From piercek@bga.com Tue Nov 29 10:01:02 1994 Received: from zoom.bga.com (root@zoom.bga.com [198.3.118.20]) by news.cis.ohio-state.edu (8.6.8.1/8.6.4) with ESMTP id KAA15859 for ; Tue, 29 Nov 1994 10:00:55 -0500 Received: (from piercek@localhost) by zoom.bga.com (8.6.9/8.6.9) id JAA20806 for frank@cis.ohio-state.edu; Tue, 29 Nov 1994 09:00:49 -0600 From: Pierce Krouse Message-Id: <199411291500.JAA20806@zoom.bga.com> Subject: The Story So Far To: frank@cis.ohio-state.edu Date: Tue, 29 Nov 1994 09:00:48 -0600 (CST) X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Content-Type: text Content-Length: 12792 Status: RO OK Frank, here it is at last ... P: Um, once upon a time there were these 3 whores ... F: Yeah, yeah, yeah? And did they have a young step-sister that F: they were mean to? And didn't let her join them in turning F: tricks on the corner? P: Ya see, the three ugly whores made the young step-sister oil their P: leather garments. They were relly mean -- they made her wear klingon P: clothing until it was broken in, then they took it from her, and she P: had to ... (it's your turn Frank ) F: help them fit into the now broken-in garments. That in and of itself F: would be trying enough for the ugly whores were much fatter than their F: younger, pert step-sister, and trying to tuck all the folds of fat, flabby F: flesh into a now broken klingon garment is about as pleasant as conducting F: a full body cavity search of a sumo wrestler with diarrhea. But what made F: it worse is that she had to do this while wearing the new garments. The F: stiff leather, crackling with every move, rubbing and chafing against her F: raw skin (for the only undergarments she was allowed to wear were burlap F: sacks). But the one thing that kept her going was her secret dream, in F: which one day she would ... P: secretly hide a corn beef on rye sandwich in the large, pasty-skinned, P: cellulite-ridden, mole-pocked folds of each of her half-sister's fat, P: flabby globules of skin that hung disgustingly like so many stacks of P: moldering pancakes. P: P: After a few weeks the corn beef sandwich would be nothing more than a P: brackish, putrid pocket of disease-ridden, grayish rotting flesh. By P: the time her half-sisters would notice the new smell that overpowered P: their own festering stench, the leather garments would have stuck to P: the scabs that littered their hanging flesh, and it would be too late. P: P: Then, see, THEN the lithe, young step-sister could finally ... F: be able to go to the country-wide all-whores ball. So many times her F: sisters had told her the tales of the magnificent dance hall, the F: stately dining tables laid end to end (appropriately enough) with the F: finest food from all reaches of the country. But the best part would F: be the dashing, handsome young pimps that would be there, decked out F: in their finest zebra skinned pants, platform shoes (she heard no F: platform was less than 3 inche high) and wide hats with the feathers F: of the most striking, brightly colored birds that ever took flight. F: F: But as many times as she had asked her sisters to allow her to F: accompany them, they refused, telling her of the chores she had to do F: first and making sure that she could never complete them before the F: ball. There was the washing of the floors, the disinfecting of the F: toilet seats, the spraying of the beds, the changing of the sheets F: (long ago they had given up the hopes of them ever being clean again, F: so there was no longer even the pretense of washing them, merely F: switching them from bed to bed, figuring the various inhabitants could F: fight it out among themselves). But the worst duty by far, the task F: which prevented her from ever attending the ball, was the washing of F: the klingon garments. F: F: Remember that these garments were broken-in klingon leather garments, F: and while a normal piece of klingon attire might put up a fierce F: fight, one that is broken in has no honor. It will merely sit and F: hide at the bottom of the washing basin hoping none shall do it the F: disgrace of looking upon it. However, the young sister realized that F: if these garments were welded onto something that would be more F: buoyant, say, 350 pounds of disgusting, cellulite ridden, foul F: smelling, dirt encrusted, blubber that happened to be attatched to her F: sisters, the garment would have no choice but to float to the surface F: and she could finish her chores and attend the ball. F: F: Of course, things never are as simple as they might seem. For the day F: that she finally decided to enact her plan, ... P: Her evil Uncle Carbuncle decided to sneak into town in the middle of P: the night, sneak into the pert, lithe young step-sister's room and P: have his way with her. Uncle C, as he was called, neglected two very P: important things as he made the sign of the double-backed Mongoose P: with the fleshy bits of the frightened young step-sister. First of P: all, he neglected to wear his chain-mail condom. Big Mistake. You P: see, this was a greivous error because he forgot another thing as P: well. He forgot what the step-sister was forced to do. Can you P: imagine what it was like when The Old Carbunclemeister (as his third P: wife used to call him) rammed his tweeter with the force of 2 virile P: oxen and 4 excited young geldings into FRESH KLINGON LEATHER GARMENTS? P: I thought you could. Continue reading when you can sit up straight P: ... P: P: OK, now where were we? Oh yes, Uncle C and his naughty bits slamming P: into Klingon dry goods at the speed of sound. It seems the evil, P: flabby, putrefying, boil-encrusted half-sisters were preparing for the P: Winter Hog Snout Shootoff (not what you think) and Policeman's ball P: (exactly what you think). They had the finest, stiffest, freshest, P: most sharply cornered Klingon garments picked out, and they forced the P: pert young half-sister to wear all 3 garments on top of one another. P: Poor uncle Carbuncle had the misfortune of feeling his own little dry P: twig slam with little fanfare right into a Klingon Imperial Queen's P: Chastity belt. That's the extra large model with the flint and steel P: barbed wire entwined all through the crotch area, laced with dried P: salt crystals. If that weren't bad enough, the poor little P: half-sister was wearing the Batleth-inspired General Chang model of P: the latest Alcohol-dipped dildo right above the chastity belt. That's P: the model with the little red button on the end that makes all the P: little blades spring right out all along the base and shaft. This P: device inflicted quite a wound on poor old Uncle Carbuncle, but the P: next-to worst part was the fact that the chastity belt was meant for P: the busiest of whores. That is right -- it had explosive bolts built P: into it for a speedy disrobing. The bolts blew immediately, throwing P: Uncle Carbuncle off the pert young maiden and onto the floor. So much P: for the next-to-worst part if it all. The WORST part of it all was F: the fact that Uncle Carbuncle's colostomy bag burst upon his impact on F: the ground. Now it really didn't matter much to Uncle C, since he was F: more concerned about the fact that his amourous encounter with La F: Machine had ended somewhat poorly and in the confusion, he wasn't F: quite sure where his severed, bloody, little willey had rolled off to F: (though he suspected under the couch, near the discarded klingon F: garments, but that's another story). But the poor, young thing looked F: like a person who still looked attractive no matter what she wore, F: both by an intentional placement of her long blonde hair and of the F: general structure of her face, regardless of the fact that she was now F: wearing several heavy thick leather suits more appropriate to a Mongol F: barbarian, rather than a slender, young woman, that just had a bucket F: of shit dumped on her. And of course Uncle C had spent the last night F: at Montezuma's House of Partially Cooked Chicken and Beef, eating the F: house specialty (and undoubtedty losing half of his remaining large F: intesting from it), and having immense quantities of the bleu and F: limburger cheese appetizers. His bag was the size of a tall kitchen F: garbage bag so he could hold quite a bit, and up until mere moments F: earlier, it had been bulging looking like the contents wanted to break F: out in the worst way. And thus they had. F: F: But our heroine was undeterred. She HAD to get to the ball and this F: could well be here only chance. So she set out on the road, covered F: with a foul smelling, one inch thick coating of partially digested F: fecal remains. While this was not how she intended it to be, she F: would not fail. However, she never made it to the ball because of F: what started out as a small distraction as she was halfway there. F: Off to the side of the road, she saw P: A 1-1/2 foot tall, rough-hewn wooden statue of an erect penile member. P: Our pert young lithe sassy willowy tanned and perpetually blonde P: little Rhubarb Tart had seen quite a few of these in her day, but P: never had she seen one this far away from a lecherous, festering, P: horny old bastard of a man. (this old man was hiding in the bushes P: about 15 yards away). Also, except for the Lorena Bobbitt incident in P: a parallel dimension, our heroine had never heard of one lying by P: itself on the side of the road. Our heroine was, as we implied, P: distracted by this sight, odd as it was. So, she decided to P: investigate. As she walked up to it and noticed that it was indeed P: detached from any member of the male species, she was also intrigued P: by its rough-hewn appearance. Although there were obviously splinters P: present for the entire length of this member, it was still artfully P: carved from a wonderful resinous wood. Our heroine was attracted P: especially to the design of the veins that meandered all along the P: shaft of the erect member. Our heroine's curiosity got the better of P: her and, not noticing the glistening, beady little eyes of the naked P: and wrinkled old man mentioned earlier, she quickly doffed the lower P: half of the, Klingon undergarments. It is worth mentioning that the P: one garment she decided to keep on was the thumbtack-studded P: almond-colored ostrich leather teddy -- the latest offering from the P: Keyh'Lar's Secret Catalog. P: P: The old man watched with horny glee as she lowered herself gently upon P: the statue, F: And proceeded to "smooth out" some of the rougher spots on this rough F: hewn male member mini monolith. While she was going at it, the F: lecherous old man in the bushes watched in amazement as events unfolded F: just as he had planned. For just when she was nearing the more F: dramatic phases of her "woodworking", he pressed a small red button on F: a small box he held in his one hand (his other hand being occupied at F: that moment), causing a small red light in a circle to flash once and F: emit a barely audible beep. Unknown to our heroine, this was an F: authentic Klingon carving of a Klingon warrior's shaft. And just like F: any good Klingon knife in which miniblades will pop out of the main F: shaft of the blade, the same thing happened here. Had our horny F: heroine not been in top physical condition, this could have proven F: fatal, but to the amazement of the old fart nearby, she didn't miss F: a beat, and when finished, got up to reveal a stump of a once F: magnificient member. As she started back to her transport, the F: old man had to stop her to ask. He burst out of the bushes, F: startling her, and said, [tune in next time for the final chapter...this goes on the web soon] How are you able to do that?!? To which our pert blonde lithe sassy and ever-so-willowy little Rhubarb Tart replied that it was really the Tibetan Monks that deserved the credit. She stopped to adjust her Klingon Bustier around her soft, creamy and perky little tits, then continued. It seems she had trained in their monastary in the frozen mountain heights, in exchange for sexual favors of course. (this is why many Tibetan Monks are blind, you see). After many months of entertaining the Monks in every way imaginable (and about 7 or 8 ways that are NOT imaginable), our little tart was sent to the evil step-sisters house to learn all about the virtues of poverty. Then our lass lifted the edges of her now tattered teddy to reveal the 2 parting gifts the Tibetan Monks had left her. One was a parchment containing a Nepalese chant to say if Richard Gere ever tried to put the moves on her. The other was hidden in the wonderfully pink little folds of her golden gates to freedom. She relaxed a little to reveal 2 rough flint rocks suspended from 2 pieces of rawhide. The original Ben-Wa balls. She had used the present for exercise whenever things got dull, and had built up an incredible tolerance. The last thing our lecherous old man remembered was seeing the glistening flint rocks, swinging gently in the breeze, suspended from the rawhide cords, still held tightly in our maiden's pelvic grasp. She said: "you are getting sleepy. When you can snatch the pebbles from my grasp, you can leave this place and go back into the world ... " stay tuned for CHAPTER 2: THE WILLING SLAVE