Cartoons, Nerdery

Fan Fiction Friday: Betty Boop and Che Guevara in “Betty and Che”

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She glanced down the bar, sweeping back a tide of dark ringlets
before settling her gaze and evaluating her hose, She made a small
salute and a wink, taking in his military uniform and combat boots
before tilting her glass to him in a small tost.

Che may not have been a ladies man, but he knew a come on when he
saw one, picking up his scotch he made his way over to the woman and
positioned himself on a cushioned leather stool beside her.

Betty knew men, and she knew exactly what to expect, exactly. A
forceful military man to the bone, boring with his tactics but buff
from his training. She could see from the comfortable sit of the khaki
shirt on his broad shoulders, tapering down to an obviously flat
stomach. She tilted forward, leaning a long, delicate arm on the bar
and wondered if he owned a pair of handcuffs..

“Hi…”Betty batted her eyelids and spoke before Che had a chance, it
always helped to make the 1st move and keep the ball in her court, with
any luck that wouldn’t be the only thing in his court by the end of the
evening.

Che was immediately drawn down to her cleavage, oh so tantalising
inclining towards him. From his tall frame he had a rather splendid
view straight down her clingy red dress…was that black lace???


Betty saw his ogling and instantly knew two things. One, he liked what he saw and two; she was going to do something about it.

“Hmmm, don’t see a lot of this out on tour do ya!” Betty giggled pushing her substantial breasts toward her new friend.

‘Ay ya yay’ thought Che ‘I think I found Narnia!’

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA



Betty took the final sip of her martini and slid fluidly off her
chair, stretching her arms out. Che was captivated, watching her ebony
curls fall over her supple neck. Betty giggles and took him by the hand
and led him out onto the street where her driver and car were waiting.

The Chrysler purred as the chauffer stepped out to open the door for
his charge. Che stood behind Betty as he waited for her servant to open
the door, his hand sliding and caressing her firm heart shaped bottom.
Betty giggled again at his touch and pushed her ass into his hand,
before delicately stepping into the car. Che watched as the slit in her
dress gaped, showing a decent, or rather indecent, amount of stocking
clad thigh and the black straps of her garter belt.

Che gave a small groan as he sat down and his fatigues grew tighter,
he was growing desperate for release. Betty turned and noticed, giving
him a small smile as Che stared, frustrated, out the window.

She snaked her arm closer, and around his shoulder before sliding
her thigh over his knee, across his lap. His eyebrows rose as she
deftly manoeuvred herself onto his lap, grinding her ass on the
significant bulge in his cargos.

Che’s hips rose to meet hers and she threw her head back in a
coquettish mock climax. As his hips lowered she fluttered her eyelids
and brought her swollen lips to meed his. He groaned and returned the
kiss with ardent passion as if consuming the sweet taste of her lips.
Betty broke away and placed a finger over his mouth, silencing his
frustrated moan, sliding herself off Che’s lap and running her hands
down his toned chest, settling them on his straining crotch as she
kneeled between his legs.

She fumbled with his belt buckle, unhooking the military catch. As
she slipped her hand under the waistband and cupped him through his
underwear, his breath caught. Betty quickly leaned forward and dragged
down the zipper with her teeth.


She eyed the straining cotton of his boxers and looked up as him,
grinning wickedly whilst dipping her hands below the elasticised waist.
Her small hands began to feather light stroked up and down his shaft,
Che nearly begged for her to take him in her mouth.


Betty saw the desperation in his face and finally slipped Che free of
his pants. He moaned as Betty leaned forward, breathing on the head of
his cock, delighting as it jumped in response.


The engorged purple head glistened with pre-cum, Betty couldn’t resist.
She leant forward and took a tentative lap before funning her index
finger along the dripping tip and inserting the finger into her mouth,
slowly sucking it.


Che had had enough; he roughly gripped her head with both hands,
drawing her mouth down onto his cock quickly, her lips parting in
surprise, perfect for what he had in mind.


Betty was shocked, but secretly pleased he had taken control so
swiftly. This was not a man to tease, but she was sure going to give it
a good try.


Che almost wept with relief as the dark haired beauty’s wet mouth began encircling his length.

Okay. I want to take a quick break here to point out that I have always hated Btty Boop. I hate the way she looks, I hate some people people consider her enormous head somehow sexy in this day and age, and I hate that she’s inexplicably stuck around long after she was even slightly relevant in the ’20s and ’30s. Like Popeye, she has no bearing on the present, and she gets trotted out as some icon of sexiness when she’s just a horrifying protoype of anime’s SD style. Bleh. Bleh. A million times bleh.

And Che Guevara? He’s Che fucking Guevara. He helped lead the Cuban Revolution. HE HAS NO BUSINESS FUCKING BETTY GODDAMN BOOP, YOU SICK FUCKS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Betty slid her hand from his thigh to onto the bottom of his shaft,
caressing the base of his cock before tipping her fingers further to cp
his balls, still tensing as he came. He moaned and gripped the seat
harder, tensing the cream leather as she relaxed her throat and took
the head of his shaft into the smooth sponginess of the back of her
throat. Che grunted as he continued to jerk and twitch in her mouth,
almost reaching out to force her back on as she pulled away with a
seductive lick of her full red lips, the same shade that was now
smeared in a ruby ring around his dick. The car stopped and the girl
gracefully climbed back onto the seat beside him, checking her lipstick
in a compact mirror. The chauffer opened the door and she moved to step
out, the slit in her dress dividing again to reveal her creamy pale
thigh encased in sheer stocking and her garter belt, realising that
there was nothing else under that dress…

Che felt an all too familiar rush below his belt; the starched khaki
wasn’t the only think stiff about his pants. He followed as she made
her way through the revolving doors of the hotel, turning to press her
breasts against the cool glass, eliciting an unmistakable response from
her nipples, now visible beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Che’s
heart beat to the rhythm of her steps, as her heels echoed with a
distinctive ‘click’ as she walked through the empty lobby towards the
elevator.




She glanced over her shoulder and gave Che a little grin that
immediately flung his thoughts back to the lipstick smear along his
cock, which was rapidly reviving itself. As she pressed the button and
stepped back, Che sidled up behind her and placed his hands on her
hips, tilting his head forward to kiss her neck.


He sucked, lightly grazing his teeth across her collarbone, gradually
sliding his hands further and further back to cup her full, round ass,
giving it a squeeze with both hands. They both jumped at the sound of a
‘bing’ as the elevator arrived on their floor.




Betty took a step towards the door as Che put a firm hand on her shoulder and slammed the emergency stop button.


Betty turned and shot a saucy look at Che, “ooh like it kinky do-” she
was cut short as Che brought a hand swiftly across her face.


“Hey! Whad’ya thik you-” another slap and he lifted her off her feet,
resting her arse on the railing and keeping a rough hand on her creamy
neck.


Betty opened her mouth to scream but she was stopped by one of Che’s
large hands. He moved closer to her ear and tightened his grip on her
neck.


“you’re not gunna scream and you’re not gunna struggle, and I’m not gunna have to hurt you”

Goddammit. God fucking damn it.

Betty gaped, suddenly aware of the immense danger she was in. She
didn’t know this man and nobody knew she was stuck between floors with
him either.


A rough hand slid up her right thigh, tugging her dress up, knocking a
garter clip askew. The other hand left her throat to fumble with his
own belt.


She saw her chance and she seized it, lashing out with her leg from her
perch on the bar and hit the emergency stop button again, jolting the
elevator back to life.


Che waggled his finger at her, abandoning his pants and grabbing her
fine ankles with one hand, smacking the button with his palm with the
other.


Betty shivered, more than a little fearful of what her disobedience
would reap. She was jerkily flipped over, hips now resting on the bar
circling the plush elevator, her breasts now crushed against the glass.
Her arms were forcefully tugged behind her as he fumbled with his pants
again.




Che grinned wickedly when he heard the squeak of terror as he bound her
hand in his thick strap leather belt. He pinioned her legs apart by
anchoring his boots firmly between her heeled feet, leaning forward and
pressing his chest onto her back as he settled his hands on her hips,
kneading her arse before running his hands up her hourglass shape and
cupping those tempting breasts.


From Wikipedia: 
Ernesto “Che” Guevara (June 14, 1928 – October 9, 1967) commonly known as Che Guevara, El Che, or simply Che, was an Argentine Marxist revolutionary, physician, author, guerrilla leader, military theorist, international statesman and major figure of the Cuban Revolution. Since his death, his stylized visage has become a ubiquitous countercultural symbol and global insignia within popular culture.

Guevara remains both a revered and reviled historical figure, polarized in the collective imagination as the subject in a multitude of biographies, memoirs, essays, documentaries, songs, and films. Time magazine named him one of the 100 most influential people of the 20th century, …”

Goddammit.


Betty kicked her heels into his shins, the stiletto’s tearing through
his fatigues and leaving fine lines of blood along his legs. Che kneed
her in the back and she groaned in pain, leaning her head against the
cool glass. Che kicked her leg apart and plunged a coarse finger inside
her, making her shiver. She stood, too fearful to move as he withdrew
is finger from her and dipped it into his mouth, savouring the taste of
her submission.


Betty felt his grip on her loosen and quickly pulled out of his grasp,
bolting awkwardly to the door, trying desperately to get at the
emergency button.




Che stood still, his back to her as she struggled, breathing angrily.
Betty suddenly felt her arms get jerked back by the belt that bound
them, making her shoulders wrench with pain as if she were being held
in strappado. He hurled her back against the glass leaving a smudge of
blood on the crystalline surface as she slid to the floor.


You know, as horrible as that epic Goku/Anne Frank fan fic was, you could tell that it was written by some incredibly misguided but well-meaning soul who really wanted Anne Frank to have a happy ending, and just really thought Goku could and should be a part of it. This is pure evil and misery all the way through. I loathe it like I loathe the Pok?mon story, frankly.

Her vision was blurred and black was creeping in on the borders but she
saw him stepping towards her, his pants and boxers not gone and the
corded muscles of his thighs clenched as her knelt in front of her. Her
legs were pulled apart for what seemed like the millionth time and she
was shifted onto his thighs, his arms tightening around her shoulders.




Betty could feel his short, sharp breath on her d?colletage as she was
lowered into the engorged bead of his cock, the enormous girth and lack
of lubrication sending waves of pain shooting through her, each
stronger than the last as he shoved himself into her, merciless and
bitter, before she slumped into unconsciousness.

I was thinking about writing “In Che’s defense, she was totally asking for this the way she dresses” but I hate this thing so much I don’t even want to give the tacit approval of making fun of it. Grr.


Groggily awakening she realised she was now spread eagled on her
stomach a hand sending stinging slaps across her ass and lower back, a
crushing weight on the backs of her thighs as the man above grunted and
pounded into her. As the thrusts became shorter and quicker she moaned,
trying to beg him to stop. A hand came down on the back of her head,
smacking it against the floor. The darkness closed in quickly again,
pulling against the howl of triumph behind her and she feeling of
trickling, not only from her bloodied nose, sent nausea shooting to her
stomach.

And we’re done, and I hope these two authors — oh yes, that’s why it’s in italics and in bold ( Betty Bea is bold, and Hannibal’s Girl is in italics, so this way you know which one disgusts you more — are hit by vans containing fat women in the XL Betty Boop sweatshirts that still occasionally crop up in America’s Wal-Marts.