FUCKTXT

It's Good To Be King

Fantasy , Consensual Sex , Group Sex , Hardcore , Interracial , Male / Females , Male Domination , Oral Sex


Introduction:
A country hillbelly from the state of Tennessee, going about his daily life stumbles across an obect, and from there he begins the journey of a lifetime like nothing else most men even dare dream of.


[Author's note]
[ Tolerate this first chapter, since nothing sexual happens in it. Added stories will be more entertaining. Thank you.]

Chapter 1
The last day of my dull life.

Hi, I'm Shawn. I'm 29, fit, 'bout 170 pounds, a 6'1 hellbilly from Williamsport, Tennessee, but by no means I'm like the rednecks stereotyped on TV.
Though I was held back one year in high-school I graduated with a 3.2 GPA, and I've completed over 5 years of Political Science, American History, Human Biology/Anatomy, and American Sign Language in college.
Personally I also write action, crime and fantasy stories which I sell to local publishers for quick money. It's an easy three to five-grand every now and then.
Being somewhat close to Nashville, music was pretty big to me too, so I took to learning the acoustic 7-string guitar, drums, and electric bass. I tried to learn the fiddle but I never could throw myself into learning the thing.

I'm not you're typical dumb redneck.

I work at the local grocery store, working the evening cash register and the graveyard-shift working in the stock room.
June is the store owner and a kind old lady too, so fighting between employee and employer never was an issue.
But at $8500 a month, sometimes it ain't enough.

Saturday nights at Kell's Bar was the big deal before Sunday morning. With no exception, it was always packed. It holds about 70 people, and at full swing it's a fine place to hook up a sweet girl for a one night stand or even sometimes something longer-lasting.
When I get there, it's already filling with the smell of cigarette smoke, and kitchen fixin's.
Once in a while I'll get on stage next to the jukebox, and play a few cover songs for free drinks a few burgers, and tips.
After a few Wayne Hancock, and Hank Williams cover tunes, I was drunk enough to switch to beer and eat dinner.

I'm a modest man living the best I can.
But for all my earnings, knowledge, for all my accomplishments, having or even keeping a steady girlfriend was next to impossible.
It wasn't my looks. I mean sure, I got a little extra hanging over the belt, but their are other guys around town, twice my weight with girlfriends and even married.

3:00am was when Kell's closed, so I was already walking out... well more like balancing myself out of the bar to my pickup-truck to drive home. It was a short five minute drive pass the liquor store by the drive-in. It's a quite little, single story, wood-shack.
The liquor is still in me and preventing me from unlocking my own damn front door. Once inside I toss off my black/green flannel jacket, brown work boots, take out my .44 revolver from my pocket and stored it away under my pillow, and basically stripped down to my boxers and undershirt.
It takes me less than a minute to fall asleep.

--

The next afternoon I woke up... sorta. It took me twenty minutes to want to get out of bed, and fix my late lunch. A ham sandwich, a bowl of frosted cereal, and a coke. On the news was nothing good as usual. An inept President, a new $900 billion bailout plan being considered for failing manufactures of plastic fruit, Tumuki automotive, and of coarse more banks.
"Well shit, where's the money come'n from?"

Sometime last night, I must've knocked over and broke my potted potatoes. Well a quick trip to the junk-yard will fix that.
Dressed up in my black jeans with ironed on confederate flags and marijuana leaves patches, and my boots, I got in my truck and headed off to replace broken property.

--

Three in the afternoon, in a junk-yard is not how I like spending my Sunday afternoons, and today is no different.
The smell, It's everywhere and I've already slipped twice in what I can only guess was at one time, Chinese food and horse manure. The white stringy things are either noodles or worms, and right now I don't want to have to guess.

Well, I've found spiral copper tube, some brass or tin pots, and a small bathtub. Not a bad haul, I can plant a nice little garden in the tub if I can till up some decent soil for it.
Back home, with my newly acquired treasure, I spent the rest of the evening chopping up soil and mixing in it some compost. I'm already thinking of planting carrots in it.
My last action outside for the day, I refill the bird-feeder with honey-sunflower-seeds, and call it a day.
Inside my shack, I'm downing a beer while watching a rodeo. The best part is always when someones ribs are kicked by any of the animals. As a kid I was headbutted by a goat in the ribs, so I feel the pain all over again when I see it.
Later that evening, I'm watching "Beer Valley" on TV. It's basically women in swimsuits, or less, playing water sports like water volleyball, water polo, water balloon fights, and the like.
During the commercials I grab one of the small brass pots, which more looks like a really old oil lamp, and attempt a spit-shine polish.
Rag in hand I spit on one side, and rub side to side the caked on dirt and grime. Now the metal itself shows.
I rub a little harder, then the damn thing jumps out of my hand nearly taking my thumb with it.

The little brass lamp lands on the floor right-side-up and begins spewing a cloud of blueish, sorta orange smoke.
It took form, and in the middle of my living room appeared from the smoke, a Arab man, in ancient looking Arab clothing, golden jewelery around his neck, his waist, and draping around his legs like a skirt.
"Oh shit what'd I do?!"
I scrambled for my bedroom and grabbed the 12 gauge as fast as I could, and crouched behind my bed waiting for whatever would walk through my bedroom door.
Was I scared? Oh hellyeah, I was scared. I was scared shitless!
"You out there! I am armed, and I'll blast you an half if you come near me!" I yelled out.

"And may I ask, how you would accomplish this at me?"

I heard a voice from behind me. I turned around and saw the same man that formed from the smoke.
"ARUGH GE SHIT!" I jumped at least four feet in the air after seeing him. [THUMP] I landed feet first on the bed mattress, then fell backwards bashing my head on the hard-wood-floor. The last thing I remember is my heart pounding at 100 miles an hour and lightning shooting through my heart to my feet, then it all went black.

--

When I woke up it was morning... I think. I remember seeing some Arab guy in my house. It was either, I had been drinking to much, a bad nightmare, or drugs I can't remember taking.
As I wandered through my house, I heard my TV was on, then shut it off.

I scratched my head for a moment before scratching over a sore spot, and jolting my hand away.