by Valentine Bonnaire c. March 2013 valentine@valentinebonnaire.com
The Velvet Babe looked skyward. Saint Patrick and Oz were smiling at her, those rogues.
She pouted at Oz, and crossed her arms.
“Mr. Swankypants forgot those flowers didn’t he?”
Velvet nodded wistfully.
*Poof!*
A great green cloud of smoke and stardust enveloped the Babe. She waved her arms to clear the smoke and saw her outfit. It couldn’t have been sexier. Little green bows and the tiniest straps, green heels made of the finest suede from Spain, thigh highs with tricky garters. She looked like she was wearing all the Frenchiest green ever, with continental overtones.
“Well, Darlin,” Saint Paddy said...
“What be your wish?” smiled Oz.
“Five orgasms in rapid succession. That will take my mind off all the bad news.”
*Poof!*
The “Ye Olde Leprechaun” where Oz beamed the Babe was afire with spirit.
Swankypants was the last thing on her mind once she saw Pan the flautist dressed as Peter himself. He had one all right. Those tights were a dead giveaway.
“In his lap, Velvet,” Oz commanded.
“A perfect fit if ever there was one,” cried Paddy.
’Twas better than the pot of gold, as Velvet smiled down a million rainbows, crimson in the clover.
* * *
