Lisa The Wench

August 31, 2008

There once was a wench named Lisa. She came into my bar one night, announced herself as, “Hello gentleman. The names Lisa, or as my friends like to call me The Wench. One night with me, and you’ll be good as dead.

“Dead?”, I said.

“Dead”, She replied.

“Now why would I want to die?”, I asked. Confused, yet amused at her queer nature.

She giggled at my inquiry. “Dead tired silly. Dead after being drained from a night of relentless passion.” She said with a twinkle in her eye, and a smiled filled with mischief.

At this point I wasn’t the only one listening. Andy, a regular was listening from his table close to the bar. He would of fallen off his chair if he didn’t get up and approach the wench.  Before I could warn him he was out the door with a piece of wood in his hands.

This was the last time I saw Andy, for she was no mortal woman, no ordinary wench. She was a succubus you see. A dread amongst men, a curse for the weak; God’s way of punishing sinners. Be this a lesson for you young men who have trouble keeping it your pants. Turn your head, plug your ears. Do whatever it takes for you not to walk out with that wench who seems so enticing.

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