Buttlejuice - (Classic Tingler Revisited)

classic tingler name of BUTTLEJUICE is available today as audiobook and AS TRADITION that means i will be posting it on here for patreon buckaroos to enjoy. i will say as man name of chuck this was not most popular tingler (WHAT THE HECK WHY NOT? original film only came out 34 years ago that is still relevant and timely). however it is tingler that i am very proud of for a few reasons. one, very much enjoyed writing dialog for buttlejuice she is just very fun character and two, i think idea of saying ‘living buds who move into your house are not gonna get scared away anymore because these days ghosts are not scary, so you are going to have to be very loud when you poud’ is clever and silly twist on old story.

but what i would like to talk about in classic tingler revisited segment is not about buttlejuice it is about film name of BEETLEJUICE. i very much like this movie but sometimes think it is more special that some buds give it credit for because of the way it handles THE LONESOME TRAIN.

as buds already know the lonesome train is something that has always frightened chuck this has been battle my whole life and effected my trot very much. as chuck gets older i come more and more to terms with the lonesome train and this way of one day leaving this timeline, but still this thought lingers of ‘what will it be like to be nothing?’

i am NOT A FAN OF NOTHING as you also probably know. THE VOID is chucks worst rival even more than ted cobbler but that is probably because ted cobbler comes from the void.

but what makes BUTTLEJUICE wonderful is that it starts with a trip on the lonesome train and whole adventure takes place AFTER this. the conflict in film is not about a world of nothingness, it is about a world with adventure and opposing forces and decisions and humor and fear and love. whether or not that is what it is really like when we ride the lonesome train is still up in the dang air, HOWEVER chuck takes solace in idea that our conductor on the lonesome train might be a rowdy buckaroo like buttlejuice.

After moving into her new home, Mina suffers from an unfortunate car accident that takes her life and transforms her into a very confused ghost. She’s also horrified to find that her new home is now in the process of being purchased by someone else.

Using her undead powers, Mina makes a few modest attempts at scaring away her unwanted housemates, but to no avail. However, after finding a strange, black and white striped refrigerator in the attic, Mina discovers another approach.

Within the fridge is a sentient juice box named Buttlejuice, a wild woman with green hair and a plan to rid the house of its living inhabitants by means of carnal lesbian lust.

All Mina has to do is say her name three times. Buttlejuice. Buttlejuice. Buttlejuice!

This erotic tale is 4,000 words of sizzling human on lesbian beverage action and hardcore phantom juice box love.

(Originally released September 30, 2020)

----

BUTTLEJUICE

By Chuck Tingle

There’s a lot of things I love about living in the Northeast, but the glorious natural scenery is way up there, especially this time of year. As I cruise along this forested backroad I can’t help but slow things down, taking it easy and enjoying the sights and sounds of this wonderful place I call home. My nostrils fill with the sweet scent of pine, and in this moment I couldn’t be happier with my recent move away from the big city.

I reach over and turn up the radio, letting the song wash over me as I drum my hands on the steering wheel and hum along. I’m still focused on the road ahead, but this tune is great and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit getting a little caught up in the moment. I’m vaguely distracted.

Unfortunately, my timing couldn’t be worse. As I round the bend I find myself face to face with a wild deer who’s just as shocked to see me as I am to see him. The creature immediately leaps left as I swerve right, but there’s no longer a ditch for me to run my tires into. Instead, I’ve found myself on one of the many wooden covered bridges that call this part of the country home, crashing against the wall of the structure and plowing straight through it with my vehicle.

The next thing I know, boards are splintering everywhere, erupting all around me as I plummet toward the water below. I have a split second to cry out before my voice is cut short and my car slams hard against the surface.

Darkness overwhelms me. My senses are adrift in an endless cosmic space, just existing in the nothingness as I float along. I’m no longer in my car, nor carried away by the rumbling river. In this distance I can hear the strange call of what sounds like a mournful, lonesome train.

Suddenly, I sit up, breathing heavy as I struggle to collect my senses. I feel sore as all hell, bruised and battered from the crash but otherwise okay. I have no idea how I got back home and was successfully tucked into bed, but here I am.

My clothes still damp. I climb out from under the blankets and strip them off. Then head over to the shower. I turn on the faucet and give the water a minute to warm up, not entirely used to the old plumbing in my new place, then finally step into the pleasant cascade of heat.

The water is soothing against my aching body, and while I’m still quite confused about how I got here, this mystery is now the last thing on my mind. Currently, I’m happy to just enjoy the moment, relishing in the scent of my favorite soap as it lathers across my skin.

I’ve just about finished rinsing off when I suddenly hear it, the unexpected sound of several voices making their way through my living room downstairs. I immediately shut off the faucet to make sure my mind isn’t playing tricks on me, straining my ears and listening intently.

I gasp when I hear the unmistakable sound of excited laugher, a group of unknown people apparently having a great time after inviting themselves into my new home.

I climb out of the shower and quickly dry off, then pull on some clothes as I rush downstairs.

“Um… excuse me!” I cry out, as upset as I am confused. “Who’s there?”

I get no response. I reach the bottom of the stairs, then round the corner to find myself face to face with a man in a suit and an unfamiliar couple. The three of them are chatting loudly as they motion toward the living room fireplace, clearly excited about the design. They don’t even acknowledge my presence.

“Hello?” I cry out, growing more and more frustrated by the second. “What are you doing in my house?”

Still no response from these intruders.

Finally, I’ve had enough, reaching out and grabbing the suited man by his arm. To my surprise, my hand sails clean through him as though he’s not even there.

The man does, however, jump slightly. “It’s a bit drafty in here,” he informs the couple. “Shouldn’t be a problem with the fireplace roaring, though. I’ll bump a little off the asking price when we make our offer.”

The couple exchange glances, apparently thrilled by this suggestion.

I just stare at them in amazement, glancing back and forth between my hand and these unexpected guests.

The woman suddenly pipes up with a question for the man who’s showing her through my home. “As far as lowering the offer, do you think we can knock off a bit more for… you know?”

The man in the suit cracks a knowing grin. “The haunting?”

“My house is not haunted!” I interject, frustrated. They continue to act as though I’m not even here.

“Yes,” the woman replies. “I mean, I hate to use a tragedy to our advantage, what with that poor girl driving off the bridge, but I’ve heard you can get a steal if a house has a ghost in it!”

The gang immediately erupts in another fit of laughter, but my mood is far from jovial. I stagger back a bit, suddenly realizing what’s going on and reeling from the fact that I might actually be dead. To test this theory, I swipe my hand through one of the home intruders yet again, eliciting the same result as before.

Not knowing what else to do, I throw my hands in the air and storm back upstairs. I slam the door to my bedroom and cross my arms, trembling with anxiety. Is this really happening?

“You okay?” comes a voice from the nearby corner.

I turn and jump in alarm when I see a little old unicorn standing next to me. Her clothes are strangely dated, and her eyes are sunken and hollow, but her presence quickly sets me at ease in an unexpected way.

“Who are you?” I blurt.

“Grimler,” the woman informs me. “I work for Borson Reems.”

“Borson who?” I question.

Grimler shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. Listen, I’m just here to help you get adjusted to the afterlife. You’ve recently taken a trip on the lonesome train, and I understand how confusing this might all be.”

“Uh, yeah!” I blurt. “There’s a fucking party in my house!”

“Technically, this hasn’t been your house since you died two months ago,” the unicorn offers.

“Wait, what?” I cry. “Two months?”

Grimler nods. “Some rides on the lonesome train take longer than others, but you’re here now. Let’s focus on the present.”

The unicorn steps forward and hands me a thick hardcover book. I stare down at the strange illustration of the cover and then read the title aloud to myself. “Handbook For Those Who Ride The Lonesome Train.”

“This is just a stop on your journey,” Grimler explains. “Some folks board the lonesome train and just keep on riding through to their final destination. You, on the other hand, have a stop or two.”

“This is so weird,” is all the I can manage to say, shaking my head from side to side.

“Everything you need to know is in that handbook,” Grimler assures me.

I start to reply, but before I get a chance the unicorn backs away from me, waving goodbye as she vanishes into the wall. “We’ll be in touch!” she calls out before disappearing completely.

I’m left standing with this strange book in my hands, and without any other options I decide to crack it open. I sit down on the edge of my bed, starting to read, but before I have a chance to get two pages in the door to my bedroom bursts open.

The man in the suit, who I now recognize as a real estate agent, along with the couple, come marching in. They begin examining the place.

The woman frowns. “Ugh, she didn’t have very good taste, did she?”

“Hey!” I blurt, causing the group to stop in their tracks.

“Did you hear that?” the woman continues.

The real estate agent laughs and shrugs. “A ghostly moan, perhaps?”

Feeling inspired, I skip the introduction of my new handbook and jump straight to the index, running my finger down the enormous list until I find what I’m looking for: scaring the living.

I quickly skim the section and then stand up proudly, sneaking into my bathroom as the tour continues to make their way around my bed and dresser.

Hiding in the darkness, I begin to adjust my features, pulling on my nose to elongate it and placing my eyeballs on the top of my head. The sensation is strange, but not at all painful. Soon enough, I’ve transformed myself into a terrifying monster, crouching in the shadows as I await my moment to spring.

Seconds later, the door to the bathroom opens up.

“I’m gonna eat your brains!” I scream, leaping out in front of the group.

They don’t react at all, just stare right past me into the bathroom with looks of complete disgust.

“It looks like someone was just in here,” the woman observes.

“Sorry about that,” counters the real estate agent, clearly a little confused by the wet bathroom floor but going with the flow. He adjusts his stance a little bit, standing up straight as he goes in for the kill. “Listen, there’s gonna be other people touring this home now that the holding time expired. Yes, we can lowball, but with the tragic history here that’s what everyone’s gonna be doing. I say we beat them to the punch and have you moving in tonight.”

“No!” I cry out.

The couple are thrilled with this idea. “You really think that could happen?” the woman questions.

The real estate agent nods.

I can’t take this anymore. Feeling that my space has been completely invaded, I push past the group and head out into the hallway. There, I reach up and pull the string for a ladder to lower from the ceiling. I make my way up into the attic where nobody will bother me, closing the door behind me in a huff.

Finally, some peace and quiet.

I sit here on the floor for a moment, collecting my thoughts and finding myself eternally grateful for sprucing up this part of the house when I had a chance. It feels much more like a guest room than an attic.

Something catches my eye, however, a piece of furniture that I certainly hadn’t lugged up here myself. There, sitting in the corner of the room, is a refrigerator painted with thick black and white stripes. The lines run vertically across its surface, giving it a distinct and unusual appearance.

“What the hell,” I murmur to myself, standing up and walking over to the appliance.

I carefully open up the door and peer inside to find the fridge is empty, other than a single juice box which sits in the middle of an otherwise barren shelf.

The juice box is similarly striped, covered in these same vertical lines, but unlike the fridge she’s clearly a sentient being. She sports a beautiful face and wild green hair.

“Oh!” I blurt, “I didn’t expect anyone to be in here!”

“Well dang! That makes two of us, partner!” the sentient beverage replies excitedly, her voice gruff and spastic. “Don’t get a lot of visitors up here in the secret attic fridge of a dead person’s former home, know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” I stammer, taken aback by her frantic energy.

“Not your fault, not your fault,” the juice box continues, waving her hands in the air apologetically and then suddenly shifting into a state of over-the-top anger. “You’d think the listing agent could’ve checked in once or twice instead of leaving me to freeze my ass off in the dark!”

“I’m sorry about that,” I reply.

The juice box calms down again. “No, no. Pardon me, ma’am. I’m being rude, I haven’t even introduced myself.” She suddenly pulls a comically large wooden sign out from behind her back, the frame lined with blinking lights.

“Buttlejuice?” I read aloud, wondering if I’m pronouncing it right?

“That’s my name!” the juice box cries out excitedly. “The one and only! The juice with a nice caboose! The box who’s a fox!”

“I’m Mina,” I continue.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Buttlejuice replies, clearly not interested. “Why don’t you say my name one more time and then we’ll get around to yours?”

“Buttlejuice?” I question.

“Yes!” the sentient beverage replies, suddenly pulling out a tiny blackboard and a piece of chalk. She writes out a quick math problem, showing that one plus one is two. “That’s two times! All we need is three!”

I start to open my mouth again, but suddenly hesitate. “Wait… why are you trying to get me to say your name three times?”

Buttlejuice freezes awkwardly, trying to play it off but clearly worried about the turn this conversation has taken.

Something’s up. “What’s going on here?” I continue.

The juice box saunters over to the edge of her shelf, lowering her voice a bit as I kneel down to hear her out. “Listen, I’ve got a problem, you’ve got a problem. I don’t see why we can’t reach some kind of deal here, huh?” Buttlejuice offers. “I’m stuck in a magic fridge and sure, it’s nice in the summer months, but I’ve gotta be honest I’m getting a little sick of being this small and sitting in the dark all damn day.”

“So why don’t you leave?” I question.

“Because I need some help with that part,” the beverage continues, “but you need help, too. Let me guess, you’ve got an infestation of living folks walking around downstairs messing up your house, eating through your wood, digging around in the garbage, knocking over trash cans?”

“Well, not the trash can part or the eating wood part,” I counter.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, my mistake. That’s termites and racoons,” Buttlejuice offers, waving away my concern. “The point is, I can get all of them out for you. That’s what I do.”

“I already tried scaring them,” I counter. “They won’t leave.”

The sentient juice box laughs. “Well, it sounds like it’s time to call in the expert!”

I take a moment to consider her offer, then gradually realize it’s the only option I’ve got. What’s the worst that could happen?

“Buttlejuice,” I finally state with confidence, completing the trilogy.

A magical green dust begins to spiral through the air, surrounding the juice box and growing larger and larger in a sparkling tornado of energy. I stagger back a bit, making room for the emergence of this beautiful and strange beverage, now just as tall as I am.

Buttlejuice immediately does some stretches, limbering up. “I’ve gotta tell ya, it was not very fun in there!”

Now that the sentient beverage is my size, I can’t help noticing just how attractive she is. Her face is brilliant and playful, and the construction of her juice box body is absolutely perfect.

“So you tried scaring them out, huh?” Buttlejuice continues. “What did you do? Pull your nose all long and pop your eyes on the top of your head?”

“How’d you know?” I question.

“Everyone starts with that one, Mina,” the juice box informs me. “Never works. Here’s the problem: ghosts aren’t scary anymore.”

“They’re not?” I reply, confused.

Buttlejuice shakes her head. “Nope. These days it’s just a novelty, a fun thing to talk about over dinner. Nobody is gonna move out because they’ve got a phantom upstairs neighbor. Wanna know what makes folks wanna move out?”

“What?” I question.

“When the people upstairs spend all day fucking too loud,” she replies.

The second I hear this, a wave of arousal washes across me. I feel myself blushing with startled embarrassment, not quite sure what to say.

Buttlejuice notices my change in demeanor. “No need to be embarrassed!” she offers. “You can take a walk around the neighborhood and I’ll get the job done. I’ve got a vibe and I know how to use it! I owe you one for getting me out of the fridge, buddy, so I’m happy to work my magic.”

“Oh,” I stammer. “Is that the best option?”

“Well, if you’re looking for results then the more the merrier,” Buttlejuice replies.

Another pulse of aching arousal washes through me, this time even stronger than before. Me and then sentient juice box stand here for another moment before the tension finally becomes too much to contain. Suddenly, we’re all over each other, kissing passionately in an eruption of carnal lust.

Our hands immediately begin to explore one another’s bodies, tracing the unexplored topography. Buttlejuice gets to work stripping me down, pulling away my clothing and revealing my body as I tremble with anticipation. Soon enough, I’m completely exposed before her, basking in the erotic presence of this beautiful sentient beverage.

I begin to run my fingers across the juice box’s rectangular angles, tracing across the flat top of her body and then making my way down her sides in a slow, seductive movement. I continue kissing her as my attention drifts lower and lower, and eventually I find myself dropping down to my knees.

I gaze up at Buttlejuice longingly, my face hovering just before her aching pussy as I tease her with the promise of something more.

“You want me to lick you?” I coo.

The living juice box nods.

I wait just a little bit longer, allowing the tension between us to build to an excruciating level and then finally diving in. I start slowly at first, giving her a series of long, exaggerated laps and then getting to work. Soon enough, I’m eating out Buttlejuice with belligerent passion, rapidly flicking my tongue across her swollen clit.

“Oh my fucking god, that feels so good!” the living beverage moans, leaning her head back and shutting her eyes tight as she basks in the glorious sensation. She begins to pump her hips against me, falling into sync with the erotic pulse.

Meanwhile, I reach up and slip two fingers deep within Buttlejuice’s pussy. The juice box lets out a satisfied sigh as I enter her, enjoying this brand new sensation. I recognize her rhythm and try to match it, only adding to the pleasure that is already flowing back and forth between us.

The juice box places her hands on the back of my head, enjoying her position of domination while I continue to work my magic. I can sense that she’s getting ready to cum, the sensations flooding through her body simply too much to handle.

Soon enough, Buttlejuice’s stomach clenches tight and then releases in a spastic wave as she lets out an orgasmic howl.

When the juice box finally finishes we stop moving, listening intently to the house below us.

“What the fuck was that?” comes a concerned voice from below. “Was that someone… cumming?”

“It was probably nothing, “another voice chimes in. “Just the wind.”

We’re not done yet.

As I turn my attention back to Buttlejuice I find that she’s somehow already equipped an enormous strap on, the toy covered from top to bottom in the same black and white rings that line her body.

“What do you think?” the juice box questions.

“I think I need you to fuck me with that right now,” I command.

I turn around and fall to the floor, popping my bare ass out toward her and wiggling it from side to side. I crawl forward a bit, showing off the goods and then reaching back to give my ass cheek a playful slap.

“What are you waiting for?” I demand to know.

Buttlejuice climbs down into position behind me, aligning her strap-on cock.

“Wait a minute,” I blurt. “Your name is Buttlejuice. That’s not going in my butt is it?”

“Without asking?” Buttlejuice replies, appalled. “Hell no.”

“Then… why Buttlejuice?” I continue.

“I was named after the star,” she replies. “That’s all.”

I pause a moment to consider this. “There’s a star named Buttlejuice?” I finally question.

“Well, it’s actually spelled Buttholejuice, but that’s a little much,” the sentient beverage continues. “Buttlejuice just rolls off the tongue better.”

“Yeah it does,” I reply with a wink. “Now, where were we?”

The beautiful sentient beverage slides deep within me, her strap-on filling me up quite nicely and causing a startled gasp to escape my throat. Buttlejuice waits just a moment for me to adjust and then slowly begins pumping her striped toy in and out of me, rocking her hips in a series of deep, confident swoops.

“Oh fuck,” I groan, biting my lip. “That feels so fucking good!”
 It’s not long before the two of us fall into a steady pulse with one another, our bodies grinding together as the pleasure within me begins to blossom. I can feel the first ache of climax bubbling up from the pit of my stomach, then working its way down my arms and legs.

Strangely, that’s not the only gradual thing I begin to sense. The rhythm of our fucking matches in perfect time with a song that’s now piping through the house. I’ve never heard this tune before, but I’d describe it as Calypso music, and it seems to be coming from everywhere at once.

“What the hell is that?” I question.

Buttlejuice shrugs, still pounding away at me. “Just kinda happens, I guess. I don’t really know.”

I don’t have time to focus on this strange music, however, because the next thing I know the sensations within me have built to a powerful finish. I can feel my body quaking hard as the impending orgasm looms large, a wave just waiting for its chance to crest.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum” I start repeating over and over again, the words falling out of my mouth in a frantic mantra that grows louder and louder with every repetition. Eventually, I’m screaming out at the top of my lungs, belligerent with lust. “I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna fucking cum!”

When the orgasm hits me these words transform again into an unbridled scream. I’m completely lost in the moment, overwhelmed with sensation as my nerves alight with pleasure and warmth.

When I finally finish I collapse to the ground, the song ending and the room falling into a peaceful state of satisfied silence.

Buttlejuice and I listen intently, waiting to see what happens. There are no words from downstairs, but moments later we hear the front door slam. The living juice box and I rush over to a small attic window and peer out, watching as the real estate agent and the couple flee. The group hop into their respective cars then then take off down the hill, leaving me to enjoy my home in peace.

“Nice work,” I gush, thanking Buttlejuice for her service. “What are you gonna do now?”

“Now that I’m out of that damn fridge I’ll probably travel around, see the world,” the juice box replies. “The real question is, what are you gonna do, boss? You’re still a ghost.”

“Yeah,” I offer, “I hadn’t really considered that. It might actually be nice to have some company around here.”

Buttlejuice and I turn our attention back to the cars as they rumble off into the distance. We’re both thinking the same thing.

“Go get ‘em then,” the juice box suggests.

I close my eyes, focusing my ghostly powers and then suddenly appearing in the empty back seat of the couple’s car.

“Hey,” I offer.

They slam on their brakes and scream, then turn around to look at me.

“I’m really sorry about that,” I continue. “I’m the ghost that lives in the attic, and if you want to move in then… well… it might be nice to have some company.”

“Really?” the woman question. “That’s very sweet. I know we made some jokes up there but… we really do love the house. We wanna take good care of it.”

I nod. “I don’t know when my next ride on the lonesome train will be, so I might not stick around long, but until then I think we can work something out.”

“Thank you,” the woman replies, clearly appreciating the offer.

I close my eyes once again and return to the attic, excited to read through the rest of my handbook.