lapin. "Now I am a real prince! Which makes you, milady, the Princess of France!"
And with that, the two of them made passionate love right there, upon the hay-covered floor of the stable. Lapin had the constitution of a young bull, and shoved his throbbing penis into Stéfanie's various orifices for hours, even long after her third climax. For, unlike her late husband, whose blood-stained corpse lay gently decomposing nearby, Lapin was a kind and generous lover.